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

I hope.

A Letherii soldier approached-an oversized man he’d seen before-with a pleasant smile on his innocuous, oddly gentle face. ‘The sun is most welcome, Overseer, is it not? I convey the Atri-Preda’s invitation to join her-be assured that you will have time to return to your warriors and lead them into battle.’

‘Very well. Proceed, then.’

The various companies were moving into positions all along the edge of the seabed opposite the Awl. Brohl saw that the Bluerose lancers were now dismounted, looking a little lost with their newly issued shields and spears. There were less than a thousand left and the Overseer saw that they had been placed as auxiliaries and would only be thrown into battle if things were going poorly. ‘Now there’s a miserable bunch,’ he said to his escort, nodding towards the Bluerose Battalion.

‘So they are, Overseer. Yet see how their horses are saddled and not too far away. This is because our scouts cannot see the Kechra in the Awl camp. The Atri-Preda expects another flanking attack from those two creatures, and this time she will see it met with mounted lancers. Who will then pursue.’

‘I wish them well-those Kechra ever remain the gravest threat and the sooner they are dead the better.’

Atri-Preda Bivatt stood in a position at the edge of the old shoreline that permitted her a view of what would be the field of battle. As was her habit, she had sent away all her messengers and aides-they hovered watchfully forty paces back-and was now alone with her thoughts, her observations, and would remain so-barring Brohl’s visit-until just before the engagement commenced.

His escort halted a short distance away from the Atri-Preda and waved Brohl Handar forward with an easy smile.

How can he be so calm? Unless he’s one of those who will be standing guarding horses. Big as he is, he hasn’t the look of a soldier-well, even horse-handlers are needed, after all.

‘Overseer, you look… well rested.’

‘I appear to be just that, Atri-Preda. As if the spirits of my ancestors held close vigil on me last night.’

‘Indeed. Are your Arapay ready?’

‘They are. Will you begin this battle with your mages?’

‘I must be honest in this matter. I cannot rely upon their staying alive throughout the engagement. Accordingly, yes, I will use them immediately. And if they are still with me later, then all the better.’

‘No sign of the Kechra, then.’

‘No. Observe, the enemy arrays itself.’

‘On dry purchase-’

‘To begin, yes, but we will win that purchase, Overseer. And that is the flaw in Redmask’s tactic. We will strike hard enough to knock them back, and then it will be the Awl who find themselves mired in the mud.’

Brohl Handar turned to study the Letherii forces. The various brigades, companies and battalion elements had been merged on the basis of function. On the front facing the Awl, three wedges of heavy infantry. Flanks of skirmishers mixed with medium infantry and archers. Blocks of archers between the wedges, who if they moved down onto the seabed would not go very far. Their flights of arrows would be intended to perforate the Awl line so that when the heavies struck they would drive back the enemy, one step, two, five, ten and into the mud.

‘I do not understand this Redmask,’ Brohl said, frowning back at the Awl lines.

‘He had no choice,’ Bivatt replied. ‘Not after Praedegar. And that was, for him, a failure of patience. Perhaps this is, as well, but as I said: no choice left. We have him, Overseer. Yet he will make this victory a painful one, given the chance.’

‘Your mages may well end it before it’s begun, Atri-Preda.’

‘We will see,’

Overhead, the sun continued its inexorable climb, heating the day with baleful intent. On the seabed lighter patches had begun appearing as the topmost surface dried. But immediately beneath, of course, the mud would remain soft and deep enough to cause trouble.

Bivatt had two mages left-the third had died two days past, fatally weakened by the disaster at Praedegar-one lone mounted archer had succeeded in killing three mages with one damned arrow. Brohl Handar now saw those two figures hobbling like ancients out to the old shoreline’s edge. One at each end of the outermost heavy infantry wedge. They would launch their terrible wave of magic at angles intended to converge a dozen or so ranks deep in the centre formation of Awl, so as to maximize the path of destruction.

The Atri-Preda evidently made some gesture that Brohl did not see, for all at once her messengers had arrived. She turned to him. ‘It is time. Best return to your warriors, Overseer.’