Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(150)

‘Neither do you dissuade me.’

‘That is not for me to decide. Each of us possesses a Wyrd – a fate – and nothing we do can undo it.’

Jethiss thought about this while the birds roosted overhead, cooing and fluffing their feathers, and the rain pattered, hissing. He answered, musingly, ‘You think everything is foreordained?’

‘No. I believe we follow our natures. That our natures determine the choices we make. In short … we do it to ourselves. There is no one else to blame.’

‘Not even the gods?’

Fisher threw back the last of his wine, sucked his teeth. ‘The gods are determined by our natures. But if you decide to quibble them down to nothing more than mere causation – then why have them at all?’

‘Things happen regardless?’

‘It is a logical deduction.’

The Andii nodded, sleepily. ‘I suppose some other justification would have to be found, then, for their existence.’

‘I suppose so.’

Jethiss pushed himself to his feet. ‘Well, there you have it. The world’s troubles sorted out over a cask of wine.’

Fisher smiled fondly. ‘A nightly ritual.’

‘I am off to find some bedding.’

‘Good night.’

Fisher sat alone in the amber glow of the dying embers. He listened to the rain pattering and wished the night would whisper an answer to the quandary he faced. To survive, these Icebloods – we Icebloods – must retreat north, ever higher. Yet, if the legends and tales were to be believed, a peril far greater than any human invasion slumbered there. A threat to all, no matter what breed or kind.

What was he to do? He listened again, intently, but the night seemed only to sigh. He answered the whisper with a sigh of his own.

* * *

Kyle entered the sprawling besiegers’ camp wrapped in a ragged dirty cloak with its hood raised, a battered shortsword beneath at his side and dirks at his belt. The white blade he now carried wrapped in leathers and firmly tucked in his shirt. No one challenged him as he came walking in from the west, no picket or posted guard, and this alone convinced him that this mob was doomed to failure.

It was a bright and lingering twilight, the sky a beautiful shade of purple. He stopped where a gang of fortune-hunters, now soldiers – of a kind – lingered beneath the awning of a tent. ‘I’m looking for the Shieldmaiden,’ he said.

‘Who isn’t?’ answered one, and took hold of an imaginary set of hips before him. ‘This time of night, hey?’ Kyle ignored him and continued east, as the man’s gaze had flicked in that direction when he’d spoken. ‘Hey!’ the fellow called. ‘Where’re you from?’

‘Cordafin,’ he called back.

‘Where’s that?’

Kyle kept walking. How the f*ck should I know? I just made it up.

He continued round the broad arc of the camp. There were enough of them, he decided. But they had to be kicked into shape. Was Lyan the one to do it? He found one larger tent, a possible command tent. It at least was guarded, and almost entirely by Genabackans. This convinced him. As he’d thought; they’d recognized her. He approached the guards before the closed flap.

‘I’d like to speak to the Shieldmaiden.’

The guards, two burly veterans, exchanged annoyed looks. ‘You can’t just saunter up and meet a commander,’ one said. ‘You look like a veteran, you should know that. Chain of command. Who’s your sergeant?’

Inwardly, Kyle cursed. ‘I just arrived.’

‘Thought she’d welcome you personally?’ another commented with a sneer.

‘You know her or something?’ the first demanded.

‘We’ve … met.’

‘When?’

Kyle licked his lips. This was rapidly degenerating and now he couldn’t just walk away. ‘On the … the passage in.’

The first grunted. ‘Congratulations. That’s nice.’ He straightened, pointed off. ‘You just arrived? See that big house, the one with two storeys?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to join, you go sign up there.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

‘You Malazan?’ the second asked.

Kyle managed a scowl. ‘What d’you mean, Malazan? I’m from Jasston.’

‘Jasston? Where the Abyss is that?’

‘Korel.’

This second guard grunted, only slightly mollified. ‘There’s a guy here from Theft. You know Theft?’

Kyle struggled to appear indifferent, shrugged. ‘Yeah. Why?’

‘’Cause you don’t look nothing like him.’

Kyle gave a negligent wave then ended the gesture by tucking his hand into his shirt where he took hold of the grip of the white blade. ‘That’s because Theftians look like rats.’

The guard blinked, then they all broke into huge guffaws. Kyle allowed himself a tight grin. After the guards stopped chortling the first looked to him and frowned. ‘Well? Why’re you still here? Go sign your papers.’

Kyle gave a curt nod, then forced himself to amble off. As he walked away, he heard one say, ‘That Theftian did kinda look like a rat …’

He took care to walk in the direction of the two-storey frame and plaster daub house for a time, then, when he was certain he must be out of sight, he cut to the south and lost himself amid a maze of pitched tents. He had no intention of signing anything. So far no one had pointed him out directly as having quite a resemblance to the southern tribes of this region, but he wasn’t about to push his luck.