Steven Erikson: Gardens of the Moon

«Lieutenant Paran, your words were well spoken.» She breathed in the salty air, then met his gaze. «You won't be stationed in Unta, I'm afraid. You will be taking your orders from me as a commissioned officer on my staff.»

His eyes slowly narrowed. «What happened to those soldiers, Adjunct?»

She didn't answer immediately, leaning back on her saddle and scanning the distant sea. «Someone's been here,» she said. «A sorcerer of great power. Something's happened, and we're being diverted from discovering it.»

Paran's mouth dropped open. «Killing four hundred people was a diversion?»

«If that man and his daughter had been out fishing, they'd have come in with the tide.»

«But-»

«You won't find their bodies, Lieutenant.»

Paran was puzzled. «Now what?»

She glanced at him, then swung her horse around. «We go back.»

«That's it?» He stared after her as she directed her mount back up the trail, then rode to catch up. «Wait a minute, Adjunct,» he said, as he came alongside.

She gave him a warning look.

Paran shook his head. «No. If I'm now on your staff, I have to know more about what's going on.»

She placed her helmet back on and cinched tight the strap under her chin. Her long hair dangled in tattered ropes down over her Imperial cape. «Very well. As you know, Lieutenant, I'm no mage-»

«No,» Paran cut in, with a cold grin, «you just hunt them down and kill them.»

«Don't interrupt me again. As I was saying, I am anathema to sorcery. That means, Lieutenant, that, even though I'm not a practitioner, I have a relationship with magic. Of sorts. We know each other, if you will. I know the patterns of sorcery, and I know the patterns of the minds that use it. We were meant to conclude that the slaughter was thorough, and random. It was neither. There's a path here, and we have to find it.»

Slowly Paran nodded.

«Your first task, Lieutenant, is to ride to the market town-what's its name again?»

«Gerrom.»

«Yes, Gerrom. They'll know this fishing village, since that's where the catch is sold. Ask around, find out which fisher family consisted of a father and daughter. Get me their names, and their descriptions. Use the militia if the locals are recalcitrant.»

«They won't be,» Paran said. «The Kanese are co-operative folk.»

They reached the top of the trail and stopped at the road. Below, wagons rocked among the bodies, the oxen braying and stamping their blood-soaked hoofs. Soldiers shouted in the press, while overhead wheeled thousands of birds. The scene stank of panic. At the far end stood the captain, his helmet hanging from its strap in one hand.

The Adjunct stared down on the scene with hard eyes. «For their sake,» she said, «I hope you're right, Lieutenant.»

As he watched the two riders approach, something told the captain that his days of ease in Itko Kan were numbered. His helmet felt heavy in his hand. He eyed Paran. That thin-blooded bastard had it made. A hundred strings pulling him every step of the way to some cushy posting in some peaceful city.

He saw Lorn studying him as they came to the crest. «Captain, I have a request for you.»

The captain grunted. Request, hell. The Empress has to check her slippers every morning to make sure this one isn't already in them. «Of course, Adjunct.»

The woman dismounted, as did Paran. The lieutenant's expression was impassive. Was that arrogance, or had the Adjunct given him something to think about?

«Captain,» Lorn began, «I understand there's a recruiting drive under way in Kan. Do you pull in people from outside the city?»

«To join? Sure, more of them than anyone else. City folk got too much to give up. Besides, they get the bad news first. Most of the peasants don't know everything's gone to hell on Genabackis. A lot of them figure city folk whine too much anyway. May I ask why?»

«You may.» Lorn turned to watch the soldiers cleaning up the road. «I need a list of recent recruits. Within the last two days. Forget the ones born in the city, just the outlying ones. And only the women and/or old men.»

The captain grunted again. «Should be a short list, Adjunct.»

«I hope so, Captain.»

«You figured out what's behind all this?»

Still following the activity on the road below, Lorn said, «No idea.»

Yes, the captain thought, and I'm the Emperor reincarnated. «Too bad,» he muttered.

«Oh.» The Adjunct faced him. «Lieutenant Paran is now on my staff. I trust you'll make the necessary adjustments.»

«As you wish, Adjunct. I love paperwork.»

That earned him a slight smile. Then it was gone. «Lieutenant Paran will be leaving now.»

The captain looked at the young noble and smiled, letting the smile say everything. Working for the Adjunct was like being the worm on the hook. The Adjunct was the hook, and at the other end of the line was the Empress. Let him squirm.

A sour expression flitted across Paran's face. «Yes, Adjunct.»

He climbed back into the saddle, saluted, then rode off down the road.

The captain watched him leave, then said, «Anything else, Adjunct?»

«Yes.»

Her tone brought him around.

«I would like to hear a soldier's opinion of the nobility's present inroads on the Imperial command structure.»

The captain stared hard at her. «It ain't pretty, Adjunct.»

«Go on.»

The captain talked.

It was the eighth day of recruiting and Staff Sergeant Aragan sat blearyeyed behind his desk as yet another whelp was prodded forward by the corporal. They'd had some luck here in Kan. Fishing's best in the backwaters, Kan's Fist had said. All they get around here is stories. Stories don't make you bleed. Stories don't make you go hungry, don't give you sore feet. When you're young and smelling of pigshit and convinced there ain't a weapon in all the damn world that's going to hurt you, all stories do is make you want to be part of them.

The old woman was right. As usual. These people had been under the boot so long they actually liked it. Well, Aragan thought, the education begins here.

It had been a bad day, with the local captain roaring off with three companies and leaving not one solid rumour in their wake about what was going on. And if that wasn't bad enough, Laseen's Adjunct arrived from Unta not ten minutes later, using one of those eerie magical Warrens to get here. Though he'd never seen her, just her name on the hot, dry wind was enough to give him the shakes. Mage killer, the scorpion in the Imperial pocket.

Aragan scowled down at the writing tablet and waited until the corporal cleared his throat. Then he looked up.

The recruit standing before him took the staff sergeant aback. He opened his mouth, on his tongue a lashing tirade designed to send the young ones scampering. A second later he shut it again, the words unspoken. Kan's Fist had made her instructions abundantly clear: if they had two arms, two legs and a head, take them. The Genabackis campaign was a mess. Fresh bodies were needed.

He grinned at the girl. She matched the Fist's description perfectly.

Still. «All right, lass, you understand you're in line to join the Malazan Marines, right?»

The girl nodded, her gaze steady and cool and fixed on Aragan.

The recruiter's expression tightened. Damn, she can't be more than twelve or thirteen. If this was my daughter:

What's got her eyes looking so bloody old? The last time he'd seen anything like them had been outside Mott Forest, on Genabackis-he'd been marching through farmland hit by five years» drought and a war twice as long. Those old eyes were brought by hunger, or death. He scowled. «What's your name, girl?»

«Am I in, then?» she asked quietly.

Aragan nodded, a sudden headache pounding against the inside of his skull. «You'll get your assignment in a week's time, unless you got a preference.»