[Riot]

hi, here's the start of a new story, with title as well. hope you all enjoy.



Hood’s Requiem

1164 Burn Sleep
Hatra, Continent of Seven Cities

The burnt ashes of the world sprawled with angst humour, decorating the land with the wind swept residue of waste and litter. The waste was of course the sand which dominated the entire settings, covering everything with its milling particles, gathering in the most inappropriate of places. The litter was the bodies, lingering still in the positions for which they were cast down. Rotting in abundance as the constant setting of the sun poured down its warmth, engrossing the flawed flesh which was tightening with every passing day, eventually to become mummified if left unattended.
The corpses would remain, left as a reminder to those within the garrison that their fate would be likewise.
Staring down at the mass of lifeless bodies, Private Spider winced with the over zealous nature of the sun which stung at her eyes.
From her elevated position, she fancied that she saw a wavering heat rolling from the mound of carcasses, generating heat from their stationary positions.
She spat over the edge of the battlement, imaging that the launched phlegm would evaporate before it had a chance to reach the ground. The world was heat magnified, spoiling ever soft action she took, feeling as if she was a prisoner within the confines of her heated flesh.
Rotating her shoulders, trying not to hiss at the pressure that weighed down upon her from her armour, she decided that she preferred the notion of being too hot, rather than what had occurred to some of her fellow soldiers. All she had to do was look down at the mound of unmoving flesh to reinforce this fact.
Adjusting her sights, she looked beyond the fertile knoll, allowing her eyes to coast over the small camp which was situated there.
The camp was pitched with at least twenty tents, some ranging from the small hurriedly constructed gazebos, to some which were large oblique pavilions, towering over the smaller benign constructs.
Studying these erected structures, Spider was not the least surprised to find that no one was in evidence, giving off the impression that the camp was empty.
Beyond these tents, the city of Hatra was bound, separated by a empty stretch of sand barren wasteland. Those who had set up the structure of the tents would be within the city, leaving behind a small number of men to overlook the garrison, making sure that escape was not feasible to those Malazan’s trapped within.
Not that escape was much of a option, Spider contemplated, knowing that there was no where to escape to. If the rumours were true, and she had no reason to doubt such suggestions, the entire continent was in the state of rebellion, rising up to cast out the occupation of the Empire.
To attempt any form of escape would lead to the wastes of the land, sheering them from what protection the garrison projected upon themselves. They had no option but to remain sheltered with the stronghold, not for the reason of attempting to instil some form of authority, but simply to enable themselves the limited chance of survival.
Shifting herself from one foot to the other, Spider blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge the grain of sand which had just been blown into her face.
‘Dammit!’ she muttered, clawing at her eye, hoping to retrieve the speck before it lingered too long near her iris.
‘What’s the matter?’
The voice startled Spider, but hiding down her surprise, she simply shrugged.
‘Just crap in my eye!’ she answered, refusing to turn as she continued to scrape at her eye.
Coming to stand beside her, the Officer returned no answer, instead silent as he stared down toward the congested remains.
Finally managing to capture the damn sand particle, Spider relaxed her pose, quickly studying her superior officer as he continued with his inspection.
Captain Candle was fairly tall, perhaps a span taller than herself. His natural stance was one of authority, mixed with the impression of casual indifference. His features were sharp, a lean bone structure with high cheekbones, which upon anyone else would have been called feminine, yet he carried the look with hard faced endurance.
His tan was dark, edging towards the hue of intoned shadows, an inheritance from his Wickan heritage. Chin and jaw were empty of any form of a beard, instead simply darkened by the appearance of evidential shaving. His hair was cropped short, all except for a single tresses which dropped from just behind his right ear, falling so that it lightly dangled against the curve of his back. This lock was ensnared by small fetishes which denoted once more his Wickan descent.
Fist Cavelera had once asked Candle to explain the lock, expecting the Captain to remove the symbol of his heritage. Instead, Candle had refused an answer, instead walking away, the tresses bouncing off of his back as he walked on.
None of that mattered now, Spider realised, not when Candle was now the authority within the garrison, and the Fist was still buried beneath the remains of the other soldiers who had followed him out once the first signs of rebellion had started.
Spider thanked silently everyday for the Captains quick response in closing the garrison’s gates, ensuring that those Seven city natives who killed the Fist and his entourage were not allowed entrance. Instead forming the entitlement of a empty stalemate that continued to this very day.
The garrison had originally numbered in the low hundreds, a third of this number having left shortly before the revolt had begun, heading toward the last northern city northwards of their position; Kot Ghul. The Fist had then taken yet another third out to Hatra’s heart when the cities leaders had demonstrated a request for assistance, leading these to their eventful death to the congested masses which awaited their short arrival.
In all, this left barely enough soldiers to man the fortification, in total less than forty soldiers against the entire citizenship of Hatra; perhaps two, maybe three thousand loyal Seven City natives.
Spider shivered as she always did when she thought of such numbers which were stacked against them. Only once had the Hatra’s soldiers attempted to storm the fort, the first day in which they had killed the Fist in front of the garrison. Candle had quickly allocated men to the walls, repressing and finally repelling the natives, using the last of their Monrath munitions in the process, forcing a large bloody wound to the attempts of the revolting populace.
Since than, they had erected the tents and played the route of a waiting game, knowing full well that there was limited supplies within the compound, and that eventually the Malazan’s encased within would fall to the plight of starvation.
So far Spider and the remainder of her regiment had survived on what food remained. Water was plentiful, a deep well situated within the garrison, allowing for their thirst to remain quenched. Food was the recurring problem, a good deal remained, but the method of rationing would only last so long. Eventually these reserves would disappear, leaving them far hungrier than they already were.
The only hope, one which seemed further away with each passing day, was that a new Malazan army would be sent to Seven Cities, ending the short reign of the uprising before it had a chance to overwhelm the remaining forces.
Spider again raised her sight, wishing that the horizon was broken by the appearance of such a rescuing force, but secretly knowing that they were left to rot.
With the though of rot, she looked down to the remains of her fellow soldiers, grimacing with the sight of flies which were now swarming amongst the bottlenecked grouping of flesh.
‘The flesh sings, does it not!’ Captain Candle commented, his voice soft as he spoke.
‘Sir?’ Spider asked, wondering if she had heard him correctly.
‘Nothing!’ Candle turned, allowing his pale eyes to settle upon Spider.
Spider repressed a shiver as he stared at her, wondering if she shivered for the reason of his inspection, or because he gaze was a cold thing, almost chilly in its creation.
‘When does your shift end?’ he asked.
‘Err… about quarter of a bell!’ she replied, face growing red as she stuttered a reply.
Candle nodded ‘Go grab something to eat. I’ll finish your post until Splinter comes to take over,’ he indicated with a wave of his hand that she was dismissed.
‘Yes sir!’ she acknowledged, knowing that it was a request too good to pass up.
Offering a half arsed salute, she turned and quickly headed towards the steps which led down into the heart of the garrison.
Only once did she turn back, seeing that the Captain had once more returned his sight back to the world at large; or at least to the part of the world in which the remains of the former senior officer were now designated.
She shook her head, feeling the raw tides of emotions for the Captain, wondering how he was functioning in such a situation in which he had assumed total command of Hatra Regiment.
Again she shivered, this time created from such an image in which he hadn’t taken the initiative. She hated the possibility of such thoughts, and so increased her pace, taking the steps in quick succession.

[Riot]

A enigmatic regime of light probed throughout the mess hall, allowing for sight to be present, but seemingly in direct contrast to the withering onslaught of illumination which was prevailing outside of the enclosed interior of the garrison. Small pitted windows carved into the walls allowed for the light to branch its way throughout the hall, illuminating but never over powering in its quantity.
The mess hall was one of the largest buildings within the entire garrison, designed as it was to originally serve up to several hundred men. Now however, its use was multi layered, functioning both as a canteen for the soldiers which remained in servitude to the Empire, as well as a meeting place for those who were off duty. There was even in the far corner established cots, allowing for those who were desperate for sleep to simply grace the low beds. At such times conversation would lower, but never die completely.
Tables made from wood shipped in from the Jhag Odhan were littered near to the actual kitchen, allowing for service and the follow up of consumption to take place with easy efficiency.
The area now designated as a congregation quarter was also served by a few tables, but these were used only for the gathering of card games, and the occasional event of a reading of the Deck of Dragons; a diversion which had been banned by Captain Candle, but for which the few idiotic members of the guard continued to endeavour with.
The mess hall was now mostly empty, tables blank of utensils, chairs largely vacant from any inhabitants. Only those few who worked in the kitchens, as well as the small number of guards who were seated at the congregation area were there visible. Most of the regiment were either located at the barracks, attempting to sleep away the worst of the nights harassments, or were designated to their set roles of duty; patrolling the walls so to make sure that no ambushes would be set against the stronghold.
Spider came into the mess hall with her usual swagger, throwing her eyes around so to see who was present within the large foyer. Spying some of her fellow soldiers, she redirected her path from towards the kitchen, to their current positions.
Two men were playing cards with a deck which had seen better days, the lightly painted cards were discoloured, the images drained by what appeared to be past residues of water. Shaking her head as she passed them, she was unsurprised to find that neither man paid her any attention; probably too ensnared by their absorbing game.
As her steps sounded out upon the tiled surface, she finally caught someone’s attention, and again she was unsurprised by the development. The Corporal was seated next to one of the Private’s, almost leaning against the understudy, yet she lifted her head when she heard Spider’s steps.
‘What are you doing here?’ the Corporal asked. With her words the Private lifted his head, his features lacking in any form of empathy as he witnessed Spider’s approach.
‘Captain let me go early!’ she stated, kicking out at the other man who was seated, his legs stretched out from one stall to another, his chin resting against his chest as he slept. He quickly awoke with the strike against his legs, his face taking in Spider with true hate.
‘Bitch!’ he muttered, adjusting his posture so to allow her to pass through.
‘Bastard!’ she returned to her Sergeant, offering him a wink as she settled herself down two seats away from the Corporal.
‘Captain just took over your watch?’ the Corporal asked, shifting her position so that she no longer leant against her lover the Private.
‘Aye!’ Spider nodded, wincing as her back flared momentarily with the sudden state of relaxation.
‘Staring down at the bodies again?’ the Private asked, his expression still loose, yet concern filled his words.
‘Aye!’ Spider again acknowledged.
‘And you left him there?’ the Sergeant asked, still angry with Spider’s action of awakening him.
‘What was I suppose to do?’ she asked, before answering her own query ‘Ignore his order and just stand there with him,’
‘Better than just leaving him there,’ the Sergeant muttered, before standing and disappearing toward the kitchen.
‘Bastard!’ Spider voiced aloud as Faith made his way away from their small gathering. Turning back to her seated companions, she saw the same imprint of concern reflecting on both of their faces.
‘What!?’ she asked, feeling as if she was to blame for some drop in responsibility.
The Corporal responded ‘We worry that too much has happened to the Captain, we fear that he’s lamenting upon actions that were beyond his capability in preventing,’
Spider hissed a laugh ‘Sounds like most men to me!’ she joked, ignoring the look that the Private cast her way.
The Corporal allowed a small smile to brighten her features, but again it was replaced by the expression of anxiety.
‘We still worry about him!’ she stated.
‘Aye,’ Spider agreed, remembering to the strange sentence that Candle had uttered before sending her away. What was it he had said, something along the lines that the dead sing? No, that the “Flesh Sings!” A thought which continued to disturb her with its declaration.
‘We worry that the Captain has placed too great a strain upon himself!’ the Corporal stated, searching for the Private’s hand beside her, before taking his hand and holding firmly to its structure.
‘He’s a sombre bastard I give you that,’ Spider agreed ‘But than he does have Faith as his potential second in command. A thought which sends shivers down my spine,’
Neither the Corporal nor the Private smiled, instead they looked as solemn as the Captain himself had.
‘Look,’ Spider attempted to explain ‘He’s not the only one to be concerned. Hood, we’re all in the same situation, locked away within this bloody garrison, and knee deep within this damn continent. None of us are having it easy!’
‘Captain’s having it worst than any of us can believe,’ the Private muttered.
‘Oh bollocks to that Sheep!’ Spider cursed ‘How has he got it worse than we have?’
Sheep squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable by Spider’s sudden rise in temperament.
It was the Corporal who answered, it was Prime who confronted Spider with the truth of things ‘First he had to sit back and watch as the Fist went out and got himself and many of the other officers butchered. Secondly, his first act in command of this regiment was to repel an attempted assault,’
‘Which he succeeded in!’ Spider pointed out, again still grateful for this level headed ability that the Captain had managed to show.
Prime nodded to accept the point before continuing ‘Thirdly, and possibly the greatest of all, the Captain’s Wickan. We’ve all heard of what is going on out there…’ at this she gestured lightly at the world at large ‘…with Coltraine. Hood alone knows how many Wickan clans are falling to this bloody revolt,’
‘He’s only half Wickan!’ Spider commented.
‘Yes, but he’s got the worst half in him. Probably wishes that he was out there himself. Free, riding with his clan brothers, united against this bloody continent,’
‘Like I said, he’s a man!’ Spider teased.
‘I’m a man and I don’t want to fight!’ Sheep commented.
‘Well your not like most men,’ Spider replied, managing to keep her face plain as she said it.
Sheep shifted in his seat, unsure whether he had just been insulted or not.
Prime arched an eyebrow in Spider’s direction, showing that she was displeased with Spider’s response, especially when it was aimed towards Sheep.
‘Sorry!’ Spider said, hands out before her, waving her apology. Suddenly sensing that the two love birds wanted to be alone, Spider rose from her seat.
‘I’ll see you later,’ she said to Prime, gaining a single nod as authorization to the request. Turning, she headed towards the kitchen, her stomach wailing with the demands to replenish it’s malnourished being.
She passed the two card players, sighting the hand that Molehill held before him. Again the washed out scene of the cards were non-specific in their drained appearance, yet she could very well guess that he held a better hand than his opponent; Private Creases. Molehills face was blank, while Creases was lined with the very creases for which he was named for. Forehead wrinkled as he considered his options.
She repressed the notion of laughter, knowing that it was out of place during such a time in which their futures were unclear. The sombre nature that had settled over the remaining soldiers was all to clear, and the attempt to remedy its draining affects was in its own sense, just as exhausting.
There were plenty of times when laughter came all to often, suddenly escaping with nothing had occurred, instead spurring out of her mouth before she even realised that it had been surfacing. During such events she was helpless to stop the mirth, instead forced to cough out the laughter until her throat was raw with the effort that it had taken on her. Only when the laughter had died, throat dry with the exhaustion, was she able to contemplate was had assaulted her.
Fear gripped individuals in different ways, for her laughter was some form of release; a method of venting out the apprehension which consumed her. Some like Molehill and Creases, appeared oblivious to the state that they were in, simply living through it, happy enough with the ideal that they had cards at hand to pass away the repetitive nature of the long days. Some, like the Captain, kept it bottled, never allowing his fear to surface, in its place he allowed the ideal of looking down at the corpses of his former officer’s every morning. As if the study of the deceased would remind him what was at stake; evidence that any failure on his behalf would result in the same conclusion to himself and the remaining soldiers under his formulated command.
Or at least, that was what Spider assumed he was thinking. Who could rightly tell, the Captain was Wickan. Hood, even worse, he was male.
A smile did surface on her lips, even lasting as she saw her Sergeant, Faith, ahead of her. Swaging more so than normal, she approached him, ready and willing to annoy him further.

