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

‘

‘What airs?’

‘Well, all right, maybe it’s just how everybody sees you. But now I’m seeing you different. A damned thug, Tarr, just waiting to get nasty on us.’

‘I was just thinking out loud,’ Tarr said. ‘It’s not like Fid’s gonna let us do whatever we want, is it?’

‘I’m not gonna let you do whatever you want, Tarr.’

‘Just making conversation, Koryk. That’s all it was.’

Koryk grunted.

‘You being insolent with your corporal, Koryk?’

‘I’m thinking of pushing all your armour-and your shield-right up your bung hole, Corporal. Is that insolent?’

‘Once I’m used to telling the difference, I’ll let you know.’

‘Listen, Corabb,’ Bottle said, ‘you can stop looking out for me now, all right?’

The round-shouldered warrior at his side shook his head. ‘Sergeant Fiddler says-’

‘Never mind that. We’re in column. Hundreds of marines on all sides, right? And I’m almost rested up, ready to make trouble in case we get ambushed or whatever. I’m safe here, Corabb. Besides, you keep hitting me with that scabbard-my leg’s all bruised.’

‘Better a bruise than a chopped-off head,’ Corabb said.

‘Well, that’s a fact.’

Corabb nodded, as if the issue was now closed.

Bottle rubbed at his face. The memory of Beak’s sacrifice haunted him. He’d not known the mage very well. Just a face with a gawking expression or a wide smile, a pleasant enough man not much older than Bottle himself. For some-for the rarest few-the paths to power were smooth, uncluttered, and yet the danger was always there. Too easy to draw too much, to let it just pour through you.

Until you’re nothing but ashes.

Yet Beak had won their lives. The problem was, Bottle wondered if it had been worth it. That maybe the lives of eight hundred marines weren’t worth the life of a natural High Mage. Whatever was coming, at the very end of this journey, was going to be trouble. The Adjunct had Sinn and that was it. Another natural talent-but I think she’s mad.

Adjunct, your High Mage is insane. Will that be a problem?

He snorted.

Corabb took that sound as an invitation to talk. ‘See the fear in these people, Bottle? The Bonehunters turn their hearts to ice. When we reach the gate, it will swing wide open for us. The Letherii soldiers will throw down their arms. The people shall deliver to us the Emperor’s head on a copper plate, and roses will be flung into our path-’

‘For Hood’s sake, Corabb, enough. You keep looking for glory in war. But there is no glory. And heroes, like Beak back there, they end up dead. Earning what? A barrow of rubbish, that’s what.’

But Corabb was shaking his head. ‘When I die-’

‘It won’t be in battle,’ Bottle finished.

‘You wound me with your words.’

‘You’ve got the Lady in your shadow, Corabb. You’ll keep scraping through. You’ll break weapons or they’ll fly from your hand. Your horse will flip end over end and land right side up, with you still in the saddle. In fact, I’d wager all my back pay that you’ll be the last one of us standing at the very end.’

‘You believe there will be a fight in this city?’

‘Of course there will, you idiot. In fact, I’d be surprised if we even get inside the walls, until the Adjunct arrives. But then, aye, we’re in for a messy street-by-street battle, and the only thing certain about that is a lot of us are going to get killed.’

Corabb spat on his hands, rubbed them together.

Bottle stared. The fool was actually smiling.

‘You need fear nothing,’ Corabb assured him, ‘for I will guard you.’

‘Wonderful.’

Hellian scowled. Damned crowded road, was it always like this? Must be a busy city, and everybody going on about things like there wasn’t a column of foreign invaders pushing through them. She was still feeling the heat of shame-she’d fallen asleep back on that killing field. Supposed to be ready to fight and if not fight, then die horribly in a conflagration of piss-reeking magic, and what does she do?

Fall asleep. And dream of white light, and fires that don’t burn, and because everybody had known she was dreaming they’d all decided to pull out their hidden supplies of aeb root paste and bleach their hair, and then polish all their gear. Well. Ha ha. Damned near the most elaborate joke ever pulled on her. But she wasn’t going to let on about any of it. Pretend, aye, that nothing looked any different, and when her soldiers went over to where that one marine had died-the only casualty in the entire battle and there must have been some kind of battle since the evil Letherii army had run away-well, she’d done the same. Left on the mound an empty flask and if that wasn’t honouring the idiot then what was?