'Aye!' two voices chorused.
Whiskeyjack saw the wizard's sudden tension. After a moment, the commander twisted in his saddle. Kalam sat stiffly on his horse a dozen paces back, sweat streaming down his brow. Flanking him and slightly behind were Fiddler and Hedge, both with their crossbows trained on the assassin. Smiling, Whiskeyjack faced Adaephon Delat once again.
'You two have played an extraordinary game. Fiddler sniffed out the secret communications — the scuffed stone-faces, the postures of the bodies, the curled fingers — one, three, two, whatever was needed to complete the cipher — we could have cut this to a close a week past, but by then I'd grown. curious. Eleven mages. Once the first one revealed her arcane knowledge to you — knowledge she was unable to use — it was just a matter of bargaining. What choice did the others possess? Death by Raraku's hand, or mine. Or … a kind of salvation. But was it, after all? Do their souls clamour within you, now, Adaephon Delat? Screaming to escape their new prison? But I am left wondering, none the less. This game — you and Kalam — to what end?'
The illusion of deprivation slowly faded from the wizard, revealing a fit, hale young man. He managed a strained smile. 'The clamour has. subsided somewhat. Even the ghost of a life is better than Hood's embrace, Commander. We've achieved a. balance, you could say.'
And you a host of powers unimagined.'
'Formidable, granted, but I've no desire to use them now. The game we played, Whiskeyjack? Only one of survival. At first. We didn't think you'd make it, to be perfectly honest. We thought Raraku would come to claim you — I suppose she did, in a way, though not in a way I would have anticipated. What you and your soldiers have become. ' He shook his head.
'What we have become,' Whiskeyjack said, 'you have shared. You and Kalam.'
The wizard slowly nodded. 'Hence this fateful meeting. Sir, Kalam and I, we'll follow you, now. If you would have us.'
Whiskeyjack grunted. 'The Emperor will take you from me.'
'Only if you tell him, Commander.'
'And Kalam?' Whiskeyjack glanced back at the assassin.
'The Claw will be. displeased,' the man rumbled. Then he smiled. 'Too bad for Surly.'
Grimacing, Whiskeyjack twisted further to survey his soldiers. The array of faces could have been carved from stone. A company, culled from the army's cast-offs, now a bright, hard core. 'Gods,' he whispered under his breath, 'what have we made here?'
The first blood-letting engagement of the Bridgeburners was the retaking of G'danisban — a mage, an assassin, and seventy soldiers who swept into a rebel stronghold of four hundred desert warriors and crushed them in a single night.
The lantern's light had burned low, but the tent's walls revealed the dawn's gentle birth. The sounds of a camp awakening and preparing for the march slowly rose to fill the silence that followed Whiskeyjack's tale.
Anomander Rake sighed. 'Soul-shifting.'