[Riot]

‘Well?’ Sheep asked, finally breaching the silence that had settled shortly after Spider had upped and left to the far side of the mess hall.
Prime shrugged, keeping silent as she thought her thoughts.
Sheep knew better to say anymore, staying quiet as he awaited Prime to respond in her own time. He lightly squeezed her hand, offering what reassurance he could, knowing all to well that it was not nearly enough.
Finally, after a tenth of a bell, she sighed aloud before answering.
‘I’m worried!’ she announced.
‘Me too!’ Sheep acknowledged, knowing that he had been worrying ever since he had left Evinor. Hood, long before than if he admitted to it.
‘Candle’s going to do himself more harm than good if he remains as distant as he has been,’ she commented.
Licking at his lips, wishing that he had far more moisture in his reserves than he truly had, Sheep replied ‘It’s his nature. Likes to keep himself to himself,’ As he spoke another figure with the same adopted nature sprang to mind. The two were similar in their implemented attitudes, yet Sheep had not yet seen what the Captain was capable of.
‘I fear that the news regarding Coltraine tugs at Candle’s heart,’ she said.
‘That’s why they bragged about it!’ Sheep said, thinking back to the day when a single Hatra citizen had rode up to the garrison and mockingly called up that they were isolated and all alone. Acting as some form of manic herald, the dark skin man had shouted out praise to the Whirlwind Goddess, boasting of the assaults against Coltraine and his army of Wickan’s and Malazan’s. Only when a arrow had been cast at him, striking the horse and forcing him from his saddle did the mans boasts end.
Since than, as well as sending a wave of depression throughout the soldiers, Candle had been less of a presence, acting almost alone in his abilities, allowing Prime to act as relief in the form of directing sentry rotation. Prime was only a Corporal, newly promoted upon entering the subcontinent, yet she was addressing issues that were usually directed by those of far greater responsibility.
The work was draining, Sheep saw it with every passing day. Dark lines were drawn under Primes eyes, evidence enough that the load was taking its toll against her, yet there was nothing that Sheep could do. Only his belief and love for her could he offer, hoping that it was enough to sustain her during these hard overwhelming times.
‘I suppose so!’ she replied to his remark ‘But he’s taken it especially hard. I wonder if he feels as if he is betraying his heritage by not being under Coltraine’s command?’
‘Little difference it would make if he was!’ Sheep muttered.
‘Yes!’ she stated.
‘He needs to understand that there’s nothing he can do to help Coltraine. Matters here are bad enough, food won’t last forever, and I doubt that Hatra’s people will remain as quiet as they have so far. Its bound to blow up in our faces sometime soon. Candle better snap out of his slump if we have any chance of surviving these next few months,’ Sheep said, little realising that it was the longest speech he had said in some time.
Prime turned her full attention upon her lover, a small smile decorating her precious lips.
‘What?’ Sheep asked, realising that she was studying him intently.
‘Nothing!’ she said ‘Just that I sometimes forget that we had a life before we came to this continent,’
Sheep shrugged ‘Yeah, well that seems like a long time ago!’ he remarked.
‘Just last year!’ she stated.
‘A year in which we spent together,’
‘Do you regret it?’ she asked, sight dropping as if she felt guilty for his being there.
‘What!?’ he said surprised ‘No, of course not,’ releasing her hand, he lifted his arm and draped it around her frame, drawing her in closer to him.
‘We’re together and that’s all that’s important,’ he kissed her cheek, showing his affection with the simple act.
Prime hugged back, enjoying the presence of Sheep, enjoying the manner in which he anchored her to the foundations of normality.
‘We’ll keep an eye on Candle,’ she whispered, closing her eyes as she snuggled into Sheep’s frame.
‘Aye!’ he agreed, mind wandering some what, escorting itself through the tunnels of turmoil that gripped his will. They were neck deep in trouble, settled within the hostile subcontinent with no place to go. Their only hope was for the uprising to be quelled, and for aid to come riding to their position, providing provisions to rescue their growing hunger.
The days would grow steadily worse, reckoning against them with its slow harbouring manner, seeking to route them out from this place of refuge. Despair, which for the time being shadowed their asylum with its gritted presence, would surely expand, growing substantially with every passing day, pressing down upon their wills, prepared to overthrow their stability in a moments notice.
Repressing a shiver, knowing that Prime would sense it attendance, Sheep managed to hold firm to the lie which he had adopted since the last days within Evinor. The bravado that he had demonstrated after the day in which he had witnessed the former bodyguard dispatch the Claw, was audacity made flesh. He lived in a constant realm of fear and disorder, threatening his mind with its enticing mannerism, desperate to greet him with its barren face of occupation.
Only Prime’s company had prevented him from falling off of the precipice of his despair, securing him to the demands of everyday living. Without her he would be a lesser man, a lesser individual.
Which was why he held firm to her, allowing his assurance to pass to her, whilst sharing equally from her own reserves.
The mess hall was governed by the insistence of silence, broken only by the sudden rise of Private Molehill as he called aloud his triumph, besting Creases in the game of cards. His victory went unanswered as Sheep purely held Prime in his arms, revealing in the love that shared between them.

[Riot]

The scent of incense was overpowering, flaring intently within the nostrils of all present. Like the smell of a cadaver, it lingered, rising every so often as the dancer swayed her hips, arms posing above her with every act of motion.
Beneath the swab of incense which the dancer had plied to her body, was the undertow of dirt and sweat, stinging the senses with its probing. Rotating her body, showing her back briefly before spinning her features forward once more, the dancer continued with her routine, again allowing her aromas, natural and otherwise, to flare throughout the open air pavilion.
Sull Decrat sat silently, teeth locked tightly together, jaws straining with the pressure that he applied to their constructions. His sight was paved forward, focused upon the dancer as was everyone else who watched her enticing motions. But unlike everyone else who were gaining some form of satisfaction from the young girls dance, he found the display horrific. The sheer volume of incense spilled throughout their surroundings, and for Sull it stung, causing him to remain unmoving, fearful that any motion on his own behalf would result in him coughing aloud his distaste. To do such a thing would offend Hatra’s ruler; Pal Dor’lk.
For Sull, such a thought was unthinkable. Too long had he spent gaining the man’s trust, too long to simply lose it all by puking up during the dance recital of a slave girl; a mere pleasure girl.
So he sat unmoving, legs crossed beneath him, seated upon the raised ledge which was furnished with multi coloured cushions.
His appearance was directly opposite the colour and verification that settled around him. Unlike the assembly of Pal Dor’lk’s court, Sull was gathered in robes of dark colouring, giving off the impression that he was the singular focus of darkness within the crowded pavilion. As was his station, he was at odds with everyone else under Pal’s command; a position for which secretly please him.
Only one other man was fashioned in largely unadorned clothing, and that was the cities champion, Fen’dhlea Ob.
The champion was a large figure, decorated in the same armour for which he wore most of the time. Sull had seen Fen without his armour only the once, and that had been when the champion had been naked within the massage parlours which were on the opposing side of the city. That time, Sull had been greeted with the evidence that Fen was crisscrossed with the flaws of healed wounds, pock marking his body with their severe demands.
The flaws had agreed with Sull, matching the ones which marked himself. From that day he had sought and finally obtained the champions trust. Now he was under Sull’s influence, and Pal Dor’lk continued to remain ignorant to such things. Again a thought which pleased Sull no end.
‘I see your smile,’ Pal Dor’lk voice stated beside Sull ‘Does she entertain you so?’
Sull turned his eyes away from the damned dancer, allowing his sight to settle upon the cities ruler who sat beside him.
‘That she does!’ he lied, realising that a smile had graced his face as his mind had wandered over the thoughts of flaws and the associated images of defects which spurred his lust.
Pal nodded wisely, believing that he understood his advisor. Sull remained silent, not wishing to say more on a subject that was truthfully beyond his understanding, and beyond his care. Instead he shifted his position, knowing that by breaking the silence, Pal had granted an audience which would continue as the dancer remained true to her plight of increasingly intricate movements.
Before Sull had a chance to formulate a sentence that would lead onto matters that he viewed as all consuming, Pal instead spoke aloud.
‘My troops are growing bored with the waiting, they wish to join those who stalk the fleeing Malazan’s!’ Pal commented, never once dropping his eyes from the dancer. If anything, his eyes were attentive to her swaying body.
‘Yes my lord!’ Sull agreed, wanting anything but for the soldiers to march wastefully upon the Malazan 7th army and the man who led them; Coltraine.
‘I refused such a notion!’ Pal stated ‘Such a time of joining the rebellion is not yet here. I intend to wait for when Sha’ik truly rises and releases the Whirlwind. Only then shall we see the Malazan’s wiped from this land!’
Sull nodded in agreement. This was a viewpoint he shared, a perspective that he had in fact persuaded Pal to deem as his own.
‘Eventually we shall leave Hatra and march to Raraku, and a new dawn will be born from the ashes of our enemies!’ Pal continued with his ideals of grandeur.
Sull again nodded, a smile full on his face. The fool was unaware that he was speaking aloud thoughts that Sull had planted there. Raraku would form a new dawn for this land, bringing about the centralisation of a new ideology, formed from the ashes of the Whirlwind itself. Plans were developing towards such a time, yet there was still a ways to go. The fate of the Malazan army which was fleeing from Hissar was of no concern to Sull, instead their lives would just help feed the hunger of the Whirlwind and help bring about a warren whose aspect was aligned truly to the hand of chaos.
A realm for which Sull’s God would find limitless power, allowing the ascendant to govern all ways of life. Betrayal would be answered in kind, returning to the land that which had long ago struck down the Fallen God.
‘I would send my men up against the Malazan’s Fort if not for this future endeavour,’ Pal explained, wetting at his lips as the dancer suddenly began to twirl in rapid succession, spinning so fiercely that the sight gave Sull a headache.
‘I fear that my men do not understand me!’ Pal said, dropping his eyes from the dancer for the first time since she started, turning to look at Sull with almost fear in his eyes ‘You understand my wisdom,’ Pal said ‘You understand what awaits us for the future of this land. You must make my men understand, make them appreciate that what I do is not in fear, but is in the best interests of us all!’
Sull grew excited by Pal’s trepidation, finding that it almost fuelled him. Hiding his enthusiasm for Pal’s fear, Sull answered calmly ‘My lord, Fen’dhlea Ob commands your forces, and he perfectly understands your motives for not releasing your mighty horde,’ offering a smile which was always misinterpreted by Hatra’s ruler, Sull went on ‘Your champion awaits your command, and your men await your divine decree. They grow uneasy only because they wish to show to you how great an effort they will make against the enemy which has so unfairly repressed us all,’
Pal seemed to take comfort from Sull’s words, as he nodded once before allowing his sight to once more settle before him, gracing the final flourish of the dancer, finishing in a gesture which was directed solely to Pal Dor’lk himself.
Sull Decrat followed Pal’s actions and faced forward as well, but unlike Pal, his expression was again filled with disgust for the manner in which the dancer had ended her routine. He quickly cloaked his features, allowing a neutral tone to flirt across his face, knowing that no-one would have seen his momentary slip.
The dancer was displayed almost on the floor, her heels beneath her, whilst her hips were presented forward, flaunting her young womanhood to Pal in honour to his status as ruler.
Pal’s mouth was adored by a huge grin, this Sull could see from the corner of his sight. Disgusted by this flaunted exhibition, the only thought that flowed through Sull’s thoughts were that the young dancer still stunk of the sweat which clung as a second skin to her young flesh.
The only enjoyment that he could take from the situation was that with the ultimate coming of his God, the stench of the girl would be wiped clean, erased from her surface in much the same manner in which his God would wipe fresh the crust which plagued the world in the form of humanities flawed existence.
As the applause rang out from all those gathered, only Sull’s grin was greater than that which decorated Pal’s own face.

[Riot]

The glimmer of night shone down upon the fortification, bleeding with the display of moon light which allowed for shadows to thicken their way across every plain surface, to congeal behind every strut of the battlement.
Standing back from the battlement, making sure that his presence was not detected against the backlight of the illuminated night sky, Sheep stood at watch.
Across his shoulders he wore a rough but serviceable blanket, making sure that he held tightly to the front of the garment so to keep it enclosed before him. The nights out here were chilly, often a deep breeze would find its way off from the Maadil sea, scraping away at the life which patrolled the walls at this time of night.
Shivering with the extent of the chill that embraced him, Sheep was lightly motioning, rising and lowering his feet, bobbing upwards so to help fund the warmth which remained within his body. To stand too long unmoving on these walls was a sure sign of losing heat, a energy source which was needed all to well if he wanted to keep all of his fingers and toes intact.
Just like every night for which he was unfortunate to find himself on sentry duty, he found his thoughts washing over the same stupid things.
He hated Seven cities. There was no halfway point about it. He despised the way in which the subcontinent seemed to drain the reserves during the day with the onslaught of terrorising heat, whilst the nights plagued with the opposing nature of a deep thrusting freeze. There was no real instance in which the world appeared to exist between these two contrasting temperatures. It was as if Seven Cities was created to temper the well being of its populous during a lifetime of struggles, whislt enflaming the very people who had sought, successfully, to dominate it.
As always he wondered why the Empire needed such a barren land to be part of its confederation, believing that the effort was far beyond any true value.
However, he knew why so much exertions were directed towards the subcontinent, appreciative that the close proximity of Otataral Island was one of the most severest of reasons.
He could understand it, but it certainly didn’t mean that he had to like it, especially as it seemed as if they were all alone out here, while the remainder of 7th army was attempting to escape the plight of the uprising.
‘Forget this!’ he grumbled, shaking himself as a advanced front of breeze washed over him.
Trying to focus his thoughts, ignoring the rumblings of complaints that rose in the back of his mind, Sheep sought for his warren.
D’riss swam around him, settling over him much like the blanket that trailed his shoulders. Breathing deeply, trying to maintain the influence of his being, Sheep allowed himself the strangely alluring sensation of simply allowing D’riss to wander over him.
Unlike previous times in his youth when he had sought and attempted to grasp D’riss with direct purpose, he allowed it to flow across him, lapping at him like a dog licking at its masters fingertips.
Since the time when D’riss had felt as if it was ready to bludgeon him to death while he cowered in Main Square in Evinor, Sheep had decided to practice more on his warren, knowing that odds were stacked that he would need it for where he was going.
So with proper respect he practiced away at its styled guile, understanding that it was a essence of his being that he would have to develop, evolving towards the point when he could call upon its creation when needed. He wanted the relief to know that he could call upon D’riss with a simple summoning. To heed it as second nature would give him a greater chance of surviving; if Seven Cities gave him the opportunity to last that long.
D’riss trickled around him, and allowing himself to delve into its summoned spirit, he felt as if he could see the world around him in a new light. The construction of the fortification was alit with a wavering flame which echoed at his conscious. He could see through the very fabric of the mortar and the associated rock which made up the battlements formation.
With a smile on his lips, he reached forward, brushing at the rock, finding as the tips of his fingers swept through the substance of the wall. Bringing his hand back to his body, he rubbed at the digits, finding that they felt as if they had been plunged into a cold fire; chilly but burnt by the touch.
His exercises before had resulted in the sight of D’riss but never before had he actually touched through to what lay amongst the warren’s realm. His early days of using the warren had always been in the path of flinging a shaped projection of D’riss forward, allowing its touch to tear aside objects in its path.
Under the employment of Earn Paltroll in the city of Evinor, he had used such conjugations of D’riss, finding that it was perfect in the use of scraping away loose earth and soil. In such instances of using D’riss, never had he truly been linked to its fabrication, instead he exploited its creation almost in a half hearted manner.
Only since his arrival to Hatra, and the new found sense of ambition that swirled around him, did he set about trying to discover D’riss and the power that excelled within its warren bound stature.
Excited by this new development, he once more reached forward, ignoring the chilled sensation that breeched his flesh, plunging his hand forward so that eventually most of his arm was within the wall before him. He flexed his hand, finding that the substance of the wall felt very much like the resistance consistency of water.
The frostiness of his flesh soon forced him to pull backwards, to retrieve his limb back to his body. Releasing his warren now that his arm was free, he shivered with the extent of what he had just achieved. His arm was numb, only the light caress of self formed itchiness could he feel, finding that the warmth had been seized by the very construction of the wall itself.
Shaking his arm, allowing the blood flow to once more redeem itself through the limb, he gradually accepted the readiness of gathering warmth back into the flow of his arm.
His forehead was lined as he attempted to guess why the wall had greedily gouged upon his warmth, suggesting that any further attempts at plunging through the rock would assault him once more.
Chewing at his bottom lip, he tried to fathom the reason, finding that it was a thought that was beyond his reasoning.
It was at this moment, with his back turned to the fortification that he suddenly sensed motion. The edge of his perception was rattled by sudden movement which alerted his senses as it came from the nadir of the wall. Turning, forgetting instantly what he had discovered as he feared the assumption of a launched attack, he threw himself to the closest strut of the battlement.
His heart beating wildly, he wondered what to do, finding that his seizure was against the training which Prime had been attempting to teach him. Thinking of Prime, her delicate face springing to mind, he sought forward from his reserves the strength of will to reach over and peer down to the levelled surface of the ground below.
The darkness below was stirring, shadows unfurling by movement. Sending down his perceptions, ready to call them back if something truly unexpected was to confront them, he sought out what was disturbing the shadows.
Down below, amongst the dimness that settled at the garrison’s foundations, he sensed the languid motions of human life. He counted three people, all of whom felt as if they were ready to engage the route of traversing the wall itself.
A stirring of his senses further a field caught the actions of further movement, this time coming from near the settlement of tents which was manned by Hatra’s sparse overlooking forces. From here he caught sight of figures closer to the numbers of twenty, perhaps more. For some strange reason, prickling at his will with its rumours, he believed that these figures came not from the tents, rather they were heading towards them, moving in a silent approach which escaped the normal senses.
‘Oh Hood!’ he muttered, not understanding what was going on.
Once more below, further movement caught his attention, and reaching forward, giving himself the opportunity to stare down from the wall so that his head was horribly exposed, Sheep squeezed his eyes to narrow slits so to try and gain an impression of who was down there.
There was very little that he could see, just the occasion reflection of something pale, bouncing up to his position as he continued to look down.
A part of Sheep knew that he should raise the alarm, and he was readying himself to pull back and do just that when a voice called up to him.
‘Hey, you!’ the male voice called up, unveiled in its attempts to sound quiet even though its was projected upwards.
Sheep recognised the language, realising that it wasn’t native Seven Cities.
‘Open the gates you fool!’ the voice called upwards ‘Malazan’s down here needing in,’
The voice was called without the hint of a accent, fuelling Sheep’s belief that they truly were Malazan’s rather than a ruse to attempt to foil the garrison’s defence.
‘Who are you?’ he called back, hoping that his voice would not result in an arrow being dispatched his way.
‘Kot Ghul regiment!’ the voice responded ‘Or at least what’s left of us,’
‘Oh Hood!’ Sheep whined, pushing himself back from the wall.
‘Best hurry before…’ the voice called up before being cut off as the world seemed to ignite.
Sheep was staggered back by the sudden blossoming of a red rash of heat which surged up from the encampment. The blast of sound which radiated with the image of the explosion was deafening, causing Sheep’s ears to ring with the sudden bark of noise. Blinking, mouth hanging open as he witnessed the initial explosion, he was shocked further when yet another explosion ripped its way through where the tents were located.
The source of light which accompanied the detonations was so bright that Sheep was at first confused to what he had just witnessed. Only as the first pillar of smoke spent its way up through the illuminated night sky did he realise what had just occurred.
Alit by the remaining after glow, Sheep could see the brightly lit figures of those who had launched their munitions against the encampment. His senses had guessed correctly, as he could now sight at least twenty figures stand up from where they had thrown themselves to the ground, dusting themselves down before running closer to the battlement, they stances huddled so to help hide their appearance.
Sheep was still amazed by what had just happened, and looking pass where the jogging figures were advancing, he could see what remained of the encampment. The flourish of flames had caught and was weaving with purpose through the material of the tents, consuming the cloth with greedy potential. Of the land he could see very little, only that which was close to the roaring flames could he perceive, and of this it appeared darkened and scorched, burnt by the thrown clusters which were made of a fearful promise.
Setting his sights slightly higher, to where the smoke was now escalating up through the now brightened sky, he saw a patch of ignited cloth sweeping through the breeze. Its burning length flailing, blown upwards from when the first explosion had detonated throughout the world. Now however the eventual act of gravity was bringing it back down, earth bound, toward where the land was the hub of activity and radiating light.
‘Get those gates open before the city awakens and come baying for our blood!’ the voice below was now a launched curse, shouting out a demand which Sheep found himself obeying, moving as he did towards where the steps would lead down to the gatehouse.
‘What’s going on?’ Faith appeared from where Sheep was heading, his sight peering past Sheep and toward where the night had ignited. Following closely behind the Sergeant was a large number of the remaining soldiers, included were Captain Candle and Corporal Prime.
Candle strode straight past them all, reaching to the battlement and leaning himself up against its structure.
‘What’s happening?’ Prime asked, coming up to Sheep as everyone else made to follow the Captain.
‘Malazan munitions!’ he managed, finding that the sudden episode had occurred too fast for his mind, causing him to feel befuddled and lost.
Prime reached forward, gripping hold of Sheep’s chin, forcing him to stare directly at her, allowing for her to fill his world of sight. Allowing Sheep to gather himself, she than asked again ‘What’s happening?’
Sheep took a deep breath, finding that it actually helped to settle him, and than exhaling he than responded ‘The remainder of Kot Ghul’s regiment have just launched an attack against the encampment, blown it all to Hood and back,’
Prime nodded as if it was the most normal of occasions before asking another question in her sensible tone ‘How do you know this?’
Sheep paused for a moment, wondering how he knew such things, before remembrance startled back upon him ‘Some of the soldiers are down at the base of the fortifications, the rest are running over right now,’
Prime nodded, even offered him a smile which warmed his heart.
‘Well lets not keep them waiting!’ she grinned, indicating with a wave of her hand that Captain Candle should come over and listen to what she had planned.
‘Looks like munitions to me!’ Candle exclaimed as he joined them both, the remaining soldiers gathered at the battlement, watching at the eerie after glow of the ignited encampment.
‘Yes,’ Prime agreed ‘Kot Ghul regiment are down below, waiting for the gates to open,’
Candle’s features remained sparse in appearance, yet Sheep recognised a show of relief suddenly emerging with the Captain’s eyes, showing some form of excitement for which had been missing for so long.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, voice neutral in its questioning.
‘Aye!’ Sheep stated, before adding ‘Sir!’
Candle nodded once, towards Prime, a simple acknowledgement which Prime responded likewise.
‘Come on!’ she tugged at Sheep’s blanket, pulling the fold loose so to expose him fully to the conditions of the night.
Sheep cursed with the sudden engagement of the chilled night, instantly remembering and than disregarding the effects of what had resulted when he had entered the path of his warren that very night. Instead he followed after Prime, to where she raced down the steps and toward where the gates were situated.
The night had been a long one already, the usual obligation that sentry duty denoted now intertwined with what was occurring outside. As Sheep ran, trying to keep up with his fleet footed lover, he knew with certainty that the night was going to be longer than usual.

