‘Shows what you know. I got rapport. They’ll be at my back when I go for you.’
Keneb glanced over, brows lifting. ‘Rapport? You’re a joke, Blistig. You’re their joke. Now get out of my face-’
‘Not a chance. I’m off to talk with the Adjunct.’
‘Talk? About what?’
‘My business.’
They drew closer to a cordon of soldiers. That ring parted as they rode in. Within the circle waited an ominous gathering. Keneb saw Tavore and Yil along with Quick Ben, Fiddler and Bottle. His gaze then found the destroyed tent. That doesn’t look good. He reined in, dismounted. A soldier from the Eighteenth Squad came forward and took the reins. ‘Thank you, Corporal Rib.’ Keneb paused. ‘Think we still need this cordon?’
‘Only the inner ring’s doing that, Fist,’ Rib replied. ‘The rest are just gawking.’
‘Get me your sergeant,’ Keneb said.
‘Aye, sir.’
Smirking, Blistig moved past, heading for the Adjunct.
The Eighteenth’s sergeant pushed through. ‘Fist. Bad news, this.’
‘So I hear, Gaunt-Eye. Now, round up the other sergeants all these soldiers belong to. I want them out of here. I want them all getting ready for the day’s march. Tell them if I look up in a hundred heartbeats and still see this mob, Hood’s heel is coming down. Am I understood, Sergeant?’
The Genabackan blinked. ‘Aye, Fist.’ He saluted and then plunged back into the crowd. Almost at once, he started barking orders.
Corporal Rib grinned. ‘He don’t need the other sergeants, Fist. I ain’t never known a meaner sergeant.’
‘Carry on, Corporal.’
‘Aye, Fist.’
Keneb walked over to the motley gathering-these damned all-too-familiar faces, the miserable expressions, the Adjunct’s flat eyes and thin, straight mouth as she stood listening to whatever Blistig was saying. As Keneb reached them Tavore lifted a gauntleted hand, cutting Blistig off.
‘Fist Blistig,’ she said, ‘is this the time to petition for an increase in the rum ration?’
‘Adjunct, the Eighth Legion may be about to crumble. I’m just wanting to make sure my own legion-’
‘That will be enough, Blistig. Return to your legion immediately.’
‘Very well, Adjunct. Still, who’d have thought those two would desert.’ He saluted and was forced to hold it while Tavore stood motionless, her regard level and lifeless. As the moment grew uncomfortable, the Adjunct returned the salute, converting it into a dismissive gesture-as if brushing lint from her cloak.
Face paling, Blistig wheeled and marched back to his horse, only to find that the animal had wandered off-no one had taken the reins from him.
As he hesitated, Keneb grunted and said, ‘Rapport, aye.’
‘Not my legion,’ he snapped. ‘You might want a word or two about courtesy with your soldiers, Keneb.’
‘The Malazan military demands courtesy first and expects respect to follow. Lose respect and the courtesy usually goes with it.’
‘Remember, I’ll be looking for you.’
‘Best find your horse first, Blistig.’
The Adjunct gestured Keneb over.
‘Fist. Our camp security seems to have been breached.’
‘They are truly missing, Adjunct?’
She nodded.
‘I cannot see how anyone managed to penetrate this deep into our camp,’ Keneb said. ‘Unless they were our own-but then, where are the bodies? I don’t understand this, Adjunct.’
‘The High Mage suggests the attacker was a Shi’gal K’Chain Che’Malle.’
‘A what?’
‘Sometimes,’ Quick Ben said, ‘those ones grow wings. They’re the Matron’s own assassins, Fist. And one dropped down out of the night and stole them both.’
‘To do what with them? Eat them? Why did neither man make a sound?’
‘They were selected,’ said the High Mage, ‘and no, I have no idea why.’
Keneb struggled to make sense of all this. He glanced at Fiddler. The sergeant looked miserable. Well, nothing new there. ‘Gesler and Stormy,’ he slowly ventured, ‘were anything but average marines.’
‘As close to ascendants,’ said Quick Ben, ‘as anyone in this army.’
‘Will this winged assassin come back for more of us?’ Keneb asked, offering the question to any one of the five soldiers standing opposite him.
Fiddler grunted. ‘Damn, that’s the first time the question’s come up-you got a point. Why stop with just them?’