going to be taken. Used to feed the Dying God.'
'Not if we take 'em first.'
'Take them? Where?'
Spindle bared his teeth, and only now did Monkrat comprehend the barely restrained fury in the man facing him. 'Where? How about away? Does that sound too complicated for you? Maybe those hills west of here, in the woods. You said it was all coming down. If we leave 'em they'll all die, and I won't have it.'
Monkrat scratched at his beard. 'Now ain't that admirable of you, but—'
The hard angled point of a shortsword pressed the soft flesh below Monkrat's chin. He scowled. The bastard was fast, all right, and old Monkrat was losing his edge.
'Now,' hissed Spindle, 'you either follow Gredithick around—'
'Gradithan.'
'Whatever. You either follow him like a pup, or you start helping me round up the runts still alive.'
'You're giving me a choice?'
'Kind of. If you say you want to be a pup, then I'll saw off your head, as clumsily as I can.'
Monkrat hesitated.
Spindle's eyes widened. 'You're in a bad way, soldier—' 'I ain't a soldier no more.'
'Maybe that's your problem. You've forgotten things.
Important things.'
'Such as?'
Spindle grimaced, as if searching for the right words, and Monkrat saw in his mind a quick image of a three-legged dog chasing rabbits in a field. 'Fine,' Spindle finally said in a grating tone. 'It had to have happened to you at least once. You and your squad, you come into some rotten foul village or hamlet. You come to buy food or maybe get your tack fixed, clothes mended, whatever. But you ain't there to kill nobody. And so you get into a few conversations. In the tavern. The smithy. With the whores. And they start talking. About injustices. Bastard landholders, local bullies, shit-grinning small-time tyrants. The usual crap. The corruption and all that. You know what I'm talking about, Monkrat?'
'Sure.'
'So what did you do?'
'We hunted the scum down and flayed their arses. Sometimes we even strung 'em up.'
Spindle nodded. 'You did justice, is what you did. It's what a soldier can do, when there's nobody else. We got swords, we got armour, we got all we need to terrorize anybody we damned well please. But Dassem taught us – he taught every soldier in the Malazan armies back then. Sure, we had swords, but who we used 'em on was up to us.' The point of the shortsword fell away. 'We was soldiers, Monkrat. We had the chance – the privilege – of doing the right thing.'
'I deserted—'
'And I was forced into retirement. Neither one changes what we were.'
'That's where you're wrong.'
'Then listen to this.' The shortsword pressed against his throat again. 'I can still deliver justice, and if need be I'll do it right now and right here. By cutting a coward's head off.'
'Don't talk to me about cowardice!' Monkrat snapped. 'Soldiers don't talk that ever! You just broke the first rule!' 'Someone turns his back on being a soldier – on what it means in the soul – that's cowardice. You don't like the word, don't live it.'
Monkrat stared into the man's eyes, and hated what he saw there. He sagged. 'Best get on with it then, Spin. I got nothing left. I'm used up. What do you do when the soldier inside you dies before you do? Tell me.'
'You go through the motions, Monkrat. You just follow me. Do as I do. We start there and worry about the rest later.'
Monkrat realized that Spindle was still waiting. 'Do what's right,' Dassem told us. Gods, even after all this time he still remembered the First Sword's words. 'That's a higher law than the command of any officer. Higher even than the Emperor's own words. You are in a damned uniform but that's not a licence to deliver terror to everyone – just the enemy soldier you happen to be facing. Do what is right, for that armour you wear doesn't just protect your flesh and bone. It defends honour. It defends integrity. It defends justice. Soldiers, heed me well. That armour defends humanity. And when I look upon my soldiers, when I see these uniforms, I see compassion and truth. The moment those virtues fail, then the gods help you, for no armour is strong enough to save you.'
'All right, Spin. I'll follow you.'
A sharp nod. 'Dassem, he'd be proud. And not surprised, no, not surprised at all.'
'We have to watch out for Gradithan – he wants those virgins. He wants their blood, for when the Dying God arrives.'
'Yeah? Well,