[Riot]

Sull Decrat was cradling his short blade, his eyes focused solely upon its fine length when he heard the explosion. At first he was shaken from his reserves, looking up toward the window that looked out from his accommodation and toward the centre of Hatra’s main avenue. He remained seated, unsure if the sound had truly occurred of if he had somehow managed to conjure the sound from the bliss encasement that had settled over him.
It was only after the second detonation that he threw himself to his feet, forgetting the knife as he pushed it back into its restraint by his waist.
Crossing to where the door was constructed at the south facing wall, he stormed his way through, out into the hallway.
A number of servants were running too and fro, managing to avoid him as he made his way towards the entranceway. Stepping out into the fresh night’s embrace, he thanked the realisation that he had been wearing the heaviest of his clothes, making sure that he was well protected from the nights assaulting chill.
A hub of activity was proceeding outside, men fleeing back and forth, running in the design of blind panic.
Stretching out one hand, he pulled to a halt a young Hatra guard, the man’s youthful face broken by the sheer stock of fear.
‘What’s going on?’ he ordered.
The youth stuttered a reply, his voice horse and his eyes wide in alarm ‘The Malazan’s are attacking, the encampment is in flames!’
‘Nonsense!’ Sull muttered but the guard was already gone, fleeing in the direction of Pal Dor’lk palace.
Sull started off once more, quickening his pace as he made his way toward the front gates which drew out toward where the encampment was over seeing the Malazan garrison.
As he paced his way forwards, his mind was washed with confusing thoughts. The explosions could only be the resultant of Malazan Munitions, the cowardly act of attacks by their damned sappers. Yet he doubted that those sealed within the garrison would yet dare to launch an attack at such a time. His suspicion was that they still had enough food to exist for another month, and so the random act of initiating an assault upon the encampment seemed beyond belief.
The thought which sprung to mind which caused him the greatest of distress was the possibility that an army had somehow gained grounds to Hatra’s position, and were in the process of attempting to free the garrison and put down the rebellion.
This thought like the other seemed beyond reason, as Sull was reliably informed by his master that the 7th army were still attempting to make their long escape to Aren, whilst the only other Malazan army of any significance under the leadership of High-Fist Dujek Onearm had become renegade.
The Malazan empire was stretched thin across its boundaries, and Sull realised that it would all snap, causing the empire to break apart, the confederations regaining their old ways, returning back to the routine that had existed before the old Emperor had started his blasphemous reckoning of conquering the world.
So this abrupt offensive seemed unlikely in the extreme. And so this sense of not knowing what was occurring was leaving him gathered up within a ball of foretelling dread.
He made with all haste to the cities gates, finding that the mainstream number of people here was of a greater estimate than he had previously encountered.
As he crossed from the western avenue which opened up to the large plaza of Hatra’s entrance, he saw that Fen’dhlea Ob had gathered the city’s forces, readying the men as they waited at the fore of the city’s gates.
Almost jogging to the city’s champion, he caught the man’s attention, raising a hand to show that his advice was paramount to any action taking place. Fen waited as Sull joined him, his passive face radiating absolutely no hint to what he was thinking.
‘The city is under attack?’ Sull gasped out, hoping that this was not the case as it could very well spoil his and his master’s plans.
‘No!’ Fen’dhlea answered, his eyes lasting over Sull only momentarily, before he turned his sights back out to the blazing radiance of the fires which burnt greedily at the fuel of the blasted tents ‘Only the encampment!’ he commented.
‘Any idea who launched the attack?’ Sull asked.
Fen shrugged, his broad shoulders bobbing the once to show his ignorance ‘Malazan’s, but not from the fort, maybe some newcomers!’
Sull managed not to grimace, yet his stomach flipped with the possibility of who the newcomers could be.
‘Are you riding out?’ he asked, indicating the waiting men.
‘I await for Pal Dor’lk, only with his decree can we march out to confront those responsible,’ Fen replied.
Sull nodded in agreement, knowing that he could not force Fen to do otherwise, not whislt Pal still remained innocent to the belief that he was in charge of Hatra, only at the most optimal of time would Sull act, allowing for his words to take command, allowing Fen to become his leading General and for Pal to be laid to rest by the wayside. Until that time he would have to wait, but he knew that as Pal’s leading advisor that he could manipulate the city’s leader to conform to his bidding.
‘The lord approaches!’ Fen’dhlea Ob commented.
Turning, Sull was given the opportunity of seeing the lord with his most loyal of bodyguards approach from the centre most avenue.
Pal was dressed in his elegant night clothes, displaying to one and all his associated wealth. As Pal grew nearer, Sull could see Pal’s discomfort, displayed by the manner in which his head turned back and forth, and by the wide eyed gaze that he denoted to the willowing birth of smoke that was now clustering throughout their exposed area.
‘Seal the gates!’ Pal shouted as he grew close enough for them to hear him.
‘My lord…’ Sull began.
‘Seal the gates, before the Malazan’s have a chance to storm us,’ Pal’s whinny voice echoed out his demands.
Fen’dhlea Ob nodded once, glancing briefly at Sull before commanding his orders to those who served below him.
‘My lord!’ Sull started once more, making sure that he employed the greatest of his styled voices to help win through his opinionated beliefs ‘At this time we don’t know how many Malazan’s are out there,’
‘All the more reason to seal the gates!’ Pal stated, passing Sull, before pausing so to gain a better glance at the sight of the spoilt encampment.
‘It cannot be any major force,’ Sull explained ‘There’s no chance for them to gain access to this stretch of land. The seas are blocked, and the Thalas mountains will allow for no army to pass its formations. Y’Ghatan still stands, and no Malazan force will ever past its borders ever again,’
‘Than they have bypassed all our defences!’ Pal exclaimed, his panic evidence enough ‘They have a warren all to their own I believe. The imperial warren which they have sent through forces to repress the rebellion. We should never have rebelled, no good will come of it,’
Sull grinded his teeth together, suspecting that Pal would be unfazed by any sweet words that he would utter tonight. The man was too full of fear, a sentiment which Sull found a disgusting trait.
Wiping at his face with his hand, he decided that to press Pal would have no affect and so he stood back and remained silent.
He knew that the Malazan’s who had launched the attack had certainly not come by warren, as he had sensed no opening of such a realm, instead he suspected that it was probably a last desperate act from some small force which had been crisscrossing this part of the continent, trying to find some place were they could find momentary salvation.
So he remained silent, eyes simply watching as the gates were slowly forced backwards, large wedges of wood dropping into place so to bar entrance. He suspected that the night was going to be a long one. A route of waiting for which nothing would occur and for Pal Dor’lks worry to escalate. Sighing for what was to come, he advanced over to Pal’s side, knowing that to help maintain his reputation, he would have to spend the remainder of the night, and the approaching early morning with the city’s fearful leader.

[Riot]

Lit candles were arranged coherently throughout the mess hall, adding light to the gathering that was taking place within its large construction. Never at this time of night had the mess hall been as crowded as it was now, packed by the majority of the remainder of the garrison, all flocking round the newcomers. Only those who were engaged with the continuous act of guard duty were vacant, watching over the city of Hatra, ready to report if any retaliation was sought against their position.
Sheep found himself excused from the remainder of his duty, instead replaced by another guard, allowing him the opportunity to listen in to the questioning which Candle would commence with.
He sat beside Prime, who in turn was seated one seat behind and beside to Candle. Behind himself were the over looking remainder of his fellow soldiers, watching on silently as Candle proceeded with his examination.
Arranged in front of Candle was what remained of Kot Ghul regiment. There were twenty three soldiers in total, all arranged tiredly around the cluster of tables, water-carriers and mugs scattered before them all, allowing them to break their thirst.
Sheep studied the soldiers as a unit and was unsurprised that they were a drained bunch. As a collective their armour was tatty and dishevelled, coated in a fine layer of clinging dirt, suggesting that they had had a hard time of it to date.
It was to the three individuals who sat at the front of the group which intrigued Sheep most of all. The leader was evident enough, his hard features displaying his nature with apparent ease. What surprised Sheep most of all was the fact that he was only a Sergeant, the highest surviving member of Kot Ghoul’s regiment. Since entering their garrison however, he exhibited himself in such a manner that Sheep had first thought that he was of a higher rank.
His name was Rivero Leggett, or simply Sergeant Legit as his own squad appeared to call him.
The two who were beside him were a Corporal who was easily identifiable as a sapper, and a young female Private, who had yet to say a word.
The sapper was Corporal Lore, and Sheep struggled to guess the man’s age. If he was forced, he would estimate that the man was in his late fifties, but Sheep somehow doubted it, believing that no one in their right mind would still be employed within the forces at such an age. When he spoke his voice was gravel, chewing through the words he spoke with grave indifference.
The young Private reminded Sheep slightly of Prime, mainly in that she had the same adopted hairstyle, black and negative in its darkness. Only her nature appeared at odds, shaped in the manner of a hard glances and cold glares. She remained eerily silent, and if not for her occasional motion, Sheep would have assumed that she was asleep. As of yet she had not spoken, probably remaining true to her adopted name; Private Quiet.
Candle leant forward in his seat, his eyes level with the Sergeant before him, clearing his throat with a deep rumbling cough, he than began his questioning.
‘How did you get here?’ he asked.
Legit adjusted his position, grimacing as he settled anew. Returning Candle’s study, he answered ‘Left Kot Ghul once the garrison fell,’ he stated ‘About three weeks back,’
‘Three weeks…!’ a voice broke out from the back of the gathering, and Sheep realised that he recognised it as belonging to Creases.
Candle turned slightly in his seat, allowing his eyes to pave across his men. Showing them with clear tolerance that he wanted total silence, he then returned his attention back forwards.
‘You’ve been on your own since that time?’ he asked.
Legit shrugged as he answered ‘All except for some Gral horsemen. They’ve been following us for sometime,’
‘Gral!’ Candle nodded ‘And where are they now?’
Legit again bobbed his shoulders ‘Lost them about two days back, just before we decided to head south. We were planning on heading toward the mountains until we saw that your garrison still stood defended. Best idea seemed to be to join you!’
‘And strike out against those bastards camped outside!’ Corporal Lore growled with his tempered voice, a menacing grin plastered across his grave face.
Sheep managed to repress a shiver whislt looking at the deranged sapper, finding that the Corporal was of such a ominous design in appearance that any hint of amusement on his wrinkled caked face, gave off the illusion of desperate madness.
Candle ignored the Corporals words, instead never allowing his eyes to shift from Legit ‘The assault on the encampment was your idea?’ he asked.
‘Seemed like a good idea at the time!’ Legit replied ‘I hoped to cause some confusion, maybe draw any attention away from ourselves,’
‘You was ready to climb the wall before you was spotted!’ Candle stated.
‘Aye!’ Legit acknowledged, turning his eyes briefly from Candle, he then focused his sight upon Sheep ‘Was afraid that we might cause an alarm if we simply shouted out our request for entrance,’
Sheep shifted nervously in his seat as the sergeant sight fell upon him, wondering if he had done something wrong by sensing their approach.
‘Quiet here would have climbed up and made contact,’ Legit explained, gesturing to the silent Private who sat nearside him ‘She would have opened the gates if need be, and than let us all in to explain our actions,’
Candle nodded, turning to Quiet he than asked ‘Climbing a specialty of yours?’
Quiet looked sturdily at the Captain, her eyes lingering with such intensity that Sheep was surprised that the Captain didn’t simply allow his own eyes to drop.
‘Well?’ Candle persisted.
‘Err…sorry sir, but Quiet can’t talk!’ Corporal Lore explained ‘Her tongue’s been cut out see, and so she’s been left mute and all,’
Candle nodded in reply, voicing no apology as he returned Quiet’s continuous stare.
‘Quiet!’ Legit’s voice was pitched low, enough so to catch the Private’s attention and to force her to drop her stare.
Candle returned his attention back to Legit ‘I trust you understand the situation we ourselves are in,’ he began ‘We have plenty of water enough to last us all for years, yet food is now very sparse, especially with our numbers now grown,’
Legit nodded in agreement.
‘I propose that your regiment now merges into our own, again commanded by myself. I would expect that you will become my new second, commanding when I am not present,’
Legit licked at his lips, his eyes ranging over his men, gaining what he could from their exhausted faces. Finally, after gauging some form of acknowledgement from them, he turned back to Candle and nodded.
‘Excellent!’ Candle responded ‘I would suggest that you all gain some sleep for the time being. I’m sure that the morning will come about soon enough,’ Standing, Candle than turned to Faith ‘Please show them all to some of the remaining bunks!’ he ordered.
Faith grumbled a acknowledgement, and gesturing to the newly enlisted Hatra regiment’s soldiers, he led them form the mess hall and out toward the rest halls.
‘That will be all!’ Candle called aloud to the remainder of the soldiers, indicating that sleep was a means that they would all have to adopt to. Looking at Prime, and at Sheep, he implied for them both to stay.
As the mess hall emptied, Candle sought forward to their joint position and settled down before them both.
‘Well?’ he asked.
Sheep turned to Prime, knowing that the question was truly being asked of herself rather than his own adopted thoughts.
Prime hid away the tiredness that swept through her spirit, instead returning fully fledged to the role of appointed advisor that had been carried her way since the death of many a good officer after the initial spur of the uprising.
‘I trust what they have to say, their sheer exhaustion commits to this,’ she answered.
‘Aye!’ Candle grunted ‘But they surely stirred up the nest!’
‘I would guess that it’s the only way they know how to act,’
‘That sapper worries me!’ Sheep found himself saying.
‘Why?’ Candle asked.
‘Oh… well, I’ve just had bad experiences with munitions in the past,’ he explained.
‘Haven’t we all!’ Candle joked, yet his voice carried no hint of amusement.
‘Their Sergeant seemed annoyed with you!’ Prime said, her features turned to Sheep.
‘Me! Why?’ Sheep moaned.
‘Aye, I picked up on that as well,’ Candle noted ‘I expect its to do with you sensing them when they first emerged. I would guess that our new Sergeant is not use to being sensed,’
‘Just luck that’s all!’ Sheep muttered.
‘That I doubt!’ Candle said.
‘If there’s nothing else sir!’ Prime said, drawing attention away from her lover.
‘No!’ Candle replied ‘Be on your way, but make sure that your both up early. Tomorrow’s going to be a bitch of a day, I can sense it,’
‘Aye, no doubt!’ Sheep muttered as Candle drew himself to his feet and left through the way in which all the other soldiers had only just recently departed.
Sheep found himself seated in silence, not moving, not knowing whether sleep would be able to gather him up within its fold. Licking at his lips he turned to Prime, finding that she was already staring at him with a weird expression on her face.
‘What?’ he asked, shocked by her open study.
‘Have you been practicing your warren?’ she enquired.
‘Aye, only when no-ones around,’ he admitted.
Prime nodded ‘I suspect that Candle knows,’ she commented.
‘That I’m a mage?’
Prime nodded once more ‘Yes, he suspects!’
Sheep adjusted his position as he replied ‘Does it matter?’
‘I don’t know, but I can guess that Legit suspects as well!’
‘It’s not a secret!’ Sheep stated.
‘No!’ Prime began to explain ‘But if they start to believe that you can conjure up something which can save us all, than they will look to you to do something reckless,’
Sheep coughed a laugh that he certainly didn’t feel ‘No, no!’ he shook his head ‘Those who know I’m a mage know that I’m just a lowly adapt,’
Prime remained silent, simply staring at him, forcing him to drop his return gaze.
Finally she said ‘I doubt that your practises have remained fruitless. You never mention your art anymore, and I’m beginning to suspect that your becoming far greater in its pursuit,’
‘Hardly!’ he replied, finding that lying to Prime was one of the hardest things that he ever had to do, but sensing that he had to so to keep the ties that bonded them together intact.
Prime continued to stare at him but finally dropped her sight, perhaps sensing that Sheep was to remain silent on the matter.
‘I’ve got guard duty!’ she announced.
‘I’ll join you if you want?’ he asked, now allowing his sight to return to her.
‘No, its fine,’ she stated ‘Best if you get some sleep!’
‘Oh, I suppose so!’ he muttered, pausing as Prime moved away from, back out to the exposed night’s embrace.
Standing still for those linger moments, he damned himself for lying to Prime, wondering if he had sudden sent a splint throughout their relationship, damaging that which he adored so much.
‘Dammit!’ he cursed, kicking out at the nearest chair, causing the wooden frame to rock with his launched punt.

