‘No, Adjunct. There are four warriors of the Foolish Dog, who were on the ship bearing the wounded.’
‘Do they resent your command?’
The youth drew himself straighter. ‘They do not,’ he replied, his right hand settling on the grip of one of his long knives. Gamet winced and looked away.
‘You three are dismissed,’ the Adjunct said after a moment. Temul hesitated, then spoke. ‘Adjunct, my company wishes to fight. Are we to be attached to the legions?’
Tavore tilted her head. ‘Captain Temul, how many summers have you seen?’
‘Fourteen.’
The Adjunct nodded. ‘At present, Captain, our mounted troops are limited to a company of Seti volunteers, five hundred in all. In military terms, they are light cavalry at best, scouts and outriders at worst. None have seen battle, and none are much older than you. Your own command consists of forty Wickans, all but four younger than you. For our march northward, Captain Temul, your company will be attached to my entourage. As bodyguards. The ablest riders among the Seti will act as messengers and scouts. Understand, I have not the forces to mount a cavalry engagement. The Fourteenth Army is predominantly infantry.’
‘Coltaine’s tactics-’
‘This is no longer Coltaine’s war,’ Tavore snapped.
Temul flinched as if struck. He managed a stiff nod, then turned on his heel and departed the chamber. Nil and Nether followed a moment later.
Gamet let out a shaky breath. ‘The lad wanted to bring good news to his Wickans.’
‘To silence the grumbling from the four Foolish Dog warriors,’ the Adjunct said, her voice still holding a tone of irritation. ‘Aptly named indeed. Tell me, Fist, how do you think the discussion between Blistig and Tene Baralta is proceeding at this moment?’
The old veteran grunted. ‘Heatedly, I would imagine, Adjunct. Tene Baralta likely expected to retain his Red Blades as a discrete regiment. I doubt he has much interest in commanding four thousand Malazan recruits.’
‘And the admiral, who waits below in the mess hall?’
‘To that, I have no idea, Adjunct. His taciturnity is legend.’
‘Why, do you think, did he not simply usurp High Fist Pormqual? Why did he permit the annihilation of Coltaine and the Seventh, then of the High Fist’s own army?’
Gamet could only shake his head.
Tavore studied him for another half-dozen heartbeats, then slowly made her way to the scrolls lying on the tabletop. She drew one out and removed its ties. ‘The Empress never had cause to question Admiral Nok’s loyalty.’
‘Nor Dujek Onearm’s,’ Gamet muttered under his breath. She heard and looked up, then offered a tight, momentary smile. ‘Indeed. One meeting remains to us.’ Tucking the scroll under one arm, she strode towards a small side door. ‘Come.’
The room beyond was low-ceilinged, its walls virtually covered in tapestries. Thick rugs silenced their steps as they entered. A modest round table occupied the centre, beneath an ornate oil lamp that was the only source of light. There was a second door opposite, low and narrow. The table was the chamber’s sole piece of furniture.
Tavore dropped the scroll onto its battered top as Gamet shut the door behind him. When he turned he saw that she was facing him. There was a sudden vulnerability in her eyes that triggered a clutching anxiety in his gut-for it was something he had never before seen from this daughter of House Paran. ‘Adjunct?’
She broke the contact, visibly recovered. ‘In this room,’ she quietly said, ‘the Empress is not present.’
Gamet’s breath caught, then he jerked his head in a nod. The smaller door opened, and the Fist turned to see a tall, almost effeminate man, clothed in grey, a placid smile on his handsome features as he took a step into the chamber. An armoured woman followed-an officer of the Red Blades. Her skin was dark and tattooed in Pardu style, her eyes black and large, set wide above high cheekbones, her nose narrow and aquiline. She seemed anything but pleased, her gaze fixing on the Adjunct with an air of calculating arrogance. ‘Close the door behind you, Captain,’ Tavore said to the Red Blade. The grey-clad man was regarding Gamet, his smile turning faintly quizzical. ‘Fist Gamet,’ he said. ‘I imagine you are wishing you were still in Unta, that bustling heart of the empire, arguing with horse-traders on behalf of House Paran. Instead, here you are, a soldier once more-’
Gamet scowled and said, ‘I am afraid I do not know you-’
‘You may call me Pearl,’ the man replied, hesitating on the name as if its revelation was the core of some vast joke of which only he was aware. ‘And my lovely companion is Captain Lostara Yil, late of the Red Blades but now-happily-seconded into my care.’ He swung to the Adjunct and elaborately bowed. ‘At your service.’