But the elderly warrior shook his head. ‘We are done with empire.’ Then he added, ‘If you would permit us to leave.’
‘I can think of quite a few of us who’d be more inclined to kill you all, right now.’
A nod.
‘But,’ Fiddler then said, as his soldiers gathered behind him, all staring at the Tiste Edur-who were staring back-‘we’re not here to conduct genocide. You would leave your Emperor defenceless?’
The war leader pointed northward. ‘Our villages lie far away. Few remain there, and they suffer for our absence. I would lead my warriors home, Malazan. To rebuild. To await the return of our families.’
‘Go on, then.’
The Tiste Edur elder bowed. Then said, ‘Would that we could… take back… all that we have done.’
‘Tell me this. Your Emperor-can he be killed?’
‘No.’
Nothing more was said. Fiddler watched as the Edur set off.
Behind him a grunt from Koryk, who then said, ‘I was damned sure we’d get a fight today.’
‘Fiddler. The Letherii army’s marched off,’ Gesler said.
‘The Adjunct,’ Fiddler said, nodding. ‘She’ll hammer them into the ground.’
‘My point is,’ Gesler continued, ‘our way to Letheras… it’s an open road. Are we going to let the Adjunct and all those salty soldiers of hers beat us there?’
‘Good question,’ Fiddler said, turning at last. ‘Let’s go ask the Fist, shall we?’
‘Aye, and maybe we can find out why we’re all still alive, too.’
‘Aye, and white, too.’
Gesler tugged off his helm and grinned at Fiddler. ‘Speak for yourself, Fid.’
Hair of spun gold. ‘Hood take me,’ Fiddler muttered, ‘that’s about as obnoxious a thing as I’ve ever seen.’
Another helping hand, lifting Beak to his feet. He looked round. Nothing much to see. White sand, a gate of white marble ahead, within which swirled silver light.
The hand gripping his arm was skeletal, the skin a strange hue of green. The figure, very tall, was hooded and wearing black rags. It seemed to be studying the gate.
‘Is that where I’m supposed to go, now?’ Beak asked.
‘Yes.’