Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen 7)

‘Sergeant, they lit up all the transports,’ said another one of her soldiers. Beard, thick chest, solid as a tree trunk and probably not much smarter either. What was his name?

‘Who are you?’

The man rubbed at his eyes. ‘Balgrid.’

‘Right, Baldy, now try explaining to me how some fool swam from ship to ship and set them afire? Well? That’s what I thought.’

‘Someone’s coming,’ hissed the squad sapper.

The one with the stupid name. A name she always had trouble remembering. Could be? No. Sometimes? Unsure? Ah, Maybe. Our sapper’s name is Maybe. And his friend there, that’s Lutes. And there’s Tavos Pond-he’s too tall. Tall soldiers get arrows in their foreheads. Why isn’t he dead? ‘Anybody got a bow?’ she asked.

A rustling of undergrowth, then two figures emerged from the gloom.

Hellian stared at the first one, feeling an inexplicable surge of rage. She rubbed thoughtfully at her jaw, trying to remember something about this sad-looking soldier. The rage drained away, was replaced with heartfelt affection.

Bowl stepped past her. ‘Sergeant Urb, thank Hood you found us.’

‘Urb?’ Hellian asked, weaving as she moved closer and peered up into the man’s round face. ‘That you?’

‘Found the rum, did you?’

Lutes said from behind her, ‘She’s poisoning her liver.’

‘My liver’s fine, soldier. Just needs a squeezing out.’

‘Squeezing out?’

She turned round and glared at the squad healer. ‘I seen livers before, Cutter. Big sponges full of blood. Tumbles out when you cut someone open.’

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‘Sergeant, they lit up all the transports,’ said another one of her soldiers. Beard, thick chest, solid as a tree trunk and probably not much smarter either. What was his name?

‘Who are you?’

The man rubbed at his eyes. ‘Balgrid.’

‘Right, Baldy, now try explaining to me how some fool swam from ship to ship and set them afire? Well? That’s what I thought.’

‘Someone’s coming,’ hissed the squad sapper.

The one with the stupid name. A name she always had trouble remembering. Could be? No. Sometimes? Unsure? Ah, Maybe. Our sapper’s name is Maybe. And his friend there, that’s Lutes. And there’s Tavos Pond-he’s too tall. Tall soldiers get arrows in their foreheads. Why isn’t he dead? ‘Anybody got a bow?’ she asked.

A rustling of undergrowth, then two figures emerged from the gloom.

Hellian stared at the first one, feeling an inexplicable surge of rage. She rubbed thoughtfully at her jaw, trying to remember something about this sad-looking soldier. The rage drained away, was replaced with heartfelt affection.

Bowl stepped past her. ‘Sergeant Urb, thank Hood you found us.’

‘Urb?’ Hellian asked, weaving as she moved closer and peered up into the man’s round face. ‘That you?’

‘Found the rum, did you?’

Lutes said from behind her, ‘She’s poisoning her liver.’

‘My liver’s fine, soldier. Just needs a squeezing out.’

‘Squeezing out?’

She turned round and glared at the squad healer. ‘I seen livers before, Cutter. Big sponges full of blood. Tumbles out when you cut someone open.’

‘Sounds more like a lung, Sergeant. The liver’s this flat thing, muddy brown or purple-’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, wheeling back to stare at Urb. ‘If the first one dies the other one kicks in. I’m fine. Well,’ she added with a loud sigh which seemed to make Urb reel back a step, ‘I’m in the best of moods, my friends. The best of moods. And now we’re all together, so let’s march because I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to march somewhere.’ She smiled over at her corporal. ‘What say you, Touchy Brethless?’

‘Sounds good, Sergeant.

‘Brilliant plan, Sergeant.’

‘Why do you always do that, Corporal?’

‘Do what?

‘Do what?’

‘Look, Baldy’s the one who’s half deaf-’

‘I’m not half deaf any more, Sergeant.’

‘You’re not? So who here is half deaf?’

‘Nobody, Sergeant.’

‘No need to shout. Baldy can hear you and if he can’t then we should’ve left him on the boat, along with that tall one there with the arrow in his skull, because neither one’s no good to us. We’re looking for grey-skinned murderers and they’re hiding in these trees. Behind them, I mean. If they were in them, it’d hurt. So we need to start looking behind all these trees. But first, collect us a cask here, one each now, and then we can get going.

‘What’re you all staring at? I’m the one giving the orders and I got me a new sword which will make chopping off one of these here tits a whole lot easier. Get moving, everyone, we got us a war to fight. Behind those trees.’

Crouched before him, Gullstream had the furtive look of a weasel in a chicken coop. He wiped his runny nose with the back of one forearm, squinted, then said, ‘Everyone accounted for, sir.’

Fist Keneb nodded, then turned as someone slid loudly down the beach ridge. ‘Quiet over there. All right, Gullstream, find the captain and send her to me.’

‘Aye, sir.’

The soldiers were feeling exposed, which was understandable. It was one thing for a squad or two to scout ahead of a column-at least retreat was possible in the traditional sense. Here, if they got into trouble, their only way out was to scatter. As the commander of what would be a prolonged, chaotic engagement, Keneb was worried. His attack unit of six squads would be the hardest one to hide-the mages with him were the weakest of the lot, for the simple reason that his platoon would be holding back on their inland march, with the primary objective being avoiding any contact. As for the rest of his legion, it was now scattered up and down thirty leagues of coastline. Moving in small units of a dozen or so soldiers and about to begin a covert campaign that might last months.

There had been profound changes to the Fourteenth Army since Malaz City. A kind of standardization had been imposed on the scores of wizards, shamans, conjurers and casters in the legions, with the intent of establishing sorcery as the principal means of communication. And, for the squad mages among the marines-a force that now had as many heavy infantry as sappers-certain rituals of Mockra were now universally known. Illusions to affect camouflage, to swallow sound, confuse scent.