‘They understand not a word, Man of Lard!’

Kruppe twisted round to see Hetan and Cafal riding to join him. The woman was grinning.

‘Not a word, Daru, and a good thing, too. Else they tear your heart from your chest at such damnations!’

‘Damnations? Dear woman, Kruppe’s deadly temper is to blame. His white hot rage that so endangers all around him! It is this beast, you see—’

‘Not even worth eating,’ Hetan noted. ‘What think you, brother?’

‘Too scrawny,’ Cafal agreed.

‘None the less, Kruppe pleads for forgiveness on behalf of his worthy self and the conversely worthless beast he rides. Forgive us, somewhat longer-legged spawn of Humbrall Taur, we beg you!’

‘We’ve a question for you, Man of Lard.’

‘You need only ask, and Kruppe shall answer. Shining with truth, his words smooth as oil to scent your unblemished skin – there, just above the left breast, perhaps? Kruppe has in his possession—’

‘No doubt,’ Hetan interrupted. ‘And were you to carry on this war would be over before I’d the chance to ask you the question. Now shut up, Daru, and listen. Look, if you will, upon the Malazan ranks on yonder road. The tent-covered wagons, the few foot-dragging companies who walk alongside them and between them, raising skyward clouds of dust—’

‘Dear lass, you are one after Kruppe’s own heart! Pray, resume this non-interrogative question, at length, wax your words into the thickest candle so that I may light an unquenchable flame of love in its honour.’

‘I said look, Daru. Observe! Do you find nothing odd about our allies at present?’

‘At present. Past and no doubt future, too, Kruppe asserts. Malazan mysteries, yes! Peculiar people, Kruppe proclaims. Discipline in said march approaching dishevelled dissolution, dust rising to be seen for leagues yet what is seen – well, naught but dust!’

‘Just my point,’ Hetan growled.

‘And a sharp one it is.’

‘So you’d noticed, then.’

‘Noticed what, my dear? The sumptuous curves of yourself? How could Kruppe not notice such wondrous, if slightly barbaric, beauty? As a prairie flower—’

‘—about to kill you,’ Hetan said, grinning.

‘A prairie flower, Kruppe observes, such as blooms on prickly cactus ...’

‘ ‘Ware the misstep, Man of Lard.’

‘Kruppe’s wares are without misstep, for he wears wariness well – uh ...’

‘This morning,’ Hetan resumed after a moment, ‘I watched one company of marines strike the tents of three companies, all through the Malazan camp. One for three, again and again.’

‘Aye, one can count on the Malazans!’