'I know. But Leoman must have mages, and night will not hide sappers from them.'
'They can be countered,' Gall retorted. 'It's what our mages are for.
But we waste our breaths with such things. The Adjunct will do as she chooses.'
Keneb faced right and studied the vast encampment of the Fourteenth Army, arrayed to fend off a sortie, should Leoman prove so foolish.
The investiture would be a careful, measured exercise, conducted over two or three days. The range of the Malazan ballistae on the walls was well known, so there would be no surprises there. Even so, encirclement would stretch their lines appallingly thin. They would need advance emplacements to keep an eye on the gates, and Temul's Wickans and Seti, as well as Gall's Khundryl horse-warriors, divided into companies and positioned to respond should Leoman surprise them.
The Fist shook his head. 'This is what I do not understand. Admiral Nok's fleet is even now sailing for Lothal with five thousand marines on board, and once Dujek forces the last city to capitulate he will begin a fast march to join us. Leoman must know his position is hopeless. He cannot win, even should he maul us. We will still be able to keep this noose knotted tight round Y'Ghatan, whilst we wait for reinforcements. He is finished. So why does he continue to resist?'
'Aye,' said Gall. 'He should have carried on riding west, out into the odhan. We would never have caught him out there, and he could begin rebuilding, drawing warriors to his cause.'
Keneb glanced over. 'So, Warleader, you are as nervous about this as I am.'
'He means to bleed us, Keneb. Before he falls, he means to bleed us.'
A rough gesture. 'More barrows to ring this cursed city. And he will die fighting, and so will become yet another martyr.'
'So, the killing of Malazans is sufficient cause to fight. What have we done to deserve this?'
'Wounded pride,' Temul said. 'It is one thing to suffer defeat on a field of battle, it is another to be crushed when your foe has no need even to draw a sword.'
'Humiliated in Raraku,' Gall said, nodding. 'The growing cancer in their souls. This cannot be carved out. The Malazans must be made to know pain.'
'That is ridiculous,' Keneb said. 'Was not the Chain of Dogs glory enough for the bastards?'
'The first casualty among the defeated is recalling their own list of crimes, Fist,' Temul said.
Keneb studied the young man. The foundling Grub was often in Temul's company, and among the strange lad's disordered host of peculiar observations, Grub had hinted of glory, or perhaps infamy, bound to Temul's future. Of course, that future could be tomorrow. Besides, Grub might be no more than a brain-addled waif… all right, I don't believe that – he seems to know too much. If only half the things he said made any sense… Well, in any case, Temul still managed to startle Keneb with statements more suited to some veteran campaigner.
'Very well, Fist Temul. What would you do, were you in Leoman's place?'
Silence, then a quick look at Keneb, something like surprise in Temul' s angular features. A moment later the expressionless mask returned, and he shrugged.
'Coltaine walks in your shadow, Temul,' Gall said, running his fingers down his own face as if to mimic the tears tattooed there. 'I see him, again and again-'
'No, Gall. I have told you before. You see naught but the ways of the Wickans; all else is but your imagination. Coltaine sent me away; it is not to me that he will return.'
He haunts you still, Temul. Coltaine sent you with Duiker to keep you alive, not to punish or shame you. Why won't you accept that? 'I have seen plenty of Wickans,' Gall said in a growl.
This had the sound of an old argument. Sighing, Keneb walked over to his horse. 'Any last words for the Adjunct? Either of you? No? Very well.' He swung up into the saddle and gathered the reins.
The cattle-dog Bent watched him with its sand-coloured, dead eyes.
Nearby, Roach had found a bone and was lying sprawled on its belly, legs spread out as it gnawed with the mindless concentration unique to dogs.
Halfway down the slope, Keneb realized where that bone had likely come from. A kick, all right, hard enough to send that rat straight through Hood's Gate.
Corporal Deadsmell, Throatslitter and Widdershins were sitting round a game of Troughs, black stones bouncing off the rudder and rolling in the cups, as Bottle walked up.
'Where's your sergeant?' he asked.
Deadsmell glanced up, then back down. 'Mixing paint.'
'Paint? What kind of paint?'