The dust was falling like rain, in waves lit gold by the rising sun. And the Holy Desert’s heartland was gradually becoming visible through gaps in the dying storm. There was no waiting horde, Gamet saw with a flood of relief. Naught but more wastes, with something like an escarpment on the northeast horizon, falling away as it proceeded west, where strangely broken hills ran in a natural barrier.

The Adjunct climbed back onto her horse. ‘Temul. I want scouts out far ahead. I do not believe there will be any more raids. Now, they wait for us, at a place of their own choosing. It falls to us to find it.’

And then will come the battle. The death, of hundreds, perhaps thousands of soldiers. The Adjunct, as the fist of the Empress. And Sha’ik, Chosen servant of the goddess. A clash of wills, nothing more. Yet it will decide the fate of hundreds of thousands.

I want nothing to do with this.

Tene Baralta had drawn his horse alongside Gamet. ‘We need you now more than ever,’ the Red Blade murmured as the Adjunct, with renewed energy, continued conveying orders to the officers now riding up from the main camp.

‘You do not need me at all,’ Gamet replied.

‘You are wrong. She needs a cautious voice—’

‘A coward’s voice, is the truth of it, and no, she does not need that.’

‘There is a fog that comes in battle—’

‘I know. I was a soldier, once. And I did well enough at that. Taking orders, commanding no-one but myself. Occasionally a handful, but not thousands. I was at my level of competence, all those years ago.’

‘Very well then, Gamet. Become a soldier once more. One who just happens to be attached to the Adjunct’s retinue. Give her the perspective of the common soldier. Whatever weakness you feel is not unique – realize that it is shared, by hundreds or even thousands, there in our legions.’

Blistig had come up on the other side, and he now added, ‘She remains too remote from us, Gamet. She is without our advice because we have no chance to give it. Worse, we don’t know her strategy—’

‘Assuming she has one,’ Tene Baralta muttered.

‘Nor her tactics for this upcoming battle,’ Blistig continued. ‘It’s dangerous, against Malazan military doctrine. She’s made this war personal, Gamet.’

Gamet studied the Adjunct, who had now ridden ahead, flanked by Nil and Nether, and seemed to be studying the broken hills beyond which, they all knew, waited Sha’ik and her Army of the Apocalypse. Personal? Yes, she would do that. Because it is what she has always done. ‘It is how she is. The Empress would not have been ignorant of her character.’