A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

half-dozen
heartbeats, then slowly turned away. 'Torrent, you too will
stay here.'
    The warrior stiffened in surprise. 'War Leader—'
    'You will begin training those children who are close to
their death nights. Bows, knives.'
    Torrent bowed, stiffly. 'As you command.'
    Redmask left them, trailed by Natarkas and Masarch.
    Torrent glanced over at Toc. 'My courage is not broken,'
he said.
    'You're young still,' he replied.
    'You will oversee the younger children, Toc Anaster.
That and nothing more. You will keep them and yourself
out of my way.'
    Toc had had enough of this man. 'Torrent, you rode at
your old war leader's side when you Awl abandoned us to
the Letherii army. Be careful of your bold claims of courage.
And when I came to you and pleaded for the lives of my
soldiers, you turned away with the rest of them. I believe
Redmask has just taken your measure, Torrent, and if I hear
another threat from you I will give you reason to curse me
– with what will be your last breath.'
    The warrior bared his teeth in a humourless smile. 'All I
see in that lone eye, Toc Anaster, tells me you are already
cursed.' He pivoted and walked away.
    Well, the bastard has a point. So maybe I'm not as good at this give and take as I imagined myself to be. For these Awl, it is a way of life, after all. Then again, the Malazan armies are pretty good at it, too – no wonder I never really fit.
    A half-dozen children hurried past, trailed by a mud-smeared
toddler struggling to keep up. Seeing the
chattering mob vanish round a tent, the toddler halted,
then let out a wail.
    Toc grunted. Aye, you and me both. He made a rude sound and the toddler looked over, eyes
wide. Then laughed.
    Eye socket fiercely itching once more, Toc scratched for
a moment, then headed over, issuing yet another rude
noise. Oh, look at that – innocent delight. Well, Toc, take your rewards where and when you can.
    Redmask stood at the very edge of the sprawling encampment,
studying the horizon to the south. 'Someone is out
there,' he said in a low voice.
    'So it seems,' Natarkas said. 'Strangers – who walk our
land as if they owned it. War Leader, you have wounded
Torrent—'
    'Torrent must learn the value of respect. And so he will,
as weapon master to a score of restless adolescents. When
next he joins us, he will be a wiser man. Do you challenge
my decisions, Natarkas?'
    'Challenge? No, War Leader. But at times I will probe
them, if I find the need to understand them better.'
    Redmask nodded, then said to the warrior standing a
short distance away, 'Heed those words, Masarch.'
    'So I shall,' the young warrior replied.
    'Tomorrow,' said Redmask, 'I lead my warriors to war.
Bast Fulmar.'
    Natarkas hissed, then said, 'A cursed valley.'
    'We will honour the blood spilled there three hundred
years ago, Natarkas. The past will die there, and from there
on we shall look only to a new future. New in every way.'
    'This new way of fighting, War Leader, I see little honour
in it.'
    'You speak true. There is none to be found. Such is
necessity.'
    'Must necessity be surrender?'
    Redmask looked across at the warrior whose face was
painted in the likeness of his own mask. 'When the ways
surrendered hold naught but the promise of failure, then
yes. It must be done. They must be cast away.'
    'The elders will find that difficult to accept, War Leader.'
    'I know. You and I have played this game before. This is
not their war. It is mine. And I mean to win it.'
    They were silent then, as the wind, a dirge through dead
grasses, moaned ghostly across the land.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Sea without water
spreads white bones
crumbled flat and bleached
like parchment
where I walked.
    But this scrawl
scratching my wake
is without history
bereft of raiment
to clothe my fate.
    Sky has lost its clouds
to some ragged wind
that never runs aground
these shoals revealed
on paths untrod.
    Wind heaves waves
unseen in the shell
a cup of promise unfulfilled
the rank lie of salt
that bites my tongue.
    I dwelt by a sea, once
etching histories
along the endless strand
in rolling scrolls
of flotsam and weed.
    Rumours of the Sea
Fisher kel Tath
    There had been rain in the afternoon, which was just
as well since there wasn't much value in burning the
entire forest down and besides, he wasn't popular at
the best of times. They had mocked his antics, and they
had said he stank, too, so much so that no-one ever came
within reach of his huge, gnarled hands. Of course, had any
of his neighbours done so, he might