Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)

Bivatt cursed under her breath, then said, ‘Then we shall have to do without.’

‘But the Edur mages-’

‘If our own cannot treat them, Bellict, then neither can the warlocks-the Edur tribes do not breed dogs for war, do they? I am sorry. Leave me now.’

Just one more unpleasant surprise to greet this dawn. Her army had marched through the last two bells of night to reach the valley-she wanted to be the first to array her troops for the battle to come, to force Redmask to react rather than initiate. Given the location of the Awl encampment, she had not felt rushed in conducting that march, anticipating it would be midday at the earliest before the savages appeared on the east side of Bast Fulmar, thus negating any advantage of a bright morning sun at their backs.

But that enemy encampment had been a deceit.

Less than a half-league from the valley, scouts had returned to the column to report enemy in strength at Bast Fulmar.

How had her mages not found them? They had no answer, barring a disquieting fear in their eyes. Even Brohl Handar’s Den-Ratha K’risnan and his four warlocks had been at a loss to explain the success of Redmask’s deception. The news had left the sour taste of self-recrimination in Bivatt-relying upon mages had been a mistake, laziness leaning heavy on past successes. Outriding scouts would have discovered the ruse days ago, had she bothered to send them beyond line of sight. Keeping them close ensured no raids or ambushes, both gambits for which I he Awl were renowned. She had been following doctrine, to the letter.

Damn this Redmask. Clearly he knows that doctrine as well as I do. And used it against us.

Now, the battle awaiting them was imminent, and the bright dawn sun would indeed blaze into the eyes of her soldiers even as the first blood was spilled.

Rising in her stirrups, she squinted once more at the valley’s far side. Mounted Awl in swirling motion, in seeming chaos, riding back and forth, lifting clouds of dust that burned gold in the morning light. Horse-archers for the most part. Tending to mass in front of one of the broader slopes to the south, on her right. A second gentle incline was situated slightly to her left, and there, shifting restlessly, were five distinct wedges of Awl warriors on foot, lining what passed for a ridge-and she could see their long spears waving like reeds on a shore. Spears, not those flimsy swords sold them by the Factor’s agents. She judged around a thousand warriors per wedge formation-too disciplined even now, before the fighting began. They should be drunk. Pounding on shields. Their shamans should be rushing about in front, down all the way to the riverbed. Showing us their back’ sides as they defecate. Screaming curses, dancing to summon dread spirits and all the rest. Instead, this…

Well, how likely is it those wedges will survive contact with my soldiers? They are not trained to this kind of war-nor did Redmask have the time to manage anything but mis thin shell of organization. I have over sixteen thousand with me. Eighteen if I include the Tiste Edur. This one army of mine outnumbers the entire Awl population of warriors-and while it looks indeed as if Redmask has gathered them all, still they are not enough.

But he wasn’t making it easy to gauge numbers. The tumultuous back and forth of the horse-archers, the clouds of dust, the truncated line of sight beyond the valley’s ridge-he was keeping her blind.

Brohl Handar reined in at her side, speaking loudly to be heard over the movement of her troops and the officers bellowing orders. ‘Atri-Preda, you seem to intend to hold most of your medium infantry in reserve.’ He gestured behind them to punctuate his words. Then, when it was clear she would not respond, he waved ahead. ‘This valley’s flanks, while not steeply inclined, are ribboned with drainage channels-’

‘Narrow,’ she cut in. ‘Not deep.’

‘True, but they serve to separate the field of battle into segments nonetheless.’

She glanced across at him. ‘We have three such channels on our side, and all of them on my right. They have four, one to my right, two before me and one to my left-and in that direction, north, the valley narrows.’ She pointed. ‘See the bluff on our side there, where the Dresh ballistae are being emplaced? It cannot be assaulted from the valley floor. That shall be our rock in the stream. And before the day is through, not simply a rock, but an anvil.’

‘Provided you can hold the debouch beneath it,’ the Tiste Edur observed.

‘I pray to the Errant that the Awl seek to flee down that defile. It may not look deadly but I assure you, push a few thousand panicking barbarians into that chokepoint and as many will die underfoot as we ourselves slaughter.’