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

Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7) Page 273

‘I know, Sergeant. You lost one in that fight, didn’t you?’

‘Hanno.’

‘Got careless,’ Hellian said.

Urb frowned, then nodded. Aye, that’s true.’

‘Then let us hope that one hard lesson is enough,’ the captain said.

‘Expect it is,’ Urb confirmed.

Faradan Sort faced Beak. ‘Tell them about the Holds, Beak.’

He flinched, then sighed and said, ‘Letherii mages-they might be able to find us by the horses, by smelling them out, I mean.’

‘Balgrid’s covering our trail,’ Urb said. ‘Are you saying it won’t work?’

‘Might be,’ Beak said. ‘Necromancy’s one thing they can’t figure. Not Letherii. Not Tiste Edur. But there’s a Beast Hold, you see.’

Hellian withdrew a flask and drank down a mouthful, then said, ‘We need to know for certain. Next time, Urb, we get us one of them Letherii mages alive. We ask some questions, and in between the screams we get answers.’

Beak shivered. Not just drunk but bloodthirsty, too.

‘Be careful,’ the captain said. ‘That could go sour very quickly.’

‘We know all about careful, sir,’ Hellian said with a bleary smile.

Faradan Sort studied the sergeant the way she sometimes studied Beak himself, then she said, ‘We’re done. Slow down some, and watch out for small patrols-they might be bait.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘We’re in this, now. Understand?’

‘No rafts?’

‘No rafts, Hellian.’

‘Good. If’n I never see another sea I’m going to die happy.’

She would, too, Beak knew. Die happy. She had that going for her.

‘Back to your squads,’ the captain said. ‘Set your nervous soldiers at ease.’

‘It’s not the smell,’ Beak said.

The others turned inquiringly.

‘That’s not what’s making them nervous, I mean,’ Beak explained. ‘The death smell-they’re carrying all that with them, right? So they’re used to it now. They’re only nervous because they’ve been sitting around too long. In one place. That’s all.’

‘Then let us not waste any more time,’ Faradan Sort said.

Good idea. That was why she was a captain, of course. Smart enough to make her ways of thinking a mystery to him-but that was one mystery he was happy enough with. Maybe the only one.

They flung themselves down at the forest’s edge. Edge, aye-too many damned edges. Beyond was a patchwork of farmland and hedgerows. Two small farms were visible, although no lantern-or candle-light showed through the tiny, shuttered windows. Heart pounding painfully in his chest, Fiddler rolled onto his side to see how many had made it. A chorus of harsh breaths from the scatter of bodies in the gloom to either side of the sergeant. All there. Thanks to Corabb and the desert warrior’s impossible luck.

The ambush had been a clever one, he admitted. Should have taken them all down. Instead, half a league back, in a small grassy glade, there was the carcass of a deer-a deer that Corabb had inadvertently flushed out-with about twenty arrows in it. Cleverly planned, poorly executed.

The Malazans had quickly turned it. Sharpers cracking in the night, crossbows thudding, the flit of quarrels and the punch of impact. Shrieks of agony. A rush from Gesler’s heavies had broken one side of the ambush-

And then the sorcery had churned awake, something raw and terrible, devouring trees like acid. Grey tongues of chaotic fire, heaving into a kind of standing wave. Charging forward, engulfing Sands-his scream had been mercifully short. Fiddler, not ten paces away from where Sands had vanished, saw the Letherii mage, who seemed to be screaming with his own pain, even as the wave hurled forward. Bellowing, he’d swung his crossbow round, felt the kick in his hands as he loosed the heavy quarrel.

The cusser had struck a bole just above and behind the mage’s head. The explosion flattened nearby trees, shredded a score of Letherii soldiers. Snuffed the sorcery out in an instant. As more trees toppled, branches thrashing down, the Malazans had pulled back, fast, and then they ran.

Movement from Fiddler’s left and a moment later Gesler dragged himself up alongside. ‘Hood’s damned us all, Fid. We’re running out of forest-how’s Cuttle?’

‘Arrow’s deep,’ Fiddler replied, ‘but not a bleeder. We can dig it out when we get a chance.’

‘Think they’re tracking us?’

Fiddler shook his head. He had no idea. If there were enough of them left. He twisted round. ‘Bottle,’ he hissed, ‘over here.’