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Gamet glanced at the man. ‘Is it worth making a study of it, Captain?’
Keneb started, then half smiled, adding a strangely despondent shrug. ‘That particular dialogue spoke of the rebellion and only the rebellion-for months and months before it finally happened. Had we bothered to read those signs, Fist, we could have been better prepared.’
They had drawn up behind the Adjunct and the two Wickans. At Keneb’s words, Tavore turned her horse round and faced the captain. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘knowledge is not enough.’
‘Your pardon, Adjunct,’ Keneb said.
Tavore fixed her flat gaze on Gamet. ‘Bring forward the marines, Fist. We will require sappers and munitions. We shall cross a ford, not a bridge of detritus held in place by blood.’
‘Aye, Adjunct. Captain, if you will join me…’
They pulled their horses round and made their way back up the slope. Glancing over at Keneb, Gamet saw that the man was grinning. ‘What amuses you, Captain?’
‘Munitions, sir. The sappers will weep.’
‘So long as they don’t destroy the ford itself, I will be glad to give them comforting hugs.’
‘I wouldn’t let them hear a promise like that, sir.’
‘No, I suppose you’re right.’
They reached the front ranks of the 10th Legion and Gamet waved a messenger over. As the rider approached, Fist Tene Baralta joined the woman and the two arrived together.
‘Sappers?’ the Red Blade asked.
Gamet nodded. ‘Aye.’
Tene Baralta nodded and said to the messenger, ‘Take word to the marine lieutenants. The Adjunct requires some demolition. Immediately.’
‘Aye, sir,’ she replied, wheeling her horse round.
They watched her canter back along the line, then the Red Blade faced Gamet. ‘They will see it as an insult. This bridge of blood is intended as a blessing.’
‘She knows that, Tene Baralta,’ Gamet replied. ‘But the footing is far too treacherous. That should be obvious, even to our hidden observers.’
The large man shrugged, armour clanking with the motion. ‘Perhaps a quiet word to Gall of the Khundryl, a rider sent out to find those observers, to ensure that no misunderstanding occurs.’
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Gamet glanced at the man. ‘Is it worth making a study of it, Captain?’
Keneb started, then half smiled, adding a strangely despondent shrug. ‘That particular dialogue spoke of the rebellion and only the rebellion-for months and months before it finally happened. Had we bothered to read those signs, Fist, we could have been better prepared.’
They had drawn up behind the Adjunct and the two Wickans. At Keneb’s words, Tavore turned her horse round and faced the captain. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘knowledge is not enough.’
‘Your pardon, Adjunct,’ Keneb said.
Tavore fixed her flat gaze on Gamet. ‘Bring forward the marines, Fist. We will require sappers and munitions. We shall cross a ford, not a bridge of detritus held in place by blood.’
‘Aye, Adjunct. Captain, if you will join me…’
They pulled their horses round and made their way back up the slope. Glancing over at Keneb, Gamet saw that the man was grinning. ‘What amuses you, Captain?’
‘Munitions, sir. The sappers will weep.’
‘So long as they don’t destroy the ford itself, I will be glad to give them comforting hugs.’
‘I wouldn’t let them hear a promise like that, sir.’
‘No, I suppose you’re right.’
They reached the front ranks of the 10th Legion and Gamet waved a messenger over. As the rider approached, Fist Tene Baralta joined the woman and the two arrived together.
‘Sappers?’ the Red Blade asked.
Gamet nodded. ‘Aye.’
Tene Baralta nodded and said to the messenger, ‘Take word to the marine lieutenants. The Adjunct requires some demolition. Immediately.’
‘Aye, sir,’ she replied, wheeling her horse round.
They watched her canter back along the line, then the Red Blade faced Gamet. ‘They will see it as an insult. This bridge of blood is intended as a blessing.’
‘She knows that, Tene Baralta,’ Gamet replied. ‘But the footing is far too treacherous. That should be obvious, even to our hidden observers.’
The large man shrugged, armour clanking with the motion. ‘Perhaps a quiet word to Gall of the Khundryl, a rider sent out to find those observers, to ensure that no misunderstanding occurs.’
‘A good suggestion,’ Gamet replied.
‘I shall see to it, then.’
The Red Blade rode off.
‘Forgive me if I am too forward, Fist,’ Keneb murmured, ‘but what just occurred strikes me as the very thing that the Adjunct would dislike most.’
‘Do you believe she dislikes initiative among her officers, Captain?’
‘I wouldn’t presume-’
‘You just did.’
‘Ah, well, I see your point. My apologies, Fist.’
‘Never apologize when you’re right, Keneb. Wait here for the squads.’ He set off down to where the Adjunct still sat astride her horse at the shoreline.
Nil and Nether had dismounted and were now kneeling, heads bowed, in the muddy water.
Gamet could see, upon arriving, Tavore’s tightly bridled anger. Aye, they cling still to the chains, and it seems letting go is the last thing they would do… given the choice. Well, I was the one who mentioned initiative . ‘I see the children are playing in the mud, Adjunct.’
Her head snapped round and her eyes narrowed.
Gamet went on, ‘I advise we assign a minder for them, lest they injure themselves in their exuberance. After all, Adjunct, I doubt the Empress intended you to mother them, did she?’
‘Well, no,’ she drawled after a moment. ‘They were to be my mages.’
‘Aye, so I wonder, have you instructed them to commune with the ghosts? Do they seek to appease the river spirits?’
‘No, again, Fist. In truth, I have no idea what they’re doing.’
‘I am of the opinion that you are proving far too permissive a mother, Adjunct.’
‘Indeed. Then I give you leave to act in my stead, Fist.’
There was no way Nil and Nether were uncognizant of the conversation behind them, but neither altered their position. With a loud sigh, Gamet dismounted and walked to the muddy waterline.
Then reached down and closed a hand on their hide shirts, just behind their necks, and yanked the two Wickans upright.
Loud squeals, then hissing fury as the Fist shook them both for a moment, then turned them round until they faced the Adjunct. ‘This is what a Wickan grandmother would have done. I know, somewhat harsher than is the Malazan style of parenting. Then again, these two children are not Malazan, are they?’ He set them down.
