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He stepped outside, straightening . ‘ I know not .’

Picker turned to face the city. Many troubles there. Perhaps at last they had begun to settle. But … all that boiled beneath the surface, well, that never went away . ‘ Do you know how to get there? ’Advertisement

He eyed her . ‘ I know how to get there .’

She drew a deep breath – she could hear movement inside the hut behind the giant. Picker lifted her gaze until it locked with the Toblakai’s . ‘ I call upon the vow you made long ago, Karsa Orlong of the Teblor. When you walk to where you must go, a crippled priest will find you. In the street, a broken man, a beggar, and he will speak to you. And by his words, you shall understand .’

‘ I already understand, Malazan .’

‘ Karsa —’

‘ There are too many gods of war .’ And then he took up his sword, and inside the hut a woman began weeping . ‘ And not one of them understands the truth .’

‘ Karsa —’

His teeth were bared as he said , ‘ When it comes to war, woman, who needs gods? ’

She watched as he set off. And under her breath she whispered , ‘ Darujhistan, I beg you, do not get in this man’s way .’

Dust roiled over the distant encampment. Squinting, Paran took another bite of the alien fruit his foragers had found, and wiped at the juices dribbling down into his beard.

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‘That is not helping, High Fist.’

He glanced over. Ormulogun was scratching desperately on a bleached board with his willow charcoal stick. At his feet squatted a fat toad, watching his efforts with gimlet eyes.

‘Nothing will help that,’ the toad sighed.

‘Posterity!’ snapped the Imperial Artist.

‘Posterity my ass,’ Gumble replied. ‘Oh, was that not droll of me? Critics are never appreciated for what they truly are.’

‘What? Leeches sucking on the talent of others, you mean?’

‘It is my objectivity that you so envy, Ormulogun.’

‘And you,’ the artist muttered, ‘can stick that objectivity up your posterity, toad.’

Paran took a last bite of the fruit, examined the furry pit, and then flung it over the wall. He wiped his hands on his thighs and turned. ‘Fist Rythe Bude.’

The woman was leaning out over a parapet. She straightened. ‘Sir?’

‘Assemble the companies at their stations. It’s time.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Lounging nearby, Noto Boil drew the fish spine from between his front teeth and stepped forward. ‘Is it truly?’

‘Weapons,’ said Paran. ‘Kept hidden away. But there comes a time, Noto, when they must be unsheathed. A time, in fact, to put proof to the pretensions.’ He eyed the cutter. ‘The gods have been kicking us around for a long time. When do we say enough ?’

‘And in their absence, High Fist, will we manage things any better?’

‘No,’ Paran said, walking past him, ‘but at least then we won’t have the option of blaming someone else.’

Sister Belie scanned the distant walls. Suddenly, not a soldier in sight. ‘They’ve quit,’ she said. ‘Now, the question is, do they leave the way they came, or do they march out from the gate – or what’s left of it – and try to break the siege?’

Standing beside her, Watered Exigent glanced back at the camp. ‘If the latter, Sister, then we are, perhaps, in trouble.’

Sister Belie pretended not to hear him. If his seed of doubt thirsted for water, he would have to find it elsewhere. Another week. That is all we need. And then Brother Serenity will be here, with five thousand heavily armoured foreigners . The besieging forces were damaged – that last assault had been brutal. She was down to half strength. Her hold on them was fragile, and this was not a familiar feeling.

‘I see no movement at the gate, Sister Belie.’

There was a barrier to dismantle, and that would take time. But … I feel it. They’re coming for us . ‘Assemble the companies, Exigent. That gate is the bottleneck. If we can lock them there, we hold them until they’re exhausted, too mauled to force the issue.’

‘And if they break us instead?’

She turned, studied him. ‘Do you doubt the power of my will? Do you imagine that this Master of the Deck can manage anything more than fending me off? I will not yield, Exigent. Understand that. And if it means that every single one of our Shriven – and every single one of their Watered commanders – ends up a corpse on the field, then so be it.’ pqdm.com