Dust of Dreams: Book Nine of The Malazan Book of the Fallen - By Steven Erikson Page 0,123

she was the corporal. And this was a perfect example. If she was corporal, it’d be Tarr doing this climb and that was a fact.

Koryk heard her coming and worked his way down to meet her. ‘No column, huh?’

‘No, how’d you guess?’

‘Didn’t have to. I waited. And . . . no column.’

They descended the slope side by side to where Tarr waited.

‘We lost the enemy, Corporal?’

‘Something like that, Koryk. And now the Fist’s got us on the move—we’re going to be buggered trying catch-up, too. He’s now thinking we’ve stuck our heads in a wasp nest.’

‘These Letherii couldn’t turn an ambush on us,’ Koryk pronounced. ‘We would’ve sniffed it out by now.’

‘But we didn’t,’ Smiles pointed out. ‘We been flushed, Koryk.’

‘Lazy,’ pronounced Tarr. ‘Overconfident. Fiddler was right.’

‘Of course he was,’ said Smiles. ‘He’s Fiddler. It’s always the problem, the people in charge never listen to the people in the know. It’s like two different worlds, two different languages.’

She stopped when she noticed both men looking at her. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ said Tarr, ‘except, well, that was a sharp observation there, Smiles.’

‘Oh, and did that shock you two?’

‘Shocked me,’ admitted Koryk.

She scowled at him.

But secretly, she was pleased. That’s right. I ain’t the fool you think I am. I ain’t the fool nobody thinks I am. Everybody, I mean. Well, they’re the real fools, anyway.

They hurried on, but long before they caught up to the company, it was all over.

The Letherii ambush caught Keneb’s mob coming down a forested slope that funnelled before reaching the basin. Enemy ranks rose up on both sides from fast-dug foxholes and loosed a few hundred un-fletched arrows with soft clay balls instead of barbed iron points. If the flights had been real, half the Malazans would have been downed, dead or wounded. A few more salvos and most of the rest would be out of commission.

Brys Beddict made an appearance in the midst of Letherii catcalls and cheering, walking up to Fist Keneb and painting with one dripping finger a red slash across his boiled-leather cuirass.

‘Sorry, Fist, but you have just been wiped out.’

‘Indeed, Commander,’ Keneb acknowledged. ‘Three hundred dead Bonehunters, cut down in a pocket. Very well done, although I suspect it highlights a lesson as yet undiscovered.’

The smile on Brys’s face faded slightly. ‘Fist? I’m afraid I don’t understand you.’

‘Sometimes, one’s tactics must prove brutal in the execution, Commander. Especially when the timing’s off and nothing can be done for it.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Horns sounded suddenly, from the ridge lines beyond the Letherii units—on all sides, in fact.

Keneb said, ‘Three hundred dead Bonehunters, Commander, and eight hundred dead Letherii, including their supreme commander. Not an ideal exchange for either side, but in a war, probably one the Adjunct could stomach.’

Brys sighed, his expression wry. ‘Lesson delivered, Fist Keneb. My compliments to the Adjunct.’

At that moment, Fiddler walked up to them. ‘Fist, you owe me and my squad two nights’ leave, sir.’

Keneb grinned at Brys Beddict. ‘As much as the Adjunct would appreciate the compliments, Commander, they in fact belong to this sergeant here.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘That’s another lesson to mull over,’ Keneb said, ‘the one about listening to your veterans, regardless of rank.’

‘Well,’ mused Brys, ‘I may have to go hunting for my few surviving veterans, then. None the less, Fist, the sacrifice of three hundred of your soldiers strikes me as a loss you can ill afford, regardless of the battle’s outcome.’

‘True. Hence my comment about timing, Commander. I sent a rider to Fist Blistig but we could not respond in time to your ambush. Obviously, I would rather have avoided all contact with your troops. But since I know we’d all prefer to sleep in real beds tonight, I thought it more instructive to invite the engagement. Now,’ he added, smiling, ‘we can all march back to Letheras.’

Brys drew out a handkerchief, wetted it from his canteen, and then stepped up to Fist Keneb, and carefully cleaned off the streak of red paint.

Captain Faradan Sort entered Kindly’s office to find her counterpart standing to one side of his desk and staring down at an enormous mound of what looked like hair heaped on the desktop.

‘Gods below, what is that?’

Kindly glanced over. ‘What does it look like?’

‘Hair.’

‘Correct. Animal hair, as best as I can determine. A variety of domestic beasts.’

‘It reeks. What is it doing on your desk?’

‘Good question. Tell me, was Lieutenant Pores in the outer office?’

She shook her head. ‘No one there, I’m afraid.’

He grunted. ‘Hiding, I expect.’

‘I doubt he’d do something like this, Kindly—’

‘Oh,