[Riot]

The early exposure of the sun swept the nights chill aside with eager deliverance, washing a radiant warmth of heat throughout the mornings arrival. Like a blasphemes praise to a malignant God, the heat rolled with an expanse that settled with the oppressive nature of a thousand fold will. Dominate, it subjugated the resolve of those who worship its formation, repressing the very nature of those who happened to stand beneath the sun’s energetic gaze.
Sull felt the first gathering of sweat beginning to bead upon his forehead, yet he ignored the promise of wiping it away, knowing that he would be saturated by its presence for the rest of the day. Instead he suffered under the forceful will of the sun’s blooming expanse, feeling as if the sudden change in temperature was a test against the strength of his tenacity, probing at his will to see if any weakness could be determined.
As he drew in a slow breath, he could feel the heat already burning through his nostrils, causing his nose hairs to shiver with the quiver of warmth that assaulted him.
Looking forward from his elevated position upon Hatra’s fortifications, he could see the results of the nights engagement. As with those who were gathered around him, he was silent, his entire focus located upon that expanse of land which had been caught up within the night’s explosive offensive.
The former encampment was near enough unrecognisable from the previous day. Whereas yesterday the sight of the pitched tents and organised arrangement of barricades had granted the sense of well-being, the new morning was exposing the exact opposite.
All that remained of the tents were the darkened, scorch remnants of cloth which had formed their construction. Now, instead of being held upright by fabricated frames, the cloth was scattered unevenly throughout the land that separated Hatra from the Malazan fortification.
Dark patches of sand were evident enough of where the munitions had detonated, blowing large holes into the light crisp colouring of the land, leaving it churned and exposed in a way which sent a shiver throughout all who were gathered to witness its creation.
‘So where are they?’ Pal asked, standing closely to Sull but not close enough so to see Sull’s dark expression cross his features.
It was Fen’dhlea Ob who spoke, grunting as he expressed his view from Sull’s opposing side,
‘They were never here, my Lord,’ he stated, his blank face remaining locked upon the damage before them all.
‘What do you mean?’ Pal’s voice was shrill as it asked the question, surprised etched into its creation by what Fen’dhlea Ob had said.
The cities Champion turned his attention back towards his master, his features framed by the large chunky helmet that was blanched of all colouring, seeming to absorb any light that was portrayed upon its structure. Sull was surprised that Fen’s brain wasn’t boiled by the heat which must have been directed solely upon the helm.
‘The only Malazan’s to attack here last night were already here in the first place!’ the Champion uttered, before explaining further ‘If not by those who are caged within the fort, than by those who have managed to escape from elsewhere. My best guess would be either Kot Ghul or Y’Ghatan, more likely Kot Ghul as I doubt that any Malazan’s would come across the Thalas mountains,’
Sull turned to look at Pal, wondering how the lord would react to such a suggestion. He saw that Pal’s face was an incensed red, brightening as the frustration burned willing throughout his core. Slowly, and with a restraint that Sull was honestly surprised to find coming from Hatra’s leader, Pal was breathing out, allowing his anger to relieve itself through the simple act of casting out his breath.
‘And where will these new interlopers to our land be now?’ Pal asked, his voice low as he continued to restrain himself.
‘By now they will be within the fort,’ Fen stated, sounding almost ignorant of his master’s restraint.
Pal closed his eyes, and again Sull was impressed by his control, believing that without the shame that he had brought upon himself by the act of closing the city after the explosions had sought throughout the nights sky, that Pal would have been lauching an attack at the fort with the full force that Hatra had to offer.
‘My liege!’ a voice called from the corner of the wall, directed toward them it seemed to be full of alert and fear. Its creation caused them all to shift their footing, if only to extend their joint sights towards where the voice had been cast.
Sull noticed that only Fen’dhlea Ob remained passive, yet he quickly ignored this as he lent his weight forward and looked to where the waving man was shouting.
‘My liege, look!’ the young sentry was waving and gesturing towards the north, toward where a haze of dust was erupting from the horizon.
‘A sandstorm!’ someone stated.
‘Perhaps…’ another replied.
‘Sull?’ Pal asked, turning slightly to address Sull Decrat before appraising once more the rising turmoil of sand.
‘Maybe a storm?’ Sull offered, not really believing what he said as the cloud of sand did not appear strong enough to suggest a storm.
‘No!’ Fen’dhlea Ob announced, stepping forward he brought his way forward so that he passed Sull, momentarily blocking out the sun by his huge engulfing frame, before stopping beside Pal ‘That is no storm,’ he said.
‘Than what?’ one of Pal’s less senior advisors asked.
Fen’dhlea Ob squeezed his eyes to slits as he looked out toward the bathed horizon, finally, as the silence amongst them all seemed to draw out way too long, he spoke aloud a single word ‘Horsemen!’
Pal appeared as if he was near to fainting, swooning as he did near towards the edge of the fortification. Only the strong and quick reflexes of the cities Champion stopped this from happening, as Fen’dhlea reached forward and offered support to the cities Ruler.
‘Malazan’s!’ Pal whispered, his voice almost lost due to the fear which whistled its way through his frame.
Panic began to spread throughout all those nearby, spurred by Pal’s near collapse. In any other time, Sull would have felt excited by such a notion, but at this time all he could feel was the trembling realisation that any force of any true significance from the Malazan’s at this time could very well destroy the planning that his true master had associated for this land.
Fear for his well-being and for the future which was promised him could very well be collapsing by the numbers that were approaching from the north. For the first time since becoming Pal’s highest advisor, he felt the horrors of the actions that he had pursued. Here was the possibility of his pursuits coming back to haunt him, the regime of change that had been promised to him could scatter with the horsemen that were approaching.
He was staggered by the thought, so much so that he reached forward, using the wall to help steady his nerve struck frame.
‘No!’ Fen’dhlea Ob spoke once more ‘Not Malazan’s,’
‘Than who?’ again the same lowly advisor asked the query.
Fen’dhlea Ob, the cities Champion, the cities General, was the only man on the battlements that appeared unperturbed by the gathered vapours of the sandstorm on the horizon.
‘There is no banners, no indication that they are Malazan’s,’ he replied in his usual slow but measured way ‘The only horsemen that the Malazan’s have on this land are Wickan’s, and no Wickan’s ride in such a loose formation. No, these are someone else. Gral riders if I had to guess,’
‘Gral!’ Sull found himself repeating, finding that his heart was once more beating steadily in his chest.
‘Yes!’ Fen’dhlea Ob agreed ‘I’m more than certain,’
A round of silence fell upon them all as they looked sturdily toward the approaching rise of ushered sand, each and everyone of them thinking their own secreted thoughts.
Sull rubbed intently at his chin, his dread easing down as he sought to refresh himself back to the state of elegant stability. The rush of fear that had developed him was now departing, leaving him feeling foolish by its birthed endeavour.
How easily he had thought his master’s plans had been shattered, broken down by the illusion that the Malazan’s had somehow replanted their stretched forces back upon the sub-continent. He blamed his uneasy resolve upon the fact that he had gotten no sleep the night just past, instead his association with the fearful Pal had weakened his beliefs, poisoning him with its close proximately to Hatra’s weak ruler.
Slowly, as Sull’s own induced paranoia began to subside, the sight of the horsemen could be made out by one and all.
‘Gral!’ Fen’dhlea Ob stated ‘Just as I thought,’
With this, the city Champion made his way from their associated position and toward the ground floor, acquitting himself before his men as he gathered before the main gates.
‘I detest Gral’s!’ Sull muttered, eyes wandering across the loose formation that made up the horsemen’s dotted pattern.
The horsemen rode at a steady pace, enough so to approach Hatra in good time, but not fast enough so to tire their motioning mounts.
Sull played his sight across the nearing horsemen, noticing that the man who led them was almost certainly their leader; preceding the group by a good half dozen yards. From this distance, Sull could make out that they were all dressed in the same apparel, darkened armour which was light in its weight, allowing them to form a light cavalry.
From Sull’s experience, all Gral were of the same enigmatic nobility, fuelled in part by the love of their horses and the respect of honour where it was due. It was for these reasons that Sull found his hatred for them respond anew, stabbing at him with its sheer abhorrence to their approaching state.
He was unaware of it, but his cheek was twitching as he adopted the pose of watching, not realising that his inner resolve was angry with the Gral’s arrival. In part they had cast shame upon him, causing him to momentary lose faith in his God, an act which he was embarrassed for, was in truth fearful of.
‘Permission to open the gates!’ Fen’dhlea Ob’s voice called from below, and with a slight nod of his head, Pal accepted the request.
The cities champion gave no pause, instead ordering the gates to be opened, allowing for the fortifications to open once more, breaking through the fear which had subjugated them since the fearful blasts of the night previously.
‘Perhaps it would be best to join those below,’ Sull suggested, knowing that the role of accepting these Gral would have to proceed if normality was to roll onwards upon its designed course.
‘What!’ Pal turned to face Sull with confusion etched upon his features ‘Oh…yes, of course!’ he finally managed.
Sull decided that the morning had not come soon enough, and so he led the party from their high position, marching down the steps so to confront the nearing horsemen.
Reaching where Fen’dhlea had lined up a small company of Hatra troops beside the gates, Sull waited patiently as Pal slowly strode his way down, moving as if he was lost within the delicate absorption of adopted shame.
Sull gritted his teeth as he waited, wondering to himself if the cities leader had not lost some form of baring due to the coward nature that he had embraced the previous night. Would Pal’s dazed state threaten his own ideals and plans, casting doubt upon what he had planned; or would Hatra’s ruler snap out of his confounded position. Whatever plight he leant towards. Sull knew that he could nudge him in the right direction if given enough time to work his charm.
His only fears were for the coming confrontation, knowing that Gral horsemen were one of the hardest of Seven cities citizens to second guess.
Just as he juggled in his mind what to do, he quickly planted any thoughts aside, sighting as he did the horsemen riding the last distance up to, and finally through into the raised archway that was now clear from the adoring gates.
The leading horsemen gently brought his beast before Fen’dhlea, probably recognising the authority and status that was all to clear for everyone to see. Fen nodded, commenting but not loud enough for Sull to hear, instead he had to wait as the Gral horsemen returned some formless words, nodding twice himself, before climbing down and clear from his horse.
The other horsemen waited in their saddles as their leader passed his reins to a young waiting guardsman. Fen’dhlea Ob judged the Gral’s fomation and than led the Gral towards Sull and Pal.
As they grew closer, Sull allowed his eyes to wash over the Gral. The horseman appeared in his late fifties, his darkened flesh appearing almost leathered by the creases that lined his skin. From beneath his lightly bashed helm, Sull could see that the Gral was adorned by silver hair, thin wisps dancing free so to atone to the slight breeze that ran around them.
Above the hooked nose that sat central to his face, the Gral was accomplished by two powerful staring eyes which brooked no humour in their gaze. Sull felt almost guilty just standing there, yet he worked out the chill which escaped across his being, instead standing steadily so to show his worth.
Fen’dhlea Ob brought the Gral close enough to Pal so to introduce the two men,
‘My Lord!’ Fen began ‘May I introduce Motak Bevelle, commander to the Gral cavalry that you see before you,’
Motak bowed his head slightly as he was introduced, his tall stance almost bending so to express his honour.
‘I present High Lord of Hatra, the principled Lord Pal Dor’lk,’ Fen’dhlea finished, bowing his own head so to admit to Pal’s role.
‘My pleasure, my Lord,’ Motak Bevelle stated, his words sounding fresh, rather than the expected dry tones that Sull was anticipating.
‘An honour!’ Pal nodded his own head, and Sull was pleased that Pal appeared to be acting at least to his old fundamental ways. An exhibition of his breeding which had become second nature to his flummoxed mind.
‘What brings you to Hatra, commander?’ Sull asked, attempting to make his voice sound as natural as possible.
Motak raised an eyebrow in question, appearing as if he wondered who was addressing him.
Fen’dhlea complied with the need of further introductions ‘Commander, this is Sull Decrat, Lord Dor’lks high advisor,’
‘Ser!’ Motak again nodded before replying to the original question ‘I have brought my men south chasing after a fleeing foe from Kot Ghul. I would guess from what I have witnessed outside that you have already met them!’
‘Malazan dogs!’ Pal cursed, his face showing some colour for the first time since his induced dishonour.
‘True!’ Motak agreed ‘Yet these Malazan’s are dogs which have a dire tendency to bite when cornered,’
‘And now they are in the fort!’ Pal murmured, his voice almost lost.
‘Yes,’ Motak nodded ‘But this time they will have no opportunity to escape. Instead I suggest that contentious surveillance is bestowed upon the fort, so to make sure that escape can not be made possible,’
Fen’dhlea Ob shifted in his stance, expressing the need for his words to the conversation ‘I believe the best action is to attack. Already shame has been granted our way, to further wait only draws greater dishonour on us all,’
‘Honour or not. If you attempt to storm the fort, you better be prepared for large losses,’ Motak explained.
‘Most of the Malazan’s are already dead,’ Sull noted ‘Their senior officers are all and one dead. Only a single Captain remains, and with him barely fifty men,’
‘You can increase that number now to at least seventy,’ Motak answered ‘Possibly eighty,’
‘Hardly enough to oppose our superior numbers!’ another advisor commented.
Motak offered the younger man such a look of contempt, that the advisor’s face dissolved to the dedicated pasture of pallor.
‘Still enough to oppose a number twenty times their own, especially with the advantage that they have with the supplies of munitions that their new friends have brought to them,’ Motak explained, ignoring the young advisor as he proved his words to Pal.
‘We cannot allow them to remain hidden within the fort, honour dictates that we dethrone them,’ Fen’dhlea Ob implored to Pal, hoping to gain a command which would allow him to pit his forces against the Malazan’s.
Motak raised a hand, showing off the scarred tissue which made up its formation, before speaking ‘The Malazan’s have no where to go, food will be sparse, especially with the new numbers now added to them. To attempt a siege at this time would be unadvisable, not unless you are prepared to loose somewhere among two thirds of your own forces in the taking of the fort!’
All heads turned towards Pal, some like Fen’dhlea Ob assumed in his features the hope that Pal would contest to such a will. Sull adjusted his footing, wondering what decision Pal would attend to. Sull certainly did not want an attempt to be made against the Malazan’s, knowing that such an ideal was against the fundamental objective that he had been sent there to complete.
Drawing in a long breath, trying to hide his own anxiety, he awaited Pal’s decision.
Pal Dor’lk realised that the ultimate decision was his own, yet he was attempting to hide the fear from his features, desperately holding firm to the will of his being, trying to control any tremors which wanted to break out across his numb induced flesh.
Almost overwhelmed by the pressure that was baring down upon him, Pal did the one thing that helped to relieve the burden being directed his way. He looked towards Sull, hoping for the strength of counsel which had been granted upon him ever since Sull had become his leading advisor.
Sull was almost too delighted by Pal’s searching eyes, knowing that once more his prowess in ability was being sought; a means of device which he had imposed heavily upon Hatra’s leader.
Hiding down his satisfaction, knowing that to express his deep lingering satisfaction could very well betray him, Sull simply shook his head; a slow measured response that Pal could not mistake.
Licking at his lips, almost drawing himself up, Pal answered, his voice surprisingly calm in its portrayal ‘We will not send our soldiers and citizens against the forts wall’s. Already the majority of the enemy have been cast from our lands. These last few remainders will quickly fall without our aid,’
Fen’dhlea Ob showed his frustration by grinding his teeth together, the muscles beneath his cheeks tightening with the force that he applied to his jaws.
‘If that is all?’ he asked, turning and stalking away after Pal had offered a light nod.
Motak Bevelle ignored the glance that Fen’dhlea Ob launched his way, instead stepping forward so to address Pal once again.
‘My lord,’ he began ‘My men have been riding for many nights. May we find lodgings within your city?’
Pal beamed a smile that was almost elegant in its stature, betraying that this was of the course of actions that he was more commandingly associated with.
‘But of course,’ Pal nodded ‘It would be my honour to have you stay for the immediate future,’
‘Thank you!’ Motak bowed his head to admit to his privilege.
‘Dumont!’ Pal called to one of the younger advisors ‘Please show our Gral guests to the stables,’
Pal offered another smile as the young Dumont skipped his way forwards, leading Motak back to his men.
As the horsemen were led towards the heart of the city, Pal came closer and positioned himself beside Sull.
‘Do you think Fen’dhlea is rightly upset with me?’ he asked.
Sull, hearing the fear in the other man’s voice, repressed a smile before responding ‘Not at all!’ he answered ‘Fen’dhlea is the cities champion, and in being so, he feels personally aggrieved by last nights cowardly actions by the Malazan’s. I will speak to him. Have no fear on his behalf,’
Pal’s relief was visible, yet Sull pretended not to notice.
‘What think you of our new guests?’ Pal finally asked.
Sull paused before answering, knowing that he should not easily condemn the horsemen, especially as Pal seemed to respond to the leader with easy action.
‘The man Motak appears strange!’ he commented.
‘Oh. How?’
Sull shrugged ‘He appeared well spoken for a Gral, almost educated!’
Pal laughed, a sound which always sent shivers down Sull’s spine as it sounded at odds to the usual sentiment that Sull projected towards Pal.
Uncomfortable by the amusement that he had created in the other man, Sull offered his excuses for departing, stating that he wanted to talk to Fen’dhlea so to repress any notion of bad feeling that may remain from Pal’s opposition to a siege.
Pal easily accepted the ruse, and so Sull briskly made his way off.
The cities champion he would converse with, but only to help aid stability to his own designs; or at least to his true master’s designs.

