The Crippled God

‘Cashiered outa the Burned Tears, or something like that.’ He faced the five men again. ‘I’d wager Gall will call this treason and come for your heads.’
    The eldest of the warriors, his face almost black with tear tattoos, seemed to hunch lower beneath his broad, sloping shoulders. ‘Gall Inshikalan’s soul is dead. All his children died in the charge. He sees only the past. The Khundryl Burned Tears are no more.’ He gestured at his companions. ‘Yet we would fight on.’
    ‘Why not the Bonehunters?’ Hedge asked.
    ‘Fist Kindly refused us.’
    Another warrior growled and said, ‘He called us savages. And cowards.’
    ‘Cowards?’ Hedge’s scowl deepened. ‘You were in that charge?’
    ‘We were.’
    ‘And you would fight on? What’s cowardly about that?’
    The eldest one said, ‘He sought to shame us back to our people – but we are destroyed. We kneel in Coltaine’s shadow, broken by failure.’
    ‘You’re saying all the others will just … fade away?’
    The man shrugged.
    Alchemist Bavedict spoke behind Hedge. ‘Commander, we took us a few losses. These warriors are veterans. And survivors.’
    Hedge looked round again, studied the Letherii. ‘Aren’t we all,’ he said.
    Bavedict nodded.
    Sighing, Hedge faced the warriors once more. He nodded at the spokesman. ‘Your name?’
    ‘Berrach. These are my sons. Sleg, Gent, Pahvral and Rayez.’
    Your sons. No wonder you didn’t feel welcome in Gall’s camp . ‘You’re now our outriders, scouts and, when needed, cavalry.’
    ‘Bridgeburners?’
    Hedge nodded. ‘Bridgeburners.’
    ‘We’re not cowards,’ hissed the youngest, presumably Rayez, his expression suddenly fierce.
    ‘If you were,’ said Hedge, ‘I’d have sent you packing. Berrach, you’re now a Captain of our Mounted – have you spare horses?’
    ‘Not any more, Commander.’
    ‘Never mind, then. My sergeants here will see you billeted. Dismissed.’
    In response the five warriors drew their sabres and fashioned a kind of salute Hedge had never seen before, blade edges set diagonally across each man’s exposed throat.
    Bavedict grunted behind him.
    And if I now said ‘ Cut ’ they’d do just that, wouldn’t they? Gods below . ‘Enough of that, soldiers,’ he said. ‘We don’t worship Coltaine in the Bridgeburners. He was just another Malazan commander. A good one, to be sure, and right now he’s standing in Dassem Ultor’s shadow. And they got plenty of company. And maybe one day soon Gall will be there, too.’
    Berrach was frowning. ‘Do we not honour their memories, sir?’
    Hedge bared his teeth in anything but a smile. ‘Honour whoever you want in your spare time, Captain, only you ain’t got any spare time any more, because you’re now a Bridgeburner, and us Bridgeburners honour only one thing.’
    ‘And that is, sir?’
    ‘Killing the enemy, Captain.’
    Something awoke in the faces of the warriors. As one they sheathed their weapons. Berrach seemed to be struggling to speak, and finally managed to ask, ‘Commander Hedge, how do the Bridgeburners salute?’
    ‘We don’t. And as for anyone outside our company, it’s this.’
    Eyes widened at Hedge’s obscene gesture, and then Berrach grinned.
    When Hedge turned to wave his sergeants forward, he saw that they weren’t quite the bloated grey bags he’d seen only moments earlier. Dread had been stripped from their faces, and now their exhaustion was plain to see – but it had softened somehow. Sweetlard and Rumjugs looked almost beautiful again.
    Bridgeburners get pounded all the time. We just get back up. No bluster, just back up, aye . ‘Alchemist,’ he said to Bavedict, ‘show me that new invention of yours.’
    ‘Finally,’ the Letherii replied. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘Oh, how a handful of Khundryl warriors started you all up.’
    ‘The sergeants were in shock—’
    ‘Commander, you looked even worse than they did.’
    Oh, Hood take me, I doubt I can argue that . ‘So tell me, what’s the new cusser do?’
    ‘Well now, sir, you were telling me about the Drum—’
    ‘I what? When?’
    ‘You were drunk. Anyway, it got me to thinking …’
    The two newcomers walked into the squads’ encampment, and faces lifted, eyes went flat. No one wanted any damned interruptions to all this private misery. Not now. Badan Gruk hesitated, and then pushed himself to his feet. ‘Eighteenth, isn’t it?’
    The sergeant, a Genabackan, was eyeing the other