The Crippled God

the runts—’
    ‘No. You will need them more than we will.’
    ‘We will? Adjunct, where do you think we’re going?’
    ‘To war.’
    ‘Against who?’
    ‘“Whom”, Shield Anvil. You intend to wage war against the Forkrul Assail.’
    He grimaced, glanced at the Fist and captains positioned behind the Adjunct. Blistig, Lostara Yil, Ruthan Gudd. That miserable ex-priest, half slumped over his saddle. His attention returned to the Adjunct. ‘Now, why would we declare war on the Forkrul Assail?’
    ‘Ask the runts.’
    Stormy sagged. ‘We did that. They ain’t good on explanations, those two. Grub’s the only one between ’em who’ll say anything to us at all. Oh, Sinn talks just fine, when it suits her. Me and Ges, we was hoping you’d be more … uh, forthcoming.’
    A snort from Blistig.
    Tavore said, ‘Shield Anvil, inform Mortal Sword Gesler of the following. The Perish, Letherii and Bolkando armies are marching on the Spire. It is my fear that even such a formidable force … will not be enough. The sorcery of the Assail is powerful and insidious, especially on the field of battle—’
    ‘Is it now, Adjunct?’
    She blinked, and then said, ‘I have spent three years amidst the archives of Unta, Stormy. Reading the oldest and obscurest histories drawn to the capital from the further reaches of the Malazan Empire. I have interviewed the finest scholars I could find, including HeboricLight-Touch, on matters of fragmented references to the Forkrul Assail.’ She hesitated, and then continued. ‘I know what awaits us all, Shield Anvil. The three human armies you now see marching into the southeast are … vulnerable .’
    ‘Where the K’Chain Che’Malle are not.’
    She shrugged. ‘Could we conjure before us, here and now, a Forkrul Assail, do you imagine it could command your Ve’Gath to surrender its weapons? To kneel?’
    Stormy grunted. ‘I’d like to see it try. But what of the runts?’
    ‘Safer in your company than in ours.’
    He narrowed his gaze on her. ‘What is it you mean to do with your Bonehunters, Adjunct?’
    ‘Split the enemy forces, Shield Anvil.’
    ‘You have taken a savaging, Adjunct—’
    ‘And have been avenged by you and your Che’Malle.’ She took a step closer, dropping her voice. ‘Stormy, when news of your victory spreads through my army, much that haunts it now will fall silent. There will be no cheers – I am not such a fool as to expect anything like that. But, at the very least, there will be satisfaction. Do you understand me?’
    ‘Is Fiddler—’
    ‘He lives.’
    ‘Good.’ He squinted at her. ‘You’ve a way of gathering allies, haven’t you, Adjunct?’
    ‘It is not me, Stormy, it is the cause itself.’
    ‘I’d agree if I could figure out what that cause is all about.’
    ‘You mentioned a Destriant—’
    ‘Aye, I did.’
    ‘Then ask that one.’
    ‘We did, but she knows even less than we do.’
    Tavore cocked her head. ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Well, she gets little sleep. Nightmares every night.’ He clawed fingers through his beard, ‘Aw, Hood take me …’
    ‘She sees the fate awaiting us all should we fail, Shield Anvil.’
    He was silent, thinking back, crossing a thousand leagues of memory and time. Days in Aren, ranks milling, recalcitrant faces, a desperate need for cohesion. Armies are unruly beasts. You took ’us, you made ’us into something, but none of us knows what, or even what for . And now here she stood, a thin, plain woman. Not tall. Not imposing in any way at all. Except for the cold iron in her bones . ‘Why did you take this on, Adjunct?’
    She settled the helm back on her head and fixed the clasps. ‘That’s my business.’
    ‘This path of yours,’ he asked, resisting her dismissal, ‘where didit start? That first step, when was it? You can answer me that one, at least.’
    She regarded him. ‘Can I?’
    ‘I’m about to ride back to Gesler, Adjunct. And I got to make a report. I got to tell him what I think about all this. So … give me something.’
    She looked away, studied the formed-up ranks of her army. ‘My first step? Very well.’
    He waited.
    She stood as if carved from flawed marble, a thing in profile weeping dust – but no, that sense was emerging from deep inside his own soul, as if he’d found a mirror’s reflection of the nondescript woman standing before him, and in that reflection a thousand hidden truths.
    She faced him again, her eyes swallowed by the shadow of the