[Riot]

The sky was seamless, void of any clouds from blocking the majestic colour of blue which pigmented the world above.
The sheer indulgence of emptiness stuck a knife into Spider’s chest, thrusting deep so to stab relentlessly into her heart. No matter how many times she happened to look up into the vast blankness of expanse, she was troubled by the same underlining fears.
‘What’s up with you?’ beside her Faith stood stolidly, his back leant against the forts wall, a knife in one hand and an apple in the other. With quick eager glides, he slide the edge of the blade into the apple, peeling off a large slab of discoloured flesh.
‘Nothing!’ Spider grunted, tying to ignore the protests which screamed within her. So much was upsetting her, yet she was repressing it as best as she could manage, holding loosely to the ideal that everyone else within the garrison was pitted with the same fears.
‘I hope that you know that, that’s probably one of the last pieces of fruit in the fort?’ she said, forcing her attention towards the act of annoying her Sergeant.
Faith shrugged, refusing to speak, instead carving another strip of apple flesh from the muted core.
Spider blew out her breath, feeling as if the act of irritating Faith was even an act too far for her unwilled mentality.
Too much had occurred during the past few months, piling upwards so that it was beginning to bear down upon her, threatening to topple and fall completely. Her only hope of survival was to second guess when the fall came, and to make sure that she was far from the avalanche when it did collapse.
‘Here comes trouble!’ Faith remarked, as he brought the knife up to his mouth, lightly pushing the peel of apple into his mouth.
Spider glanced around, seeing as the two senior officers in the garrison made their way other.
‘****!’ Spider muttered, straightening herself up, pushing herself away from the wall, trying desperately to appear as if she had been maintaining the vigil upon Hatra.
Candle led the way, Legit only a step behind, as they approached Faith.
‘Anything?’ Candle asked.
‘No!’ Faith stated, continuing with the act of disassembling the apple.
A brief expression of anger crossed Candle’s features, yet he quickly hid it down as he turned his attention to Spider ‘Well?’ he asked.
‘Nothing sir!’ Spider said, before continuing as if she needed to talk so to help relieve any sense of further ambition from her heart ‘Nothing since the Gral horsemen turned up, that is!’
Candle nodded once, yet Spider allowed her sight to slide over towards the Sergeant who stood a step behind him. Legit’s expression was muted, communicating nothingness in its ability.
Word of the Gral arrival had arrived barely two glasses ago, and with it only half interest had arrived. Only when Legit and his own squad announced that they were the same Gral to have chased them since Kot Ghul, had there been an ounce of interest been shown.
Since then, a few questions had been asked in regards to the Gral and to what was expected with their arrival. Legit had been largely unhelpful, stating that they had only actually fought against them briefly, and only then when they had first departed Kot Ghul. Since then, the Gral had been pursuing yet had always been avoided; seen only from a distance.
Candle had shown no anger in such loose information, and Spider could only guess the reason why. From her experience, Gral were largely horse bound in their wars, and therefore the act of attacking and laying siege to their position would never be under threat by the newly arrived horsemen. Instead, the only threat came if the were to leave the battlements, chancing their way upon foot. Only then could the Gral be a force to consider, and even then, she considered, if Legit and his motley squad could escape them, than what fear did the rest of them have?
The idea was simplicity in its understanding, yet she was so sure that she was lacking in her judgement, and therefore remained the sense of her anxiety.
‘I wouldn’t fear the Gral!’ Legit stated ‘We can still take the opportunity,’
Candle shook his head, his eyes again lingering out towards the knoll as he answered ‘No, the times too early!’
‘That’s what makes it perfect,’ Legit replied.
‘I said no!’ Candle’s voice became firm in its stature.
Spider looked towards Faith, and was glad to see the same look of surprise carved upon his features. She had no idea what the two men were arguing about, but she sensed that it was an old argument that had been persisting for much of the morning.
Legit looked as if he wanted to continue, but sensing the anger boiling beneath the surface of the Captain, he instead remained silent.
Spider adjusted herself from one foot to the other, feeling as if she was somehow interrupting something of great importance by just being there.
Faith must have been filled with the same sense of apprehension as he finally finished with the apple, tossing the last of the core over the edge of the battlement.
‘Best go check up on… on the… the kitchens!’ he explained away the need for his retreat by hashing his way through some unbelievable excuse. Quickly he departed, leaving Spider alone with the two senior figures.
‘Damn!’ her mind cursed, again feeling even more exposed to the unnatural silence that was settling amongst them.
Finally, Legit broke the silence, moving forward towards the battlement so that he stood beside Spider, throwing his eyes out towards the sand struck surroundings ‘Wonder how Coltraine is doing out there!’ he remarked.
‘What!?’ Candle asked. The same time, Spider screwed her eyes shut, knowing that it was a touchy subject to speak about when around the Captain.
‘Coltraine!’ Legit said, turning just his head as he spoke to Candle ‘I said I wonder how he’s doing out there. We have nothing to complain about compared to what he’s undertaking!’
Spider opened but one eye, allowing it to settle upon her Captain, wondering how he was taking the subject.
Candle appeared almost as normal, only the tightening that was going on around his eyes did she perceive.
‘How do you mean?’ Candle asked, his words slow and measured.
Spider wished with all her might that Legit would remain silent, hopefully knowing nothing further to what they themselves knew in regards to what was happening to Seventh army. The last they had heard had been when the single Hatra citizen had ridden out and proceeded with his preachment. Only when Creases had released an arrow had the gloating ceased, and to date it was the last they had heard in regards to how Coltraine and his forces were proceeding.
‘Have you not heard of the Chain of Dogs?’ Legit asked.
Chain of Dogs? Spider’s mind conjured up some strange image of a canine collection of linked animals, yet she had no idea what the Sergeant was talking about.
‘No!?’ Legit asked, sensing the lack of knowledge upon his new colleagues faces ‘It’s what they’re calling the train of men which Coltraine pulls after him. Thousands of refugees and worse of all men of worth,’
‘How do you know this?’ Candle asked.
‘Meet a merchant on our travels, told us all about it. Same way we found out about you lot hold up here,’ Legit explained.
‘So Coltraine’s still alive?’ Spider asked, her voice eager for some good news.
‘Alive, but not for much longer if what the merchant said is true,’ Legit said, before continuing ‘If rumours are true, than all the major cities have risen, only but one stands,’
‘Where?’ Candle asked, his face slightly red.
‘Aren!’ Legit said ‘The same damn city that the Imass swept through all those years ago… hey, what’s up!’
Candle’s face broke up with the annoucement of the city Aren, and inside Spider felt a small part of her dying. Her soul reached out towards Candle, yet she knew that the suffering that must have been seeking through his spirit was of such crushing potential that it would surely shatter his core beliefs.
Candle allowed for no further moments to pass, as he turned and walked tightly away from them.
‘What’s the matter with him,’ Legit asked, pushing himself away from the wall, taking a few steps forward as if to follow Candle.
Spider felt like crying, but instead she pushed the thought aside and said ‘There’s some explaining to be done!’
Legit turned, his hard face broken by confusion, his hued forehead stirred by lines.
‘Here’s my replacement!’ Spider acknowledged with a wave of her arm at an approaching guard, ready to trade her role of sentry duty.
‘We’ll go down to the mess hall, and I’ll explain there!’ urging Legit forward, she followed after him as he strode forward.
Bypassing the other guard, she offered a broken smile which was weak in its standing. Inside she still felt like crying, yet she restrained it, hoping beyond hope that Prime would be in the mess hall; ready to explain to the newcomers the stress that was bonded throughout the garrison.
Which was in truth bonded within every member of the garrison. Living everyday as if preparing for the last, continuing whilst the outside world was hidden from their very eyes. Not knowing if relief was to arrive, or if the next morning would herald the eventual resurgence by Hatra’s citizens.

[Riot]

A faint wash of urine stirred the air, bleaching everything with its rank smell, stinging the eyes with its urgent odour.
Sull halted in his progression forward, stopping as if he had struck a wall. The scent was overpowering, causing his throat to tightening by its very creation.
‘Damn…!’ he coughed, staggering backwards, trying desperately to move away from where the smell lingered. Eyes shut due to the tremendous force of the piss swept alleyway, he paced his way backwards, arm outstretched behind him, trying to fondle his path clear.
The palm of his hand sought out any obstacles, lightly flexing back and forth, finally finding contact with the nearest wall.
‘Rank isn’t it Priest!’ the voice came from further down the alley, the shadows obscuring the actual person from view.
Sull didn’t need to see who spoke, instead he recognised the voice.
‘Don’t call me that Fen!’ he angrily stated, finally coming to a halt, perched as he was against the wall.
Fen’dhlea Ob strode forward from the alley, his dark armour seeming to merge with the shadows which swarmed around him. His face was grim in its expression; more so than normal.
‘You upset Pal!’ Sull observed.
Fen shrugged, and again he brought himself forward, closer to Sull so that Sull had to turn his head up slightly so to appraise the Cities Champion.
‘I thought you enjoyed Pal’s misery!’ Fen stated.
Sull shook his head, hoping that no-one was close enough so to hear what Fen’dhlea had just uttered. Realising that he should have done it sooner, Sull brought up a ward around them, allowing for silence to settle amongst them.
Fen’dhlea reacted by simple gliding his sight around him, as if to inspect the invisible ward which now contained their conversation within its own fabricated structure.
‘Don’t call me Priest!’ Sull warned, finding that the old title felt at odds with the new nature that he had developed.
Fen again shrugged ‘We can’t help what we are!’ he observed.
‘What we once were,’ Sull informed him.
‘What we still are,’ Fen retaliated.
Sull felt his anger brewing, but instead of releasing it, he kept it bottled.
‘All that’s over and done with,’ Sull explained ‘I’m no longer a Priest and you’re no longer a peasant,’
Fen’dhlea cast his eyes around him, allowing his sight to settle upon the clear misfortunes of the surrounding area. Finally he replied ‘No longer a beggar on the streets, but I can still smell the waste that lingers here. The piss smells as fresh as ever!’
‘Dammit Fen!’ Sull cursed, finding that the anger was battling against his better judgement ‘What’s upset you so much. The damn Malazan’s and their munitions?’
Fen’dhlea Ob almost sneered in reaction, his top lip quivering with the irritation that quested through him ‘I fed up of waiting!’ Fen raised his hand in anger ‘We should have launched an offence against those bloody Malazan’s. Instead I find myself sitting around, forced to wait whilst my honour is continuously assaulted,’
Sull had found himself shrinking back at Fen’s raised hand, but was finding his courage returning as he found that Fen’s defining reason for rebellion was found in the simple notion that he was afraid of losing face.
Fen’s entire life had revolved around the challenge of his adopted strength, an ideology which had pursued him well through the troubles of his youth upon Hatra’s streets, and equally as well as he swiftly rose through the ranks until he became the cities Champion and general.
His cunning was formed from a deep instinct, one that was now being struck by the sense of his honour which had followed him as a elegant shadow; as a constant companion.
At odds with his reasoning, his elopement to Sull’s new crusade was still to date assailing him, even after the long days and nights that Sull had spent chipping at his rugged exterior.
Now it appeared as if Sull would have to once more reinforce his objective upon Fen’s mentality.
‘Trust in my abilities,’ he stated, opening his arms to help express his passionate intent ‘Trust in our God’s plan. Don’t allow any weakness to now creep into your esteem. We’re close, just another few months, and the true power within the world will expose himself,’
As he spoke, Sull allowed the scene of first facing his God to replay in his mind. The sheltered, almost condensed settings of the tent, the hash scent of illness which swam unrestricted within the tents confines. The languished hacking of coughs which inflicted the fallen God, choking out from the dark frame of the cloaked figure.
Thinking about the close nature in which he had found himself, caused him to squirm, allowing a shiver of content to flow through his body.
‘It’s hard,’ Fen’dhlea Ob stated, bringing Sull back to the present ‘Waiting is the hardest thing I have ever done,’
‘You will find that patience will bring its own rewards. We the devoted will be rewarded whilst those who truly oppose our God’s intent will fall. Even Hood won’t be able to capture their fledging souls,’
‘I still want to assault the fort,’ Fen stated.
‘Yes, I can understand, but what the Gral said is true. If we attempt to lay siege to the fort, we would lose a fair number of our troops. We will need every man when we finally march to Raraku, and when the Whirlwind awakens to its fullest strength,’ Sull explained.
‘And we shall lead them!’ Fen remarked, his eyes almost entranced, his thoughts lingering upon themselves.
With his last words, Sull knew that he had the Champion once more under his control, an influence which delighted him with its simple grace.
‘Come with me,’ he commanded ‘We’ll present ourselves to Pal and you can apologise for your earlier animosity,’
Releasing his governed ward, he allowed for the outside world to once more flow into their airspace. The sounds of normality coaxed at their hearing, committing them once more to the routine of Hatra’s life.
Turning, Sull walked back towards the more benign settings of the city, please not only by the now substantial lack of human waste which swept the air, but also by the manner in which Fen’s footsteps followed behind him.
A grin was settled upon Sull Decrat’s face, a smile which was crafted from his own eagerness, and for his own apparent cunning.

