‘We could triple soldiers up in the squad tents,’ Kindly said.

‘We keep all the tents and cloth,’ the Adjunct said without looking up. ‘As for your suggestions, Faradan, see to them. And, Fist Kindly, the longer marches begin, starting this evening.’

‘Adjunct,’ said Kindly, ‘this is going to be … brutal. Morale being what it is, we could face trouble, soon.’

‘The news of the Nah’ruk defeat helped,’ Sort said, ‘but the half-day and full night we’ve just walked have sapped the zeal. Adjunct, the soldiers need something more to hold on to. Something. Anything.’

At last, Tavore raised her head. She gazed levelly at Faradan Sort with red-rimmed eyes. ‘And what, Fist,’ she asked in a dull voice, ‘would you have me give them?’

‘I don’t know, Adjunct. The rumours are chewing us to pieces—’

‘Which rumours would those be?’

Faradan Sort hesitated, looked away.

‘Kindly,’ said Tavore, ‘your fellow Fist seems to have lost her voice.’

‘Adjunct.’ Kindly nodded. ‘The rumours, well. Some are wild. Others strike rather close to the bone.’

Ruthan Gudd spoke up. ‘We’re in league with the Elder Gods, and you mean to spill the blood of your soldiers in a grand, final sacrifice – all of them – to achieve your own ascendancy. There’s another one, that you’ve made a secret pact with the High Houses and the younger gods. You will bargain with them using the Crippled God – that’s why we intend to snatch him, to steal what’s left of him away from the Forkrul Assail. There are plenty more, Adjunct.’

‘You possess hidden knowledge,’ said Kindly, ‘acquired from who knows where. And because no one knows where, they all invent their own explanations.’

‘But in each,’ said Ruthan Gudd, now eyeing Tavore, ‘you are kneeling before a god. And, well, what Malazan soldier doesn’t get a bitter taste from that? What Malazan soldier doesn’t know the story of Dassem Ultor? Homage to a god by a commander is ever served by the blood of those under his or her command. Look around, Adjunct. We’re not serving the Malazan Empire any more. We’re serving you .’

In a voice little more than whisper, the Adjunct said, ‘You are all serving me, are you? You are all about to risk your lives for me ? Please, any of you here, tell me, what have I done to deserve that ?’

The tone of her question left a shocked silence.

Tavore Paran looked from one to the next, and in her eyes there was no anger, no outrage, no indignation. Rather, in her eyes Lostara Yil saw something helpless. Confused.

After a long, brittle moment, Kindly said, ‘Adjunct, we march to save the Crippled God. The problem is, as far as gods go, he’s not much liked. You won’t find a single worshipper of him in the Bonehunters.’

‘Indeed?’ Suddenly her voice was harsh. ‘And not one soldier in this army – in this tent – has not suffered? Not one here has not broken, not even once? Not wept? Not grieved?’

‘But we will not worship that!’ Kindly retorted. ‘We will not kneel to such things!’

‘I am relieved to hear you say so,’ she replied, as if the fires inside had died down as quickly as they had flared. Eyes on the map, trying to find a way through. ‘So look across, then, across that vast divide. Look into that god’s eyes, Fist Kindly, and make your thoughts hard. Make them cold. Unfeeling. Make them all the things you need to in order to feel not a single pang, not a lone tremor. Look into his eyes, Kindly, before you choose to turn away . Will you do that?’

‘I cannot, Adjunct,’ Kindly replied, in a shaken voice. ‘For he does not stand before me.’

And Tavore met his eyes once more. ‘Doesn’t he?’

One heartbeat, and then two, before Kindly rocked back. Only to turn away.

Lostara Yil gasped. As you said he would .

But Tavore would not let him go. ‘Do you need a temple, Kindly? A graven image? Do you need priests? Sacred texts? Do you need to close your eyes to see a god? So noble on his throne, so lofty in his regard, and oh, let’s not forget, that hand of mercy, ever reaching down. Do you need all of that, Kindly? You others? Do you all need it in order to be blessed with the truth?’

The tent flap was roughly pulled aside and Banaschar entered. ‘Was I summoned?’ And the grin he gave them was a thing of horror, a slash opening to them all the turmoil inside the man, the torment of his life. ‘I caught some of that, just outside. Too much, in fact.’ He looked to the Adjunct. ‘“Blessed with the truth.” My dear Adjunct, you must know by now. Truth blesses no one. Truth can only curse .’