A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

riverbed. He would, when drunk, laugh and
proclaim that he was but eleven years old, eleven from that
day of rebirth, that day of beginning anew.
    He noted the lone rider coming in from the southwest,
the man pushing his horse hard, and the Captain frowned
– the fool had better have a good reason for abusing the
beast in that manner. He didn't appreciate his soldiers
posturing and seeking to make bold impressions. He
decided that, if the reason was insufficient, he would have
the man executed in the traditional manner – trampled
into bloody ruin beneath the hoofs of his horses.
    The rider drew up alongside the palace, a servant on
the side platform taking the reins of the horse as the man
stepped aboard. An exchange of words with the Master
Sergeant, and then the man was climbing the steep steps to
the ledge surrounding the balcony. Where, his head level
with the Captain's knees, he bowed.
    'Sire, Fourth Troop, adjudged ablest rider to deliver this
message.'
    'Go on,' said the Captain.
    'Another raiding party was found, sire, all slain in the
same manner as the first one. Near a Kindaru camp this
time.'
    'The Kindaru? They are useless. Against thirty of my
soldiers? That cannot be.'
    'Troop Leader Uludan agrees, sire. The proximity of the
Kindaru was but coincidental – or it was the raiding party's
plan to ambush them.'
    Yes, that was likely. The damned Kindaru and their delicious
horses were getting hard to find of late. 'Does Uludan
now track the murderers?'
    'Difficult, sire. They seem to possess impressive lore and
are able to thoroughly hide their trail. It may be that they
are aided by sorcery.'
    'Your thought or Uludan's?'
    A faint flush of the man's face. 'Mine, sire.'
    'I did not invite your opinion, soldier.'
    'No, sire. I apologize.'
    Sorcery – the spirits within should have sensed such a
thing anywhere on his territory. Which tribes were capable
of assembling such skilled and no doubt numerous warriors?
Well, one obvious answer was the Barghast – but they did
not travel the Lamatath. They dwelt far to the north,
along the edges of the Rhivi Plain, in fact, and north of
Capustan. There should be no Barghast this far south. And
if, somehow, there were . . . the Captain scowled. 'Twenty
knights shall accompany you back to the place of slaughter.
You will then lead them to Uludan's troop. Find the trail
no matter what.'
    'We shall, sire.'
    'Be sure Uludan understands.'
    'Yes, sire.'
    And understand he would. The knights were there not
just to provide a heavier adjunct to the troop. They were to
exact whatever punishment the sergeant deemed necessary
should Uludan fail.
    The Captain had just lost sixty soldiers. Almost a fifth of
his total number of light cavalry.
    'Go now,' he said to the rider, 'and find Sergeant Teven
and send him to me at once.'
    'Yes, sire.'
    As the man climbed back down, the Captain leaned
back in his throne, staring down at the dusty backs of the
yoked slaves. Kindaru there, yes. And Sinbarl and the last
seven or so Gandaru, slope-browed cousins of the Kindaru
soon to be entirely extinct. A shame, that – they were
strong bastards, hard-working, never complaining. He'd
set aside the two surviving women and they now rode a
wagon, bellies swollen with child, eating fat grubs, the
yolk of snake eggs and other bizarre foods the Gandaru
were inclined towards. Were the children on the way
pure Gandaru? He did not think so – their women rutted
anything with a third leg, and far less submissively than he
thought prudent. Even so, one or both of those children
might well be his.
    Not as heirs, of course. His bastard children held no
special rights. He did not even acknowledge them. No,
he would adopt an heir when the time came – and, if the
whispered promises of the spirits were true, that could be
centuries away.
    His mind had stepped off the path, he realized.
    Sixty slain soldiers. Was the kingdom of Skathandi at
war? Perhaps so.
    Yet the enemy clearly did not dare face him here, with
his knights and the entire mass of his army ready and able
to take the field of battle. Thus, whatever army would fight
him was small—
    Shouts from ahead.
    The Captain's eyes narrowed. From his raised vantage
point he could see without obstruction that a lone figure
was approaching from the northwest. A skin of white fur
flapped in the breeze like the wing of a ghost-moth, spreading
out from the broad shoulders. A longsword was strapped
to the man's back, its edges oddly rippled, the blade