‘You ain’t been paying attention,’ Dujek said. ‘We’ve been peeling off without a hitch every night since the divide. Do the roll call, Whiskeyjack, you’re six thousand short. Come the morning, you’ve got your command back – well, slightly under half of it, anyway. You should be dancing round the pole.’

‘No, I should be the one flying out tonight, not you, Dujek. The risk—’

‘Precisely,’ the High Fist growled. ‘The risk. You never seem to realize, but you’re more important to this army than I am. You always have been. To the soldiers, I’m just a one-armed ogre in a fancy uniform – they damned well see me as a pet.’

Whiskeyjack studied Dujek’s battered, unadorned armour and grinned sourly.

‘A figure of speech,’ the High Fist said. ‘Besides, it’s as the Empress has commanded.’

‘So you keep saying.’

‘Whiskeyjack, Seven Cities is devouring itself. The Whirlwind has risen over blood-soaked sands. The Adjunct has a new army and it’s on its way, but too late for the Malazan forces already there. I know you were talking retirement, but look at it from Laseen’s point of view. She has two commanders left who know Seven Cities. And, before long, only one seasoned army – stuck here on Genabackis. If she has to risk one of us in the Pannion War, it has to be me.’

‘She plans on sending the Host to Seven Cities? Hood take us, Dujek—’

‘If the new Adjunct falls to Sha’ik, what choice does she have? More important, she wants you in command.’

Whiskeyjack slowly blinked. ‘What about you?’

Dujek grimaced. ‘I don’t think she expects me to survive what’s about to come. And if by some miracle I do, well, the campaign in Korel is a shambles . . .’

‘You don’t want Korel.’

‘What I want doesn’t matter, Whiskeyjack.’

‘And Laseen would say the same of me, I gather. Dujek, as I said before, I intend to retire, to disappear if need be. I’m done. With all of this. Some log cabin in some frontier kingdom, a long way away from the Empire—’

‘And a wife swinging a pot at your head. Marital, domestic bliss – you think Korlat will settle for that?’

Whiskeyjack smiled at High Fist’s gentle mockery. ‘It’s her idea – not the pot-swinging – that’s your particular nightmare, Dujek. But all the rest ... all right, not a log cabin. More like a remote, wind-battered keep in some mountain fastness. A place with a forbidding view—’

‘Well,’ Dujek drawled, ‘you can still plant a small vegetable garden in the courtyard. Wage war against weeds. All right, that’s our secret, then. Too bad for Laseen. Should I survive Coral, I’ll be the one taking the Host back to Seven Cities. And should I not survive, well, I won’t be in a position to care one whit about the Malazan Empire.’

‘You’ll scrape through, Dujek. You always do.’