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

He landed again, just short of the opposite timber wall this time, head ducking and shoulder seeming to barely brush the ground before he tumbled right over, touched one foot on a horizontal log and used it to twist round before landing balanced on the other foot now drawn tight beneath him. Facing the seven corpses he had just felled.

And facing two Malazan marines who, for once and just this once, had precisely nothing to say.

The marines of the 3rd and 4th Companies gathered in front of the tavern, stood or sat on the bloodstained cobbles of the main street. Wounds were tended to here and there, while others repaired armour or filed the nicks from sword edges.

Fiddler sat on the edge of a water trough near the hitching post to one side of the tavern entrance, taking stock. Since the coast, the three other squads of 4th Company had taken losses. Gone from Gesler’s squad were Sands and Uru Hela. From Hellian’s, Lutes and Tavos Pond, both of whom had died in this cursed village, while from Urb’s both Hanno and now Bowl were dead, and Saltlick had lost his left hand. Fiddler’s own squad had, thus far, come through unscathed, and that made him feel guilty. Like one of Hood’s minions, one in the row just the other side of the gate. Crow feathers in hand, or wilted roses, or sweetcakes, or any of the countless other gifts the dead were eager to hand their newly arrived kin-gods below, Smiles is turning me into another Kanese with all these absurd beliefs. Ain’t nobody waiting other side of Hood’s Gate, unless it’s to jeer.

The two sergeants from the 3rd came over. Badan Gruk, whom Fiddler had met earlier, and the Quon, Primly. They made an odd pair, but that was always the way, wasn’t it?

Primly gave Fiddler a strangely deferential nod. ‘We’re fine with this,’ he said.

‘With what?’

‘Your seniority, Fiddler. So, what do we do now?’

Grimacing, Fiddler looked away. ‘Any losses?’

‘From this scrap? No. Those Edur pulled out fast as hares in a kennel. A lot shakier than we’d expected.’

‘They don’t like the shield to shield fighting,’ Fiddler said, scratching at his filthy beard. ‘They’ll do it, aye, especially when they’ve got Letherii troops with them. But of late they dropped that tactic, since with our munitions we made it a costly one. No, they’ve been hunting us, ambushing us, driving us hard. Their traditional way of fighting, I’d guess.’

Primly grunted. ‘Driving you, you said. So, likely there’s a damned army waiting for us this side of Letheras. The anvil.’

‘Aye, which is why I think we should wait here a bit. It’s risky, I know, since the Edur might return and next time there might be a thousand of them.’

Badan Gruk’s thinned eyes grew yet thinner. ‘Hoping your Fist is going to catch up with a lot more marines.’

‘Your Fist now, too, Badan Gruk.’

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He landed again, just short of the opposite timber wall this time, head ducking and shoulder seeming to barely brush the ground before he tumbled right over, touched one foot on a horizontal log and used it to twist round before landing balanced on the other foot now drawn tight beneath him. Facing the seven corpses he had just felled.

And facing two Malazan marines who, for once and just this once, had precisely nothing to say.

The marines of the 3rd and 4th Companies gathered in front of the tavern, stood or sat on the bloodstained cobbles of the main street. Wounds were tended to here and there, while others repaired armour or filed the nicks from sword edges.

Fiddler sat on the edge of a water trough near the hitching post to one side of the tavern entrance, taking stock. Since the coast, the three other squads of 4th Company had taken losses. Gone from Gesler’s squad were Sands and Uru Hela. From Hellian’s, Lutes and Tavos Pond, both of whom had died in this cursed village, while from Urb’s both Hanno and now Bowl were dead, and Saltlick had lost his left hand. Fiddler’s own squad had, thus far, come through unscathed, and that made him feel guilty. Like one of Hood’s minions, one in the row just the other side of the gate. Crow feathers in hand, or wilted roses, or sweetcakes, or any of the countless other gifts the dead were eager to hand their newly arrived kin-gods below, Smiles is turning me into another Kanese with all these absurd beliefs. Ain’t nobody waiting other side of Hood’s Gate, unless it’s to jeer.

The two sergeants from the 3rd came over. Badan Gruk, whom Fiddler had met earlier, and the Quon, Primly. They made an odd pair, but that was always the way, wasn’t it?

Primly gave Fiddler a strangely deferential nod. ‘We’re fine with this,’ he said.

‘With what?’

‘Your seniority, Fiddler. So, what do we do now?’

Grimacing, Fiddler looked away. ‘Any losses?’

‘From this scrap? No. Those Edur pulled out fast as hares in a kennel. A lot shakier than we’d expected.’

‘They don’t like the shield to shield fighting,’ Fiddler said, scratching at his filthy beard. ‘They’ll do it, aye, especially when they’ve got Letherii troops with them. But of late they dropped that tactic, since with our munitions we made it a costly one. No, they’ve been hunting us, ambushing us, driving us hard. Their traditional way of fighting, I’d guess.’

Primly grunted. ‘Driving you, you said. So, likely there’s a damned army waiting for us this side of Letheras. The anvil.’

‘Aye, which is why I think we should wait here a bit. It’s risky, I know, since the Edur might return and next time there might be a thousand of them.’

Badan Gruk’s thinned eyes grew yet thinner. ‘Hoping your Fist is going to catch up with a lot more marines.’

‘Your Fist now, too, Badan Gruk.’

A sharp nod, then a scowl. ‘We only got thrown into the mix because of the 4th’s losses at Y’Ghatan.’

‘The Adjunct keeps making changes,’ Primly said. ‘We don’t have Fists in charge of nothing but marines-not since Crust’s day-’

‘Well, we do now. We’re not in the Malazan Army any more, Primly.’

‘Yes, Fiddler, I’m aware of that.’

‘That’s my suggestion,’ Fiddler repeated. ‘Wait here for a while. Let our mages get some rest. And hope Keneb shows and hope he’s got more than a few dozen marines with him. Now, I’m not much for this seniority thing. I’d rather we sergeants just agreed on matters, so I’m not holding you to anything.’

‘Gesler agrees with you, Fiddler?’

Aye.’

‘What of Hellian and Urb?’

Fiddler laughed. ‘Tavern’s still wet, Primly.’

The sun had gone down, but no-one seemed eager to go anywhere. Traffic in and out of the tavern occurred whenever another cask needed bringing out. The tavern’s main room was a slaughterhouse no-one was inclined to stay in for very long.

Smiles walked over to where Koryk sat. ‘His name’s Skulldeath, if you can believe that.’

‘Who?’

‘Nice try. You know who. The one who could kill you with his big toe.’

‘Been thinking about that attack,’ Koryk said. ‘Only works if they’re not expecting it.’

Smiles snorted.

‘No, really. I see someone flying at me I cut him in half. It’s not like he can retreat or change his mind, is it?’

‘You’re an idiot,’ she said, then nudged him. ‘Hey, met your twin brother, too. His name is Vastly Blank and between you two I’d say he got all the brains.’