The cattle-dogs ringed them at a wary distance.
Duiker winced at a sudden yapping bark. Gods below, I didn't imagine it!
The historian and Nether rode up to halt near the restlessly circling dogs. One of the men beneath the awning, his face and forearms a strangely burnished bronze hue, rose from the coil of rope he'd been sitting on and stepped out.
The lapdog rushed him, then skidded to a halt, its barks ceasing. A ratty tail managed a fitful wag.
The man crouched down, picked up the dog and scratched it behind its mangy ears. He eyed the Wickans. 'So who else claims to be in charge of this scary herd?' he asked in Malazan.
'I am,' said Nether.
The man scowled. 'It figures,' he muttered.
Duiker frowned. There was something very familiar about these men. 'What does that mean?'
'Let's just say I've had my fill of imperious little girls. I'm Corporal Gesler and that's our ship, the Silanda.'
'Few would choose that name these days, Corporal,' the historian said.
'We ain't inviting a curse. This is the Silanda. We come on her ... somewhere far from here. So, are you what's left of them Wickans as landed in Hissar?'
Nether spoke. 'How did you come to be awaiting us, Corporal?'
'We didn't, lass. We was just outside Ubaryd Bay, only the city had already fallen and we saw more than one unfriendly sail about, so we holed up here, planning to make passage tonight. We decided to make for Aren—'
'Hood's breath!' Duiker exclaimed. 'You're the marines from the village! The night of the uprising ...'
Gesler scowled at the historian. 'You were the one with Kulp, weren't you—'
'Aye, it's him,' Stormy said, rising from his stool and approaching. 'Fener's hoof, never thought to see you again.'
'I imagine,' Duiker managed, 'you've a tale to tell.'
The veteran grinned. 'You got that right.'
Nether spoke, her eyes on the Silanda. 'Corporal Gesler, what's your complement?'
Three.'
'The ship's crew?'
'Dead.'
Had he not been so weary, the historian would have noted a certain dryness to that reply.
The eight hundred horsewarriors of the Foolish Dog Clan set up three corrals in the centre of the clearing, then began establishing perimeter defences. Scouts struck out through the stands to the west, returning almost immediately with the news that Korbolo Dom's advance outriders had arrived. Weapons were readied among an outer line of defenders, while the rest of the warriors continued the entrenchments.
Duiker dismounted near the awning, as did Nether. As Truth joined Stormy and Gesler outside the awning, Duiker saw that they all shared the same bronze cast to their skin. All three were beardless and their pates sported the short stubble of recent growth.
Despite the chorus of questions crowding his thoughts, the historian's eyes were drawn to the Silanda. 'You've no sails left, Corporal. Are you suggesting that the three of you man oars and rudder?'
Gesler turned to Stormy. 'Ready weapons – these Wickans are already worn down to the bone. Truth, to the dory – we may need to yank our arses out of here fast.' He swung back to study the historian. 'Silanda goes on her own, y'might say – I doubt we got time to explain, though. This ragtag mess of Wickans are face to face with a last stand, from the looks of it – we might be able to take a hundred or so, if you ain't fussy about the company you'd be in—'
'Corporal,' Duiker snapped. 'This “ragtag mess” is part of the Seventh. You are Marines—'
'Coastal. Remember? We ain't officially in the Seventh and I don't care if you was Kulp's long-lost brother, if you're of a mind to use that tone on me, you'd better start telling me about the tragic loss of your uniform and maybe I'll buy the song and start callin' you “sir” or maybe I won't and you'll get your nose busted flat.'
Duiker blinked – I seem to recall we've gone through something like this once before – then continued slowly, 'You are Marines and Fist Coltaine might well be interested in your story, and as Imperial Historian so am I. The Coastal detachments were headquartered in Sialk, meaning Captain Lull is your commander. No doubt he too will want to hear your report. Finally, the rest of the Seventh and two additional Wickan clans are on their way here, along with close to forty-five thousand refugees. Gentlemen, wherever you came from to get here, here you are, meaning you are back in the Imperial Army.'