[Riot]

The doors to the mess hall were wide open, secured into position by small chains which were locked into the adjoining walls. Settled in these positions, the route was left open for any form of breeze to find its way into the mess hall, in the belief that a swift draught would help to lower the humidity of the large hall.
Unfortunately there was no breeze, and so the passive stalemate of air loitered, seeming to cling and burn at those who were dotted within.
The usual suspects were seated within. Molehill, Creases, and Splinter were once more playing with a deck of normal cards, their small group now joined by the new Corporal; Lore. The general concentration that took place between these players was lost to its usual state; instead, with the introduction of Lore, the temperament seemed more at edged, due to the fact that they were playing with a newcomer who seemed skilled at the game at hand.
Prime allowed her sights to waver over the strange settlement which was occurring with the card players, sensing that the same odd experience that was brewing other afar, was occurring closer to home.
She was lounging beside Sheep, her head crooked at an angle so that it rested against his shoulder. As of yet, a uneasy silence remained between herself and Sheep, continuing from the previous evening when she had sensed that Sheep had lied to her in regards to his increasing abilities. She was still upset by his behaviour, knowing that he did it not for the act of perverse pleasure, but because he was in truth a gentle soul who was thrust into the role of a soldier. The possibility of using his abilities to help aid the regiment was apparent, but his inbuilt nature was at odds with the state of play of warfare.
It was one of the reason’s why she loved him, and it was more for her own created guilt why she found it difficult to speak to him about it. The only reason he was here was because of her transfer from Evinor. If not for her, Sheep would still be within the relativity safety of the continent of Genabackis. A lowly mage, his days would be filled with the small demands which were crafted from his employer Earn Paltroll; the eerily strange ways of war far away from his innocent mind.
However, he wasn’t in Evinor, he wasn’t away from the frontline of war; instead he was by her side, a constant that helped to hold her together.
Trying to shake the thoughts from her mind, she again allowed her sight to sweep around her.
Opposite sat a couple of regulars who had just finished their stretch of guard duty, their heads lent down, eyes drawn shut as they attempted the act of sleeping.
Seated two seats over from these regulars, sat the strange Kot Ghul recruit; Quiet.
Prime had no idea what to make of the young woman. She could guess that she was perhaps a couple of years older than herself, and that she had the same dark complexion of hair, framing her surprisingly pale features. Without the aid of speech, Prime would have guess that she would have required the act of using her delicate features to betray her wants, but instead she seemed almost lacking in emotion.
The only act which annoyed Prime chiefly was the quick glances that she caught Quiet stealing towards Sheep. Fanning her impatience, the constant glances towards her own lover were beginning to annoy her. Sheep was either not catching the looks, or…
Prime slammed her thoughts shut. Pulling herself away from Sheep, she gave him a small grin of reassurance as he looked at her with alarmed surprise.
Trying to fathom out her mixed emotions, she happened to look towards the opened doors, seeing the startling source of light blazing in through their adored frames. Coming through, appearing as if they were set alight by the spring of light from the outside world, she saw Spider appear, closely followed by the new Sergeant; the man Legit.
Spider came forward with a purpose which caused Prime to sit straighter in her seat. The first thing to spring to her mind was that the Hatra forces had finally decided to attack and that Spider had come down to admit to the charge that was being mounted their way. This thought soon died a death as her guile kicked into action. Spider would hardly be walking at a slightly brisker pace than normal if they were under attack. No, the entire garrison would be alerted to the alarm. Instead, Spider was marching straight towards her with something else in mind.
Sighing, hoping that Sheep didn’t hear her exhalation, she raised an eyebrow as Spider made her way around the cluster of chairs and settled before her.
‘We may have a problem?’ Spider said, just as Legit came to a halt beside her.
The sudden appearance of the Private and the Sergeant suddenly became centre of attention as those who were playing cards, and those who had been attempting to sleep, all turned to look at the sudden arrivals.
Aware of the attention drawn their way, Prime hid away her unease and continued with the same level headed response that was now expected of her.
‘What’s up?’ she asked, leaning forward in her seat.
Spider turned and glanced at Legit before returning to Prime.
‘We’ve upset the Captain!’ Spider answered.
‘Oh…’ Prime breathed, settling back in her seat she gestured that the two should grab a near seat.
‘How?’ she asked of the two as they sat further down the row of seats from herself.
Spider again turned to Legit, wondering how to answer.
Legit ignored the Private and instead spoke with his gruff manner ‘I happened to mention about Coltraine, and his plight towards Aren!’
‘****!’ Prime shook her head. Spider nodded, in response to her understanding.
Legit shook his head as well, but this was created in part due to his lack of understanding.
‘I don’t understand,’ he implored ‘Why would it upset him so much?’
‘He’s half Wickan!’ Prime explained, noticing as the others in the hall grew closer to their conversation, drawing in so that their own affairs were now forgotten; cards abandoned upon the table.
‘****!’ Legit echoed her own earlier exploit, before rubbing a hairy hand across his face.
‘Aye!’ Prime remarked, agreeing whole heartily with him.
‘He didn’t mention anything about it!’ Legit attempted to explain his innocence.
‘Why did you think we call him Candle?’ Creases voice asked from the furthest table.
‘What!?’
‘Well he’s name. It’s a hint isn’t it!’ Creases returned.
‘How in Hood’s name do you explain that?’ Legit demanded back.
‘Well, he’s half Wickan. Therefore he’s a Wick, and therefore he’s a Candle,’ Creases enlightened him.
Complete bafflement was decorated upon Legit’s face, and he shook his head in amazement.
‘Ignore him!’ Prime warned, shaking her own head at the ignorance of Creases bizarre logic ‘What’s important is how he took the news?’
Spider gave rise to the answer, her voice little more than a dry whisper ‘Not well!’
Prime sighed, allowing her head drop so that her strained eyes were hidden from the crowded hall.
A hand touched her shoulder, squeezing with a gentle but firm acknowledgement that she was not alone. Lifting her gaze, she offered a smile to Sheep, again feeling the radiant sore of affection rising up within her.
Sheep’s features were drawn into a fierce impression of strength, his eyes held strongly to her own, expression that he was there and that any problems would be carried between them both.
Sensing that Sheep understood her trails, Prime rose upwards once more, before again speaking to Spider once more.
‘Where is he know?’ she asked.
‘I…I don’t know?’ Spider admitted, her face almost fearful in its portrayal.
Prime nodded, expecting as much. If she had any guess, she would presume that Candle was in his own quarters, his quiet minded self locked away with the confines of his own heritage.
‘Do you want us to search for him?’ Splinter asked from his perched position upon a table.
‘No!’ Prime answered ‘I’ll speak to him,’
‘I’ll come with you!’ Legit announced, his face betraying that a decline would not be accepted.
‘Me too!’ Sheep whispered, his hand now back in his lap, but Prime could still feel the reassurance warming her spirit.
Nodding, she rose to her feet.
Those who were gathered instantly climbed to their feet, pulling aside so to allow Prime, Sheep, and Legit to flow through the created space.
‘Come on people, allow for some peace for Burn sake!’ Corporal Lore’s heavy gravelled voice clawed throughout the hall. Those who were milling around instantly regained their seats, whilst Molehill, Creases, and Splinter returned to their table to regain their pursuit at playing cards.
‘Aye ladies!’ Lore grinned as he took his place at the table ‘Let old Lore here take all your winnings!’ collecting the scattered, water washed cards he returned them to some form of order.
‘Good luck old man!’ Molehill grinned back, as Lore threw out the allocated cards which had been brought from Evinor to the damn sub-continent.

[Riot]

Exiting the mess hall, Sheep turned as he heard Lore’s scratching voice. Looking back, he saw the smile which was decorating Legit’s face as he walked out into the sun blanched world.
‘Got yourself one hell of a Corporal there!’ Prime pronounced, looking back as she waited for their pursuit.
‘Aye!’ Legit continued to grin, nodding his head with sheer enlightenment ‘Once commanded a squad of his own once, if you believe what he says,’
‘A squad of sappers?’ Sheep managed to voice the question whislt sounding as if he was about to choke.
‘Aye. Back before it was decided that a whole crew of sappers was just an accident waiting to happen,’ Legit smirked.
‘Who did he serve for?’ Prime asked, beginning to walk forward once more as Sheep and Legit joined beside her.
‘That’s one subject he remains silent on,’ Legit informed them.
‘No doubt!’ Sheep said.
‘Probably sensible enough in today’s military,’ Prime acknowledged.
‘Aye!’ Legit agreed.
They walked on across the parade ground, empty except for those who were high up on the encircling walls on guard duty.
‘So what’s the story with Quiet?’ Prime asked, attempting to make her voice sound respectful.
Legit gruffly barked a low snort before answering ‘Been asking myself the same thing since she joined up with us!’
‘And?’ Prime prompted, just as they reached the halfway point of the parade ground.
‘And I’ve discovered not a damn thing,’ he responded ‘All I know is that she’s from Malaz city itself,’
‘Probably the mouse quarters!’ Prime guessed.
‘Aye probably!’ Legit agreed.
Sheep turned his head back and forth between the Sergeant and his lover, finding that they were asking questions which seemed at odds with what was the main pursuit of the moment. Rather than talking about how they were to confront Candle, they were instead avoiding the very thing that they were heading towards.
‘Damn good soldier, just a bit spooky though!’ Legit remarked.
‘Yes, almost as if she’s trying to remain distant from everyone,’ said Prime.
‘Only seems to respond to Lore,’ Legit explained ‘He says its because he reminds her of her uncle,’
Prime raised an eyebrow in doubt.
‘I swear to any God, that what Lore says. I don’t know how he knows, its not like she can speak, and I haven’t seen her ever write anything down,’ said Legit, matching step for step with Prime.
Sheep came to a halt, hands rising as he vented his frustration. Both Prime and Legit continued on for a further two steps before pausing, turning back so to stare at the mage.
‘Why are you talking about those things now?’ he quaked, voice trembling as he sought an answer ‘I mean, we have more important problems at hand, and you two are going on about things which have no regards to Candle’s depression,’
‘It’s a soldier thing!’ Legit explained ‘We talk about everything except for the one thing we’re about to confront,’
‘But that’s denial!’ Sheep said.
‘Aye!’ Legit nodded sombrely ‘Its denial in every sense of the word, but I happen to believe that wide eyed stupid sometimes helps,’
Sheep shook his head in frustration, not believing what he was hearing.
‘If you was a proper soldier than I would expect you to understand. But you’re not. You’re a mage instead!’ Legit said.
Sheep could feel his face heating, and before he had a chance to deny the charge, Prime voiced her own response.
‘So what if he is?’ she asked.
‘Why does he hide it?’ Legit demanded.
‘I’m not a mage!’ Sheep muttered, his voice ignored by both Prime and Legit.
‘Because we’re already in a situation where common knowledge would only disturb things further. If it became common knowledge that Sheep had mage abilities, than someone would suggest that he should be able to conjure us a way out of here. Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that, and any attempt he would make would only hurt him,’ Prime explained, her voice controlled in its traits.
‘No one else knows?’ Legit asked.
‘Only those who joined us from Evinor!’ Prime replied.
‘I’m just a lowly adapt, nothing serious!’ Sheep continued to plea his innocence in a low reckoning tone.
‘You sensed us at the wall though, didn’t you?’ Legit stated, allowing the nights happenings to return to centre attention.
‘Yes, but…’
‘Than you’re mage enough for me!’ Legit stated.
‘Does it matter?’ Sheep asked, closing the gap between himself and Legit.
Legit shrugged ‘I don’t trust mages!’ he stated ‘Always been high and mighty bastards,’
‘That’s because they’ve got power to brag about,’ Sheep commented, eyes dropping so to help express his lack in ability.
‘Just listen…’ Prime began, hoping to calm the situation ‘…Sheep is a mage, we admit to that, but he’s far from what you’ve experienced before,’
Sheep nodded in agreement ‘That’s right. I’m far from Cadre material!’
‘Aye, fine,’ Legit said ‘Just make sure it stays that way!’
‘Enough of the threats, Sergeant!’ Prime said, her anger barely restrained from the surface.
Legit faced her ‘Lets finish what we started, shall we Corporal!’
Sheep shook his head, believing that he had just etched their assembly in underlining resentment, all because he had become frustrated by their roundabout manner of talking.
Making off from their halted progress, the three crossed the last stretch of the parade ground, finally coming to the low structure of the guard quarters. Entering through the single doorway, Prime led them through the hallway and to the right, opposite from where the large number of guards were usually quartered. Here, the closed door led to Candle’s own private quarters.
‘How do you want to play this?’ Prime asked, halting a few feet from the closed door.
Sheep looked towards Legit, knowing that the route they were taking was beyond his realm of fixing.
‘You lead!’ Legit suggested ‘You know him better than me,’
Prime nodded, as if Legit’s suggestion was the only legitimate means of continuing.
Taking the last steps forward, Prime took a deep breath to reserve herself before knocking with vigour upon the vertical wooden structure.
Sheep found himself holding his breath, listening intently, trying to fathom if he could hear movement within. Both Prime and Legit appeared controlled in their standing, yet Sheep could sense the unease that swirled malignly about them.
‘Yes!’ the returned voice was soft in its carriage, escaping but barely from the closed room.
‘Sir,’ Prime said ‘Can we speak?’
A few seconds passed, enough time to for Sheep to reflect that the return answer would be negative in its response.
‘Come in!’ Candle’s voice broke through, conflicting with Sheep’s reasoning.
Prime offered a light grin to her lover, before reaching toward the handle which was lined halfway up the door. With a swift turn, she released the simple locking mechanism and pushed the door inwards.
The first reaction Sheep had to the door opening, was of unfeigned distress. From Candle’s quarters, a rush of hot air seemed to roll outwards, escaping with apt acceleration, drawing over them all as it breeched through the hallway.
Blinking away the current of warmth which assaulted them, Sheep wondered how Candle could cope within such torrent conditions. The sheer indulgence of heat which was contained within the room, was of such overwhelming anguish that Sheep realised that he had never experienced a heat like it.
Knowing that he had no choice but to follow, he trailed after both Prime and Legit into the room.
Settling beside Legit, he struggled to maintain his composure, realising that the weight of the heat was a burden almost too unreal to be true. Only the thought that he would embarrass both himself as well as Prime, did he manage to retain his stability.
Trying to keep his movements to the bare minimum, afraid that he would unsettle his poise and therefore enslave himself to the uncomfortable status of sweated induced distress, Sheep allowed only his eyes to look around the compact room.
The small window which was suspended off to his right was closed, the shutters folded into their locked position. This simple action gave off a combined sense of milling shadows, as well as the extraordinary heat which seized the room.
Candle was sat at his desk, his head raised, hand poised before him. His appearance was apparent to Sheep’s eyes at least, informing him that the Captain had been writing a report before they had disturbed him.
‘Yes?’ Candle asked, his face displaying the very fundamental aspect of Wickan ancestry in its expression.
Sheep felt glad that he was not the sole reciprocate of the Captain’s obvious appraisal, yet was guilty fuelled that it was Prime who appeared to be solely addressed.
‘Sir!’ Prime acknowledged ‘We have come with concerns over your reaction to the news in regards to the Seventh army, and in particular to Coltraine!’
Sheep cringed at Prime’s bluntness. Legit appeared to be nonplussed, yet Sheep noticed that his hands were knotted into fists by his side.
Candle reaction was disguised as he laid down the ink stub upon the table before him.
‘Go on!’ he simply stated, never once allowing his eyes to drop from his Corporal’s.
Prime continued ‘With respect sir, I want to know if you are prepared to continue with the duty left to you here, or if you will continue to act as if you wish that you were riding in the same death march that Coltraine leads?’
Sheep’s mind was blown from its settings, as if someone had laid a Cracker beneath the foundations of his brain and exploded the lethal core so to send his central being into oblivion. So shocked was he by Prime’s direct manner in addressing her superior.
Candle continued to remain neutral in his appearance, an act that disturbed Sheep just as equally as Prime’s candid questioning.
‘I don’t feel this is appropriate…’ Candle began.
‘What we are needing to know sir, is whether you are acting as a Malazan officer or as a Wickan half blood!’ Prime asked.
Sheep was all but sure that with her last pursuit, Prime would have pushed her luck too far. Surely Candle would explode by the accusation that was being cast his way.
Candle simply blinked, his eyelids fluttering for a brief second, enough so to express his unease.
‘What would you like to hear?’ he asked, again refraining from glancing toward either Sheep or Legit.
‘We would like reassurance that you remain concentrated upon our own perilous state, rather than on matters beyond our control!’ Prime explained.
Candle nodded but once, his tresses from his hair bobbing with the act ‘My sudden elevation in command has not caused me to loose all sense of ability,’ he stated ‘My new found responsibility is still the most important role that I am concentrating upon. I admit that my concern for my Wickan brethren is a constant demand, yet I will not allow that to distract me from doing what is right for our own sakes,’
Prime nodded in response, showing that she was whole heartedly behind her superior.
‘I would hope that my traits, those from my Wickan heritage, will help enable us to survive the coming weeks. My only reserve is that the same strength which embraces me, will cause concern when news of the Seventh confronts us,’
‘You never allowed me to finish!’ Legit offered his voice, breaking the routine that had come to pass between Captain and Corporal ‘If you had, than you would have heard that the Seventh have been giving as good as they got. Even better if what the merchant said was true!’
Candle turned his eyes towards Legit, and from his position, Sheep could see the measure of the man who led them.
‘Coltraine has become this lands servant of Hood!’ Legit explained ‘Amongst his enemies he had become legend, managing to turn aside every assailment that is made against the Seventh.
‘The merchant spoke of the Chain of Dog as if in awe of Coltraine’s accomplishment. And supposedly the same notion is sweeping through the entire continent,’
‘But the Seventh are still destined to fall. There’s no way that they can make it to Aren when the entire nation is in rebellion. It’s impossible!’ Candle said, his voice lacking in its usual potency.
‘Aye, there’s no doubt that they will fall. But along the way he may just break the heart of the rebellion, before the Whirlwind can ignite,’ Legit suggested.
‘Do you believe that?’ Candle asked.
Legit shrugged ‘Aye,’ he answered ‘Remember it took the old emperor himself to convert Coltraine to his side. Now that shows the passion of the man himself,’
Sheep remained mute, but his eyes were flicking back and forth, watching the small expressions which appeared upon the faces of those speaking. He noticed how Candle suddenly appeared to sit a little more straighter in his seat, and how he appeared as is a slight smile was daring to display itself upon his bronzed lips.
‘I believe that’s all we wished to see you about?’ Prime allowed the query to float through the air, not expecting it to be answered.
‘Not quite!’ Legit again broke the silence ‘About my earlier suggestion!’
‘I said no!’ Candle said.
‘We’ll become more desperate!’ Legit warned.
‘The answer’s still no!’
Legit shrugged ‘We’ll have to eventually,’
‘I doubt that it’ll come to that!’ Candle explained.
Sheep attempted to hide his puzzlement, but was failing with full honours. Sensing his perplexity, Candle enlightened both him and Prime,
‘The Sergeant here wants to lead a raid against Hatra!’
‘To gain supplies!’ Legit clarified.
‘Too early,’ Prime warned.
‘Better now whilst we have the strength, than later when we can hardly move due to the stomach cramps,’ Legit stated.
‘Enough!’ Candle commanded. Pushing his seat backwards, he rose upwards so that he once more dominated the room; his imposing height directing all attention to his position.
‘We will not attempt a raid at the superior forces of Hatra. To do so would be futile. Especially with the new forces that now occupy the city,’ he explained.
Legit appeared unhappy with the decision, but he refrained from complaining, instead simply enduring in his silent stance.
‘Now that is all!’ in his voice, Candle expressed no further conversation, and for them all to depart.
‘Sir!’ Prime acknowledged with a salute, whilst Sheep offered a half hearted attempt of a salute. Legit simply offered no gesture at all as he followed Sheep out of the Captain’s quarters.
Sheep was easily pleased with the delight that they were no longer in the Captain’s room, and therefore away from the overwhelming heat which had been vexing them all.
Striding out into the expanse of the parade ground, he was surprised to find that there was a sense of a chill, even as the sun forced down hard its apparent full wash of light. So at odds was it compared to the compressive nature of Candle’s apartment.
‘Bloody fool!’ Legit muttered, a foul expression upon his face.
‘What’s up with you?’ Sheep asked.
‘Best chance we have of gaining relief, and he turns it aside. Wish I hadn’t mentioned anything about Coltraine being a Hood damn hero!’ Legit grunted.
Prime came out of the guard quarters, her face beaming with elfish delight ‘I’m glad you spoke up!’ she stated.
‘Aye, no doubt!’ Legit mused.
Sheep was glad to see a smile on his beloved, a opportunity that had been missing for so long. She almost looked as contented as she had been when he had first met her.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked, not truly believing that she could be so happy.
‘Yes!’ she laughed ‘We’ve got the Captain back!’
Sheep smiled himself, finding that Prime’s admission was correct. Candle had reacted to Legit with old style deliverance, forcing his own will upon the conversation. By reacting with anger, he was exposing his return to the fold of command, issuing orders which had been falling away from his own induced state of leadership. Now, however, he was returned to his formal state of authority, expressing his ideals by strict management.
Ignoring the annoyance that was plastered across Legit’s face, Sheep continued to mimic Prime’s own features, believing now that with Candle’s return to full command the possibility of their survival in the coming months ahead was more promising.
The only concern that was still fresh to mind, was the dilemma of provisions to commit to such a time frame.
Refusing to succumb to such morbid thoughts, Sheep followed Prime with the same amused smile controlling his lips. Beside him, still enforced by his own ideology of what action should have been taken, Legit strode forward with every motion on his behalf betraying his lingering sense of anger.
Sheep’s last thought before they jointly entered the Mess hall, was with the hope that the new Sergeant would not be discredited by the Captain’s refusal to honour his strategy against Hatra. Dependent upon Legit’s frame of mind, he could either follow Candle’s orders with only the anger boiling beneath the surface, or he could react with the stubborn born will of a Sergeant who thought he knew better than his superior commander. If controlled by the second set of principles, than there was every possibility that the new Sergeant could very well disobey Candle’s direct order, and go out and assail Hatra regardless.
This last thought sent a shiver down Sheep’s spine, as the last thing that he longed for now was for further turmoil to inflict the garrison. Times were hard enough already, without the further possibility of internal strife brewing within their midst’s.
Entering the Mess hall, he could see every head turn in their direction. Staying back a step, he allowed for Prime to address them and to resolve any fears that may have been shaping about them. All the time, he simply remained silent and watched Legit.

