Chapters (37)
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- DRAMATIS PERSONAE
- PROLOGUE
- BOOK ONE - RARAKU
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- BOOK TWO - WHIRLWIND
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- BOOK THREE – CHAIN OF DOGS
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- BOOK FOUR - DEADHOUSE GATES
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- GLOSSARY
- TRIBES OF THE SEVEN SUBCONTINENTS
- PLACE NAMES
- TITLES AND GROUPS
- ASCENDANTS
The man blinked, then glanced around until he focused on the Seventh’s standard. The pikeshaft leaned to one side, its tattered banner bleached into ghost colours by the sun. ‘Hood’s breath,’ the man growled. ‘Think we’d fight to save a piece of cloth on a pole?’ He gestured at the body his friends knelt around. ‘Nordo took two arrows. We held off a squad of Semk so he could die in his own time. Those bastard tribesmen snatch wounded enemies and keep ‘em alive so’s they can torture ‘em. Nordo wasn’t gettin’ none of that.’
Duiker was silent for a long moment. ‘Is that how you want the tale told, soldier?’
The man squinted some more, then he nodded. ‘Just like that, Historian. We ain’t just a Malazan army any more. We’re Coltaine’s.’
‘But he’s a Fist.’
‘He’s a cold-blooded lizard.’ The man then grinned. ‘But he’s all ours.’
Smiling, Duiker twisted in his saddle and studied the battle at the line. Some threshold of spirit had been crossed. The Semk were broken. Dying by the score with three legions of supposed allies sitting motionless on the slopes behind them, they had carved out the last of zeal in the holy cause – at least for this engagement. There would be curses and hot accusations in the enemy camps this coming night, Duiker knew. Good, let them crack apart of their own accord.
Once again, it was not to be the Whirlwind’s day.
Coltaine did not let his victorious army rest as the afternoon’s light sank in the earth. New fortifications were raised, others reinforced. Trenches were dug, pickets established. The refugees were led out onto the stony plain west of the ford, their tents arranged in blocks with wide avenues in between. Wagons loaded with wounded soldiers were moved into those avenues, and the cutters and healers set to work.
The livestock were driven south, to the grassy slopes of the Barl Hills – a weathered, humped range of bleached rock and twisted jackpine. Drovers supported by riders of the Foolish Dog Clan guarded the herds.
In the Fist’s command tent, as the sun dropped beneath the horizon, Coltaine held a debriefing.