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‘For my sacrifices. Well, that is odd indeed, since he did not think much of me before my… rebirth. Which particular loss does he mark?’
‘I could not say-you will have to ask him that, I’m afraid.’
‘Your friendship had not progressed to the point of an exchange of confessions, then.’
He said nothing to that. Well, no, he couldn’t. For that would acknowledge he has something to confess .
She swung her gaze from him and turned once more to regard the potential field of battle. I can envision the armies arrayed, yes. But then what? How are they moved? What is possible and what is impossible? Goddess, you have no answer to such questions. They are beneath you. Your power is your will, and that alone. But, dear Goddess, sometimes will is not enough . ‘Korbolo Dom is pleased with this pending… arena.’
‘I am not surprised, mistress.’
She glanced back at him. ‘Why?’
He shrugged, and she watched him search for an alternative to what he had been about to say. ‘Korbolo Dom would have Tavore do precisely what he wants her to do. To array her forces here, or there, and nowhere else. To make this particular approach. To contest where he would have her contest. He expects the Malazan army to march up to be slaughtered, as if by will alone he can make Tavore foolish, or stupid.’ L’oric nodded towards the vast basin. ‘He wants her to fight there. Expects her to. But, why would she?’
She shivered beneath the cloak as her chill deepened. Yes, why would she? Korbolo’s certainty … is it naught but bluster? Does he too demand something to be simply because that is how he must have it ? But then, were any of the others any different? Kamist Reloe and his tail-sniffing pups, Fayelle and Henaras? And Febryl and Bidithal? Leoman… who sat with that irritating half-smile, through all of Korbolo’s descriptions of the battle to come. As if he knew something… as if he alone is indeed different. But then, that half-smile… the fool is sunk in the pit of durhang, after all. I should expect nothing of him, especially not military genius. Besides, Korbolo Dom has something to prove …
‘There is danger,’ L’oric murmured, ‘in trusting to a commander who wars with the aim of slaughter.’
‘Rather than what?’
His brows rose fractionally. ‘Why, victory.’
‘Does not slaughter of the enemy achieve victory, L’oric?’
‘But therein lies the flaw in Korbolo’s thinking, Chosen One. As Leoman once pointed out, months ago, the flaw is one of sequence. Mistress, victory precedes slaughter. Not the other way round.’
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‘For my sacrifices. Well, that is odd indeed, since he did not think much of me before my… rebirth. Which particular loss does he mark?’
‘I could not say-you will have to ask him that, I’m afraid.’
‘Your friendship had not progressed to the point of an exchange of confessions, then.’
He said nothing to that. Well, no, he couldn’t. For that would acknowledge he has something to confess .
She swung her gaze from him and turned once more to regard the potential field of battle. I can envision the armies arrayed, yes. But then what? How are they moved? What is possible and what is impossible? Goddess, you have no answer to such questions. They are beneath you. Your power is your will, and that alone. But, dear Goddess, sometimes will is not enough . ‘Korbolo Dom is pleased with this pending… arena.’
‘I am not surprised, mistress.’
She glanced back at him. ‘Why?’
He shrugged, and she watched him search for an alternative to what he had been about to say. ‘Korbolo Dom would have Tavore do precisely what he wants her to do. To array her forces here, or there, and nowhere else. To make this particular approach. To contest where he would have her contest. He expects the Malazan army to march up to be slaughtered, as if by will alone he can make Tavore foolish, or stupid.’ L’oric nodded towards the vast basin. ‘He wants her to fight there. Expects her to. But, why would she?’
She shivered beneath the cloak as her chill deepened. Yes, why would she? Korbolo’s certainty … is it naught but bluster? Does he too demand something to be simply because that is how he must have it ? But then, were any of the others any different? Kamist Reloe and his tail-sniffing pups, Fayelle and Henaras? And Febryl and Bidithal? Leoman… who sat with that irritating half-smile, through all of Korbolo’s descriptions of the battle to come. As if he knew something… as if he alone is indeed different. But then, that half-smile… the fool is sunk in the pit of durhang, after all. I should expect nothing of him, especially not military genius. Besides, Korbolo Dom has something to prove …
‘There is danger,’ L’oric murmured, ‘in trusting to a commander who wars with the aim of slaughter.’
‘Rather than what?’
His brows rose fractionally. ‘Why, victory.’
‘Does not slaughter of the enemy achieve victory, L’oric?’
‘But therein lies the flaw in Korbolo’s thinking, Chosen One. As Leoman once pointed out, months ago, the flaw is one of sequence. Mistress, victory precedes slaughter. Not the other way round.’
She stared at him. ‘Why, then, have neither you nor Leoman voiced this criticism when we discussed Korbolo Dom’s tactics?’
‘Discussed?’ L’oric smiled. ‘There was no discussion, Chosen One. Korbolo Dom is not a man who welcomes discussions.’
‘Nor is Tavore,’ she snapped.
‘That is not relevant,’ L’oric replied.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Malazan military doctrine-something Coltaine well understood, but also something that High Fist Pormqual had clearly lost sight of. Tactics are consensual. Dassem Ultor’s original doctrine, when he was finally made First Sword of the Malazan Empire. “Strategy belongs to the commander, but tactics are the first field of battle, and it is fought in the command tent.” Dassem’s own words. Of course, such a system relied heavily upon capable officers. Incompetent officers-such as those that subseqently infiltrated the chain of-’
‘Nobleborn officers, you mean.’
‘Bluntly, yes. The purchasing of commissions-Dassem would never have permitted that, and from what I gather, nor does the Empress. Not any more, in any case. There was a cull-’
‘Yes, I know, L’oric. By your argument, then, Tavore’s personality has no relevance-’
‘Not entirely, mistress. It has, for tactics are the child of strategy. And the truth of Tavore’s nature will shape that strategy. Veteran soldiers speak of hot iron and cold iron. Coltaine was cold iron. Dujek Onearm is cold iron, too, although not always-he’s a rare one in being able to shift as necessity demands. But Tavore? Unknown.’
‘Explain this “cold iron”, L’oric.’
‘Mistress, this subject is not my expertise-’
‘You have certainly fooled me. Explain. Now.’
‘Very well, such as I understand it-’
‘Cease equivocating.’
He cleared his throat, then turned and called out, ‘Mathok. Would you join us, please.’
