Dust of Dreams: The Malazan Book of the Fallen 9 by Steven Erikson

Author:Steven Erikson [Erikson, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780553824803
Google: q620QQAACAAJ
Amazon: 0553824805
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2010-06-13T22:00:00+00:00

SOMEONE WAS SCREAMING IN AGONY, BUT THAT WAS A SOUND WARLEADER

Gall had grown used to. Eyes stinging in the drifting smoke, he swung his horse round on the dirt track and unleashed a stream of curses. At least three raids were swarming out from the village in the valley, lances held high, grisly trophies bobbing and weaving. 'Coltaine take those fools and crush them under his heel! Jarabb - ride down to that commander. He's to form up his troop and resume scouting to the south - no more attacks - tell the fool, I'll have his loot, his wives and his daughters, all of it, if he disobeys me again.'

Jarabb was squinting. 'That is Shelemasa, Warleader.'

'Fine. Her husband and her sons - I'll take them as slaves and then sell them to a D'ras. Bult's broken nose, she needs better control of her warriors!'

'They're just following her, lead,' Jarabb said. 'She's worse than a rabid she-wolf.'

'Stop chewing my ear,' Gall said, wanting to pull a foot out of the stirrup and drive it into the man's chest - too familiar of late, too smug, too many Hood-damned words and too many knowing looks. After Shelemasa was dealt with, he'd send the pup yelping and turn a blind eye to all the wounded looks sure to follow.

Jarabb tried a smile which faltered as Gall's scowl deepened. A moment later the young Tear Runner kicked his horse into motion and rode hard for the shouting, yipping raids.

Above the sickly smears of smoke the sky was cloudless, a canopy of saturated blue and a baleful sun that seemed to boil in the sky. Flocks of long-tailed birds swooped and cut in erratic patterns, too terrified to land as Khundryl warriors swarmed the ground in all directions. Fat, finger-long locusts crawled through the ruined fields.

The advance scout troop was returning from up the road, and Gall was pleased to see their disciplined, collected canter, lances shod and upright. Which officer was that one? Making out the leather-wound hoop dangling from the man's weapon, he knew who it was. Vedith, who had crushed a town garrison early on in the campaign. Heavy losses to his raid, but then, hardly surprising. Young, in that stupid, foolhardy way, but worth taking note of - since he clearly had firm command of his warriors.

A gesture while they were still some distance away halted all the riders behind Vedith, who then rode up to Gall and reined in. 'Warleader. A Bolkando army awaits us, two leagues distant. Ten thousand, two full legions, with a supply camp crawling with three times that number. Every stand of trees within a league of them has been cut down. I'd wager they've been in place for three or four days.'

'Stupid Bolkando. What value fielding an army that crawls like a bhederin with its legs cut off? We could dance round it and strike

I V I

straight for the capital. I could drag that King off his throne and plant myself in it sloppy as a drunk, and that would be that.

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