[Riot]

Plumes of sand drifted upon the breeze with startling coherency, beginning to build, beginning to disguise the Malazan fortification from view. The sandstorm was fierce with its intent, brimming with a purpose that was almost disturbing in its overwhelming appearance.
Witnessing the sands dishevelled approach, Motak Bevelle watched with objective concentration, eyes scanning over the strange shapes and appeals which seemed to appear within the ruined intensity of the folded storm.
‘What does it mean?’ the question came from the man who stood tentatively beside Motak; a station in life which he had strived to fill.
Motak glanced to his second in command briefly, before returning his eyes once more forward.
‘The Whirlwind has awoken!’ he commented, face displaying neither delight, nor annoyance.
Zetan Hetlan nodded once, his own unadorned features expressing as much as his commander.
‘The Chain of Dogs?’ he asked.
Motak sighed, his breath breaking free with dry exhalation ‘Fallen, no doubt!’ he finally murmured.
Zetan again nodded, this time a slow and measured motion ‘A pity!’ he said.
‘Oh?’ Motak turned fully to his colleague ‘I didn’t realise that you was one of the sympathetic supporters,’
Zetan shrugged, a bemused expression briefly appearing upon his hard edged face ‘Seems a shame!’ he stated.
Motak too nodded ‘Yes!’ he agreed ‘Coltraine was a worthy enemy. I doubt that he will be the last to succumb to this rebellion, possibly the first of many!’
‘Supposedly a great horsemen!’ commented Zetan.
‘Yes, one of the greatest assets that the Malazan’s had!’
‘But no longer!’
‘Yes,’ Motak paused before uttering ‘But no longer!’
Silence fell between them, a state which was not uncomfortable for either man, instead their simply moments of stillness only went further to build the respect that was held between them both.
Motak contemplated his thoughts with his usual coherency. Looking at the misted image of the Malazan fort, he wondered what effect the news of the Whirlwind’s arrival would have on the starved off survivors.
Two weeks had passed since Motak and his Gral horsemen had arrived to Hatra, and during that time the Malazan’s had offered no charge against the cities defences. An act which suggested that the Malazan’s that he had followed since Kot Ghul were not commanding those who were bound within.
During those two weeks, Motak and his men had been guests to Hatra’s leader; Pal Dor’lk. The man seemed eager enough, if not for his weak edged need which was embraced by the damn high advisor Sull Decrat.
Motak was suspicious of the high advisor, knowing with certainty that Sull was deceitful to his own standing. In usual circumstances, Motak would lash out against such apparent hate, and misgivings, but within Hatra’s walls, it sometimes appeared as if Sull was in charge rather than Pal himself. Remaining silent was bad enough, but the Cities Champion and General, Fen’dhlea Ob, was obviously one of Sull’s men. Motak could sense the correspondence that was formed between the two strikingly different men.
Many a time, Zetan had requested for their presence to be lifted, leaving from a city for which their presence was largely unwelcome.
On many such occasion, Motak would have followed the advice from his second in command, yet for some strange alluring reason, he felt compelled to remain. To stay and find out what conclusion would embrace those that he had followed. The likelihood that the Malazan’s would starve to death was easy to believe, yet Motak could not shake the uneasy belief that more awaited those trapped within the fort, and so he remained, watching on as the unease grew around him and his associated men.
‘If Coltraine is truly dead, than the Malazan occupation here is over!’ Zetan remarked.
‘No,’ Motak shook his head ‘They’ve still armies abroad. The Empress will not allow this latest blow go unanswered,’
‘If there’s any armies left over!’
Motak did not hide the confusion which erupted through him ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘Rumours spreading this morning of a large defeat by the Malazan’s in Genabackis!’ Zetan replied.
‘Where did you here of this?’ Motak asked.
‘Rumours supposedly came from the high advisor himself. One arm’s host is near but destroyed. Broken and useless!’ Zetan explained.
Motak shook his head ‘How does he know?’ he murmured to himself, mystified by Sull’s knowledge.
‘Who knows!’ Zetan said, ignorant of his commanders confusion ‘But if its true than the Malazan’s have no real army of experience to speak of,’
Motak hid anyway any further annoyance, believing as he did so that Zetan would have already noticed the irritation gathered from him. Refusing to shake his head as acknowledgement to his frustration, Motak simply stared off toward the haze induced image of the Malazan fort.
Again the man Sull Decrat, igniting the rumours of turmoil from a land far away. How was it possible that he was aware of such misfortunes to the enemy? Motak had his suspicions yet was angst to the notion of voicing such accusations, especially when the damn advisor was set within the fold of his own gathered assembly.
The further possibility of what he said being true, was of a startling prospect, more so with the reasoning that with One arm’s host being broken, the Malazan’s had no real experienced army to regain stability within the sub-continent. If Dujek had lost a significant contingent of his forces, than there was every possibility that the Malazan’s would deem Seven Cities as lost. Returning the lands back to the responsibility of those who had once led so badly.
Without the unified hatred which was directly solely towards the Malazan occupiers, there was the likelihood that the former disputes would once more arise in their standing, forcing the unity to crumble and for the former quarrels to once more prove dominate.
With new leaders as Pal Dor’lk being advised by such men as Sull Decrat, there was always the probability that the future could prove even more perilous that previously experienced.
Motak viewed the Malazan’s as his enemy, yet he had spent the majority of his life either under their rule, or the late stages of his youth fighting against them as they sought to enforce their reign upon the land. The thought of not having them as a stable opposition would be a new prospect; one for which he was truly unsure if he could live without. So exploited was he by their continuous stance of reigning.
‘Motak?’ beside him, Zetan’s voice broke through the strumming chorus of his thoughts.
‘What?’ he asked, turning to gauge his second in command.
‘I said that we’re being observed,’ hinting with a light nod of his head in the direction of the procession area which was situated down from their elevated position from Hatra’s walls, Zetan nodded towards the congregation of people who were settled central, heads turned up towards them both.
Gritting his teeth, stopping himself from muttering a curse, he simply gestured for Zetan to follow him. Behind them, mere yards from their walking presence, the spread of sand being issued via the storm was beginning to lax, lowering so that the Malazan fort was gradually emerging back into view. Like a shimmering spirit mourning the demise of something good, the fort returned to sight.

[Riot]

Sull Decrat managed to holster the amusement which was brimming within him, as the Gral leader and his second in command made their joint way down from the battlements.
The evidential truth of what had gathered outside of Hatra in the form of a sandstorm was enough to inform him that his Gods’ intent was running its true course.
Soon he would lead Hatra’s citizens towards the heartland of this sub-continent, giving their lives in the purge of the new coming. Joining with others of his own following, he would impose himself into the regime of the future; perhaps proving himself enough to allow for a far greater role in his God’s new formulation of assembly.
For now however, he kept his satisfaction hidden away, aware that the Gral would probably sense his rousing enjoyment.
Beside Sull, gathered in a close formation, stood Pal Dor’lk, Fen’dhlea Ob, and two other quiet advisors; all of whom were now enfolded within Sull’s control. They stood patiently as they awaited the Gral leader to approach them.
Finally, Motak and his second in command, came forward from the steps leading from the battlements, halting before the small party.
‘The Whirlwind has arisen!’ Motak stated, eyes passing from each person, lingering longest upon Sull himself.
‘Yes!’ Pal replied, his faced lined by what the occasion meant.
‘Than we shall make ready to depart to Raraku!’ Motak suggested.
Sull remained silent, knowing what was to come and content with the fact that he had suggested it in the first place.
Pal answered ‘We cannot leave until Hatra is free of any such threat from those Malazan’s contained within the fort,’
Motak’s expression deepened, eyes narrowing as he looked from Pal to Sull, almost nodding as he accepted who had formulated such a suggestion.
‘I doubt that any such threat exists!’ Motak exclaimed, trying to control his voice as he continued ‘It has been weeks since any contact has been made between ourselves and those sealed within the fort. Starvation will be a major contribution to their lack of menace,’
‘Unfortunately, whilst they remain, I cannot depart. Therefore I have put forth the notion that High Advisor Sull Decrat shall lead a small contingence of Hatra’s forces to Raraku in my absence,’ Pal explained.
Sull offered a smile, one which only went further to ignite his amusement, as he could sense the Gral’s bubbling resentment.
‘Then offer them terms!’ Motak offered, waving a hand backwards in the general direction of the fort.
‘There is nothing we can offer them which will resolve this issue,’ Sull stated ‘They are our enemy after all,’
Motak cursed under his breath, feeling as if the course of things was running directly the way that the Hood damn Advisor had willed it towards.
‘Offer them a reprieve!’ Motak spoke now directly to Pal, sensing that he had to focus solely upon Hatra’s leader himself if he was to stop Sull from gaining his way.
‘What do you suggest?’ Pal asked, not noticing the glare that Sull cast his way.
Motak did catch the High Advisor’s fierce expression, yet ignored it as he concentrated upon Pal himself.
‘They have nothing to live for,’ he began ‘They’re alone within the midst of a nation that is in rebellion to their very existence, trying to survive whilst cut off from all outside knowledge. To them, today is no different from yesterday. In a sense they have no tomorrow,’
Pal’s face was sketched with confusion, and so Motak pressed on with influence.
‘Offer them a way out of their situation,’ Motak explained ‘Offer them freedom to leave this land. Allow them free passage to the Maadil Sea and let them disembark from this continent forever!’
Pal seemed to actually consider Motak’s words, his head dipped down slightly as he considered his thoughts.
‘My Lord!’ Sull began, fearing that Pal was preparing to allow this to run its course ‘Even if you permit such a thing, there is no guarantee that those north of here will allow these Malazan dogs go free through their lands,’
‘I shall lead them!’ Motak offered. At his side, Zetan gave him a shocked glance.
‘You would do this?’ Pal asked ‘You would miss the uprising in Raraku to escort these interlopers from our land?’
‘Yes!’ Motak nodded ‘But not to miss the uprising, only to arrive late to its birth,’
Pal began to nod, a smile beginning to bud upon his lips ‘Yes,’ he announced ‘Yes, to allow myself the opportunity to lead my people to the heart of this land, and help aid Seven Cities the chance to once more regain full freedom,’
Motak smiled, turning his face slightly so that Sull could not miss his smug smirk.
Sull seethed, wondering how his plan had so easily been turned by the damn Gral leader. Trying not to show his anxiety and anger, he instead decided to express his own will back upon the situation.
‘A most excellent suggestion!’ he beamed, returning an arrogant smile of his own, before turning so to address Pal ‘May I offer the terms to the Malazan’s myself?’ he inquired.
Pal tilted his head in acknowledgement ‘I wouldn’t have anyone less to represent Hatra!’ he stated.
Sull nodded his approval, glad that he now had an opportunity to return the stable of proposition back to his own governed preference. Already he was planning how to spoil the Gral’s suggestion, his mind riddling with plots and thoughts which twisted with the task which was to come.
‘I would like to take Fen’dhlea Ob as an aid!’ he asked of Pal.
All eyes turned to the large champion.
Fen ignored every glance his way, instead his own sight pinpointed upon Sull. Finally, as Pal appeared to ask the largest man present if he was willing to escort Sull to the Malazan fort, Fen shrugged his shoulders
‘Aye!’ he answered, settling the question with easy poise.
‘May I also join them?’ Motak asked, the smile which had been present since his original suggestion had now vanished, instead the vision of concern was now etched upon his worn features.
‘I would advise against it!’ Sull quickly intercepted, making sure that Pal was not allowed the opportunity to answer positively to the request.
‘Why not?’ Pal asked instead, looking at Sull with a curious expression.
‘Much as I appreciate the commanders gesture, I fear that the Malazan’s would see both Fen and the commanders presence as being too threatening for such a quest of a treaty,’ Sull put forward his reasoning with his usual ability.
Pal nodded, almost as if he had thought of the reason in the first place ‘I agree,’ he stated ‘You ask too much of yourself commander. Please allow for Sull to represent the city and its terms. I have no higher regard of anyone under my rule,’
As Pal spoke, Sull allowed a brief grin to surface, finding his delight rising as he watched as the Gral commander realised that he had been beaten in his attempts in ruining Sull’s grand scheme.
With Pal finished, Sull again resumed with his imposing stature ‘If we are to continue with our wish to join those heading to Raraku, than we best hasten with the proposed truce. Otherwise we shall miss out on the destiny that awaits us!’
Pal smiled ‘Excellent!’
The other advisors followed their leader in his amused smile. Only Fen’dhlea Ob, Motak, and a confused looking Zetan remained uncertain in their stance.
‘Fen!’ Sull beckoned, leading forward so to break up the small gathering. Pal turned and departed, leading the advisors back towards his palace.
Finally only Motak and Zetan were left standing in the procession yard, the smallest of breezes milling softly about them both.
‘****!’ Motak cursed, knowing that the high advisor had won and would certainly spoil the proposed treaty, allowing him still to lead the majority of Hatra’s forces towards Raraku and the new centred establishment of the rebellion.
Zetan remained silent. He knew better than to speak when Motak was as upset as he was so obviously now. Instead he waited, patiently knowing that his commander would continue with his resolve once he had settled the anger which coursed through him.
‘Come on!’ Motak ordered, breaking the silence in record time. Zetan was surprised by Motak’s quick response. He was not surprised to find however that they were once more heading back towards the battlements. Back to where they had been before, allowing them the full range of sight to watch as Sull went to address the bound Malazan’s.

