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‘What’s the point of it?’ Sinter asked.

‘Every squad has its own skills-we need to know what the others can do, and how they’re likely to do it. We work through all this and hopefully there won’t be any fatal surprises in a scrap.’Advertisement

After a moment, Sinter nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

Cord asked, ‘You’re expecting us to run into trouble any time soon, Fid? That what your deck told you? Has this trouble got a face?’

‘He’s not saying,’ said Gesler. ‘But it’s a fair guess that we’ll know it when we see it.’

‘Bolkando,’ suggested Badan Gruk. ‘That’s the rumour anyway.’

Fiddler nodded. ‘Aye, we might have a bump or two with them, unless the Burned Tears and the Perish slap them into submission first. The Saphii seem to be the only ones happy to have us pay a visit.’

‘It’s pretty isolated, ringed in mountains,’ said Cord, crossing his arms. ‘Probably starving for a few fresh faces, even ones as ugly as ours.’

‘Thing is, I don’t know if we’re even heading into Saphinand,’ Fiddler pointed out. ‘From the maps I’ve seen it’s well to the north of the obvious route across the Wastelands.’

Cord grunted. ‘Crossing any place named the Wastelands seems like a bad idea. What’s in this Kolanse anyway? What’s driving the Adjunct? Are we heading into another war to right some insult delivered on the Malazan Empire? Why not just leave it to Laseen-it’s not like we owe the Empress a damned thing.’

Fiddler sighed. ‘I’m not here to chew on the Adjunct’s motives, Cord. Speculation’s useless. We’re her army. Where she leads, we follow-’

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‘Why?’ Sinter almost barked the word. ‘Listen. Me and my sister half starved in a Letherii cell waiting on execution. Now, maybe the rest of you thought it was all fucking worth it taking down these Tiste Edur and their mad Emperor, but a lot of marines died and the rest of us are lucky to be here. If it wasn’t for that Beak you’d all be dead-but he’s gone. And so is Sinn. We got one High Mage and that’s it, and how good is he? Fiddler-can Quick Ben do what Beak did?’

Fiddler unstrapped his helm and drew it off. He scratched at his sweat-matted hair. ‘Quick Ben doesn’t work that way. Used to be he was more behind-the-scenes, but Hedge tells me it’s been different lately, maybe ever since Black Coral-’

‘Oh great,’ cut in Cord, ‘where the Bridgeburners were wiped out.’

‘That wasn’t his fault. Anyway, we all saw what he could do against the Edur mages off the coast of Seven Cities-he made them back down. And then, in Letheras, he chased off a damned dragon-’

‘I’m sure the cussers stuffed up its nose helped,’ Cord muttered.

Gesler grunted a sour laugh. ‘Well, Fid, Bridgeburner sergeants we ain’t, and I guess that’s pretty obvious. Can you imagine Whiskeyjack and Brackle and Picker and the rest moaning over every damned thing the way you got here? I can’t and I never even met them.’

Fiddler shrugged. ‘I wasn’t a sergeant back then, so I really can’t say. But something tells me they did plenty of chewing. Don’t forget from about Blackdog all the way down to Darujhistan somebody in the empire wanted them dead. Now, maybe they never had much to complain about when it came to Dujek Onearm, but at the same time it’s not like they knew what their High Fist was up to-it wasn’t their business.’

‘Even when that business killed soldiers?’ Sinter asked.

Fiddler’s laugh was harsh and cutting. ‘If that isn’t a commander’s business, what is? The Adjunct’s not our Hood-damned mother, Sinter. She’s the will behind the fist and we’re the fist. And sometimes we get bloodied, but that’s what comes when you’re hammering an enemy in the face.’

‘It’s all those teeth,’ added Gesler, ‘and I should know.’

But Sinter wasn’t letting go. ‘If we know what we’re getting into, we’ve got a better chance of surviving.’

Fiddler rose, his right hand slamming the helm on to the ground where it bounced and rolled into the firepit’s ashes. ‘Don’t you get it? Surviving isn’t what all this is about!’

As those words shot out bitter as a dying man’s spit, the gathered sergeants flinched back. Even Gesler’s eyes widened. The lizard took that moment to pull free and scamper away.

In the shocked silence Fiddler half-snarled and clawed at his beard, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. Hood’s breath, Fid-you’re a damned fool. You let her get to you. That look in her eyes-she’s no natural soldier-what in Fener’s name is she even doing here? And how many more like her are there in this army? pqdm.com