A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

wind-burned cheeks and glistening like
sweat in his beard. 'They've been poisoned, Atri-Preda!
Poisoned meat, left on the ground – I'm going to lose them
all!'
    Bivatt cursed under her breath, then said, 'Then we shall
have to do without.'
    'But the Edur mages—'
    'If our own cannot treat them, Bellict, then neither can
the warlocks – the Edur tribes do not breed dogs for war, do
they? I am sorry. Leave me now.'
    Just one more unpleasant surprise to greet this dawn. Her
army had marched through the last two bells of night to
reach the valley – she wanted to be the first to array her
troops for the battle to come, to force Redmask to react
rather than initiate. Given the location of the Awl
encampment, she had not felt rushed in conducting that
march, anticipating it would be midday at the earliest
before the savages appeared on the east side of Bast Fulmar,
thus negating any advantage of a bright morning sun at
their backs.
    But that enemy encampment had been a deceit.
    Less than a half-league from the valley, scouts had
returned to the column to report enemy in strength at Bast
Fulmar.
    How had her mages not found them? They had no
answer, barring a disquieting fear in their eyes. Even Brohl
Handar's Den-Ratha K'risnan and his four warlocks had
been at a loss to explain the success of Redmask's
deception. The news had left the sour taste of self-recrimination
in Bivatt – relying upon mages had been a
mistake, laziness leaning heavy on past successes. Outriding
scouts would have discovered the ruse days ago, had she
bothered to send them beyond line of sight. Keeping them
close ensured no raids or ambushes, both gambits for which
the Awl were renowned. She had been following doctrine,
to the letter.
    Damn this Redmask. Clearly he knows that doctrine as well as I do. And used it against us.
    Now, the battle awaiting them was imminent, and the
bright dawn sun would indeed blaze into the eyes of her
soldiers even as the first blood was spilled.
    Rising in her stirrups, she squinted once more at the
valley's far side. Mounted Awl in swirling motion, in seeming
chaos, riding back and forth, lifting clouds of dust that
burned gold in the morning light. Horse-archers for the
most part. Tending to mass in front of one of the broader
slopes to the south, on her right. A second gentle incline
was situated slightly to her left, and there, shifting restlessly,
were five distinct wedges of Awl warriors on foot,
lining what passed for a ridge – and she could see their long
spears waving like reeds on a shore. Spears, not those flimsy
swords sold them by the Factor's agents. She judged around
a thousand warriors per wedge formation – too disciplined
even now, before the fighting began. They should be drunk. Pounding on shields. Their shamans should be rushing about in front, down all the way to the riverbed. Showing us their backsides as they defecate. Screaming curses, dancing to summon dread spirits and all the rest. Instead, this . . .
    Well, how likely is it those wedges will survive contact with my soldiers? They are not trained to this kind of war – nor did Redmask have the time to manage anything but this thin shell of organization. I have over sixteen thousand with me. Eighteen if I include the Tiste Edur. This one army of mine outnumbers the entire Awl population of warriors – and while it looks indeed as if Redmask has gathered them all, still they are not enough.
    But he wasn't making it easy to gauge numbers. The
tumultuous back and forth of the horse-archers, the clouds
of dust, the truncated line of sight beyond the valley's ridge
– he was keeping her blind.
    Brohl Handar reined in at her side, speaking loudly to be
heard over the movement of her troops and the officers
bellowing orders. 'Atri-Preda, you seem to intend to hold
most of your medium infantry in reserve.' He gestured
behind them to punctuate his words. Then, when it was
clear she would not respond, he waved ahead. 'This valley's
flanks, while not steeply inclined, are ribboned with
drainage channels—'
    'Narrow,' she cut in. 'Not deep.'
    'True, but they serve to separate the field of battle into
segments nonetheless.'
    She glanced across at him. 'We have three such channels
on our side, and all of them on my right. They have four,
one to my right, two before me and one to my left – and in
that direction, north, the valley narrows.' She pointed. 'See
the bluff on our side there, where the Dresh ballistae are
being emplaced? It cannot