[Riot]

The sandstorm which had developed around the fort had lifted, leaving just a faint haze of dust to float uneasily through the air. Blinking constantly, trying to dislodge the grit which enticed her eyes, Spider was too tired to do much else.
Leaning against the battlements, her arms entwined whislt her chin was resting upon her joined hands, she dozily stared outwards, making a point to not look over at the mummified remains of her former colleagues. Instead her sight was sleepily glancing over at Hatra and the lack of movement which seemed to take place there.
With slow even breaths, she attempted to draw her attention away from the pains which stung within her stomach. The weeks which had passed since they had been joined by the remaining Kot Ghul regiment had flowed along with contemptible boredom, issuing them all with the same long drawn out procedure of living through a nightmare of every day survival.
The shortage of food was beginning to take its toll. No one was excused from the hunger pains, everyone had lost their original stature, now appearing as former images of their once vigorous selves.
Spider herself had lost a good stone in weight, her ribs protruding from beneath her breasts with real diligence. She always felt tired, limbs straining to lift, as if they were submerged within water.
Her attention was waning also, turning to mush as she often drifted off from the apparent obligation of sentry duty. Her eyes would rise to the skies, seeking for some form of reassurance from the limited amount of clouds which passed overhead.
Everyone was suffering from the same anguishes, some taking it better than others. The problem was too apparent however, and the issue which burned between the Captain and the new second was too obvious. Legit would often stare at Candle with plain disdain plastered upon his features. Candle would ignore it, but Spider, like everyone else in the fort, could sense the rising resentment that was building between the two men.
Shifting her position, she felt the rise of turmoil rinse through her system, her body informing her with the symptoms of proactive nausea that she was slowly but surely beginning to suffer from the effects of malnourishment.
Battling down the rising lump which attempted to rise up through her throat, she closed her eyes and calmed her thoughts.
‘What’s up with you?’ Molehill asked from his position off to her immediate right.
Opening her eyes, slowly turning her head, but nothing else, Spider replied ‘Nothing, just suffering that’s all!’
Molehill smiled, his wide mouth opening so to expose his big lopsided teeth. In his hands were his cards, moving back and forth as he continuously shuffled them.
‘Give it a rest, would you!’ Spider cursed, before pushing her head down face first into the fold of her hands.
‘What?’ Molehill asked, hands shuffling even as he allowed his eyes to rest upon Spider.
‘The cards!’ Spider’s muffled voice escaped.
‘Causing no harm,’ he stated, hands increasing in their movement.
‘Hood give me strength!’ she said, head rising.
‘Don’t want to catch his attention,’ Molehill stated ‘Especially with times like these,’
Again Spider returned her sight towards her younger colleague. This time, when she spoke, she conversed with a measured tone.
‘Do you believe in any God?’ she asked.
‘What me?’ Molehill again grinned.
‘Aye!’
Molehill shrugged ‘Believe in them one and all. Be stupid not to!’
‘That’s not what I meant,’
‘Aye, I guessed as much,’ Molehill agreed ‘But I don’t really trust my faith in them,’
‘No!’ Spider echoed ‘Is there anything you believe in?’
Molehill seemed to think, but again his hands worked with their steady rate of rearranging.
‘Just my cards,’ he finally replied.
‘What!’ Spider asked amazed, wondering if she had misheard him.
‘Believe in my cards,’ as if to prove his point, he pulled a single card from the deck and showed her its lightly painted image.
‘Its smudged!’ she remarked.
‘Aye, got wet that’s all. That’s what makes them lucky!’ Molehill answered, before returning the single card back into the remainder of the normal deck.
Spider shook her head, wondering if the lack of food had sent Molehill off the coaster of his mind, sliding down the parallel path towards the state of engraved madness.
As if reading Spider’s thoughts, Molehill spoke ‘Aye, I can tell you think I’m mad, but these cards have not let me down. Haven’t lost big since they got wet,’
‘Can’t be that lucky if your stuck here with the rest of us!’ she remarked.
Again Molehill shrugged ‘Could be worse,’ here he gestured towards the discarded remains of their once former colleagues ‘Could have marched out with those Hood damn fools!’
Spider found her eyes returning down to the knoll, a shudder escaping through her as she spotted the scattering of limbs which poked out through the congestion of sand.
Sighing aloud, she found that she couldn’t tear her eyes from the mound, finding that a clear image was surfacing within her mind. They would all eventually end up like that, cut down either by the ravages of starvation, or by the relished assault of Hatra’s awaiting citizens. How long would it take for the sand to cover up her own burial, to bury her deep within the enfoldment of its own ancient baring. To have her remains added to the overall collective which had lived and perished upon the sand blanched continent. Just another witless member of humanity to have died fighting a war which had never been her own.
Shaking her head, finding a tear budding in her eye due to the overwhelming nature of her self pity, she sent her thoughts out towards any God which would take compassion from her confounded position. To help deliver her from the situation which was worsening with every passing day.
‘Hey look!’ Molehill’s voice was clearly alarmed in its announcement.
‘What?’ she asked, trying to disguise the act of wiping at her eyes.
‘There!’ Molehill had risen from his position, cards falling to the floor, his entire attention focused in the act of pointing out toward the city itself.
Spider was dazed, her mind unprepared for his sudden action, yet instead of following Molehill’s hand, she found her eyes falling to where his discoloured cards had settled upon the floor. Most of the cards had fallen face down, all but five were turned upwards, allowing for the full tilt of the sun to appraise their governed images.
‘Something’s going on,’ Molehill said, ignorant of her apparent disinterest ‘Looks like someone’s coming out. Hood!’
With this he said no more, instead turning and fleeing, the sound of his voice calling out so to raise alarm to what trouble could possibly be closing to their position.
Spider remained lost to Molehill’s distress, instead she was drawn to the upturned cards, baffled by what she happened to be looking at.
The cards, with their smudged and dishevelled apparel, were obviously formed to a pattern. What she was clearly seeing, but utterly disbelieving was the fact that the pattern they formed was of the highest possible hand attainable. They were even formed in order of superiority, starting from the lowest on the left and moving up to the highest possible rank on the right.
What she was staring at, was a winning hand. An unbeatable flourish which was directed solely for her attention.
Grafting a bemused smile, she turned her head upwards ‘Oh thank you!’ she croaked, suddenly believing that her thoughts had been answered and that this was all too real a sign.
She faintly heard the first engagement of feet running up the steps towards her position. The jostling curses of those as they tried to force their way up first to the best viewpoint out looking toward Hatra. She glanced up once, to see as Creases and Splinter came steaming onto the battlement, their faces expressing the exertion they had used to get there first.
Dropping her sights once more, she saw that two of the cards had turned over, a third beginning to flutter as a small stirring of breeze roused at their forms.
A faint sense of anticlimax ensnared her, but she forced this aside, all to happy and clear that she had witnessed their formation in the first place. Nothing could take that away from her. Nothing could rid her of the sheer weight of will which engulfed her now that she had witnessed the cards devised formation. Their divined meaning.

[Riot]

Prime climbed the steps with a purpose that she truly didn’t feel. Her head was swimming with neglect, thoughts swirling with minor ideals, thoughts which were alarming in their tendency as they happened to be utter rubbish in their creation.
Behind her, puffing with the effort which was been expelled by the sudden raise in alarm, followed Sheep. They were possible the last two to have left the mess hall after Molehill had came storming in with his waving arms and horse voiced demands of their grouped presence, and Prime was still amazed by the stampede that had followed after him.
Both Prime and Sheep had slowly climbed to their feet, disheartened by the fact that they had to follow and resume the appearance of bringing some form of unity amongst the pains which inflicted them one and all. The endeavour which the others had used to find out what was about to occur was surprising, simply for the reason that Prime had believed that everyone in the fort had abandoned the possibility of escape, and so were too tired to attempt such an act of running.
Trying not to second guess what was occurring, Prime followed the steps upwards, finding that her heels were dragging in the attempt to move upwards.
‘Nearly there!’ came Sheep’s voice from behind her. She was unsure if he said it to spur her on, or to reinforce his own exhausted state. Either way, his words were true, and she finally rose to the last step and found herself upon the battlement.
The entire garrison was grouped upon the wall, crowded together as their entire attention was bound out toward the area that separated the fort from the city itself. Gaining closer, she lifted her eyebrows in acknowledgement to the nearest guard; Spider.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked of the Private.
Spider was smiling, an effect that was truth rather than an act.
‘Two men from Hatra have asked for an audience,’ she nodded down to the ground far below.
Ignoring Spider’s surprising state of euphoria, Prime leant forward, staring down to where the current focal point was being presented.
Forgetting her tired state, she was once more surprised to see who was waiting down below. She recognised the High Advisor of Hatra Sull Decrat, as well as the hulking figure who stood stolidly beside him, the cities huge Champion Fen’dhlea Ob.
‘Wonderful!’ she commented, finding that her heart was beating just that bit faster than previously before.
‘Where’s the Captain?’ she asked.
‘Here!’
Prime turned at the voice which trailed from the shadows which was cast from the overhang which led down to the steps. Candle and Legit both carried themselves forward with a purpose which Prime envied. She corrected her thoughts from earlier, not everyone was suffering in equal measure. The Captain and the new Sergeant both appeared almost healthy in their baring, only the obvious signs of malnourishment which was evident in their sunken faces, was enough to prove that they were struggling under the same quelled regime as the rest of them. If not for that, than Prime would have believed that they were unaffected by the rigours of slow starvation.
‘What’s the situation?’ Candle asked, halting beside Sheep. Legit a step behind him.
It was Molehill who answered, breaking free from the crowd which was nestled at the furthest end of the wall. Coming forward, he once more had his cards in his hands, and was again shuffling them with an intent which was alarming in its pace.
The cards were being reorganised at a incredible speed, flowing back and forth with a velocity that was hard to linger an eye upon.
‘Sir!’ he called, pushing himself past a small gathering made up by Creases, Splinter, and Corporal Lore. Finally he presented himself before the senior figures.
‘Well!’ Candle prompted.
Molehill nodded his head as he spoke, indicating where the attention should be located ‘High Advisor Decrat wishes for an audience!’ he stated.
Candle showed no emotion as he looked down, his eyes lingering for but a second on the two men.
‘Whose the big man?’ Legit asked, himself staring down as well.
‘Fen’dhlea Ob!’ Candle stated ‘Hatra’s champion,’
‘Big bastard isn’t he!’ Legit exclaimed.
Candle simply nodded, his thoughts elsewhere.
‘Well, lets find out what he wants!’ Legit said aloud, before positioning himself at a more comfortable position. Here he than bellowed down with his full Sergeant voice,
‘What do you want!’ he shouted.
The smaller of the two men shifted his stance, hand held up to shield his eyes from the encroaching sun.
‘We wish an audience!’ Sull’s less than vigorous voice called back.
‘And you got one,’ Legit shouted ‘Now what do you want!’
Even from their elevated position, the entire garrison could see as the High Advisor appeared to bristle in his posture, turning to mutter something to the immobile Fen’dlhea. Low words not drifting up to their location.
‘Upset him some!’ a voice commented. Prime recognised it as the rough grumble of Corporal Lore. Splinter sniggered in response.
‘Quiet!’ Prime ordered, wanting to hear what the Hatra citizen wanted.
Sull finally called back ‘We bring word of your mighty empire!’
Prime could here the mocking tones which reverberated with the Advisors words, cast in a manner so to upset them one and all.
Sull continued, not awaiting a reply ‘Your stay here is soon to come to an end. Coltraine and the 7th have fallen before Aren. Your empire has no control here now. Your abandoned, one and all!’
Prime felt the Advisors words strike them all. A sense of dread had suddenly developed them all, settling over them with a presence that was all to real in its creation. Fearing to look, his forced herself to turn and face the Captain.
Candle was motionless, his tall stance still formidable in his standing, yet she could see the tightness which surrounded his eyes.
Legit’s expression was more mundane in its formation, his lips pulled back in a sneer, his eyes narrowing as he attempted to control his anger. Legit’s reaction was the more commonly held manifestation, as the other guards all appeared as hostile and frustrated as the Sergeant.
‘So what?’ Legit returned ‘Even if Coltraine is dead, the Empress will not allow this insurgence go unanswered!’
Prime fancied that she saw a smirk appear on the advisor’s face, even though the distance was too great to be properly sure.
‘Coltraine’s army is not the only one to have fallen lately,’ Sull cast back ‘One arm’s host is no longer, broken down by a great war in Genabackis. Your empire is fledging, falling apart at the seams. Your lives are now empty,’
With the Advisor’s mocking call, Prime happened to see as Corporal Lore was staggered by the news of Dujek’s supposed fall. The old man reaching forward, using the battlement to help steady him.
Prime gave him a brief confusing glance, but decided that more important matters were at hand. The grief which stung at the other Corporal would have to wait.
‘Why don’t you come up here and find out just how empty we are!’ Legit called back, his spite evident enough for everyone to acknowledge.
Down below, Sull showed his opened hands, shoulders shrugging to express his belief in such a notion ‘Too much bloodshed has come between us. Far better if we allow you all to die within the catacomb that you hide yourselves in,’
‘Mocking bastard!’ someone spat, but again Prime ignored the words. Her attention pinned fully upon the High Advisor, as well to the silent giant who stood beside him.
‘If you’ve come to gloat, than Hood take you!’ Legit shouted down.
Shaking his head in a slow measured motion, Sull responded back ‘Fortunately for you, our grand leader Pal Dor’lk, is a man of kind confession. He wishes to put forth a proposition!’
‘Here it comes!’ Candle spoke for the first time since the shouted conversation had started, yet his words were low in their creation, whispered out. Only Prime caught his murmured words, and she offered him a strange glance in return. Candle ignored her reaction.
‘What proposition?’ Legit called back, the tone to his voice suggesting that he didn’t believe anything that was to be offered from the High Advisor.
Again, Prime imagined that Sull was smiling as he answered ‘My kind lord’s proposal is for relief to be formed for your behalf,’
All those on the battlement remained silent, awaiting for the Advisor to finish with his audience.
Sull continued ‘We proposal a duel!’ he again paused, allowing for the silence to be drawn out ‘Our champion…’ here he acknowledged Fen’dhlea Ob ‘…against one of your own!’
Legit appeared stunned by the offer, and so turned to Candle to see what he wanted.
Candle leant forward so that he was the main focal point of the Malazan spent force ‘What is in it for us?’ he called down, voice unwavering in its pitch.
‘If you manage to defeat Fen’dhlea Ob, than we will offer freedom for your entire garrison, to the last man!’
‘And if we should happen to lose!’ Candle ventured.
‘Than your entire garrison will surrender totally to ourselves, and follow us to the heart of this land; Raraku!’ Sull replied.
‘And what fate would await us there?’ Candle asked.
‘That would depend upon the Whirlwind!’ Sull answered ‘Up to that point you will be under Hatra’s care, fed and cared for,’
‘Sounds like a death sentence to me!’ Legit commented, a hand gripping his chin, stroking at the wiry hair which was amassed there.
‘What guarantee would we have of our freedom should we be victorious?’ Candle asked, ignoring his second in commands words.
Sull waved back to the wall which surrounded Hatra ‘Our new guests, the Gral, have offered to take you to safety, as far as the Maadil sea, where a ship will be purchased and provisioned for you all,’
Candle paused before answering, obviously his mind working through its will as it sought an answer. Finally he called back down ‘How long do we have to decide?’
‘Tomorrow, the same time. Fen will come out alone and if you submit to the terms, than a champion of your choosing will confront him,’ Sull replied.
‘Very well!’ Candle called back ‘Until tomorrow,’
Sull offered a bow which was again derisive in its manner. Turning her attention away as the High Advisor and Hatra’s Champion made their way back to the willing embrace of the city, Prime faced Candle.
Lifting her eyebrows, noticing that Sheep too was glancing at the Captain, she indicated without a word that she was awaiting an answer from him.
‘Back to the mess hall!’ he said aloud ‘Everyone!’
‘What about sentry duty?’ Prime asked.
‘None!’ Candle answered ‘If trouble arises, I would guess that Sheep would be able to sense it,’
Sheep looked as if he was about to object, but seeing the state of mind which played across the Captain’s face, he thought better and so kept his mouth shut. The only response he gave was a resigned nod of his head, indicating that he could very well sense if any secret attack would be set against them.
‘Very good!’ Candle responded ‘Than shall we,’
Saying no more he led the way back down the steps. Prime made as if to follow, but came to a halt as she saw Legit’s grim expression.
Shrugging her shoulders, sensing that the man was not happy but was unsure what to do, she waved him forward, offering him the chance to be the first to follow after the departing Captain.
Legit looked calmly at her, his teeth chewing together as he thought. Answering her shrug with one of his own, he decided that there was very little else he could do and so joined after the Captain.
Slowly but surely, one and all followed, each moving with a pace that was negative in its establishment. The last figure to move, thrusting himself away from the wall for which he had almost fell upon, was Corporal Lore. His ancient wrinkled swept features were more anguished than ever before. Never had he wished for a cracker than right now. To have broken the seal with a touch of acid, and to throw the munition down to where the cowardly bastard was now retreating back towards the city.
Not even the thought allowed for a smile to touch his weather brushed lips. Instead, Lore spat over the edge, finding that his thoughts were on friends who were likely dead if what the High Advisor had said was true.
One arm’s host near but destroyed. The thought left him, torn up and shredded inside. Mutely, as quiet as Quiet was herself, he followed after his new regiment.

[Riot]

Sull shielded his face from a momentary upsurge in breeze, forcing a draft of sand to sweep into his eyes. This short upset could not however break the pleasure which circulated his system, if anything it only forced him to seize further upon his own cruel cunning.
Beside him, Fen’dhlea Ob matched him for every step, his silent nature going further to reflect upon what had happened.
‘Brilliant!’ Sull commented, finding that his guile was an impressive feat, especially as he had thought up the idea in such short notice.
‘Do I prepare to fight for tomorrow?’ Fen suddenly asked, as they came into the first shaded stretch of land which was settled before Hatra’s wall.
‘I doubt that they will bother!’ Sull exclaimed, believing that he had solved the problem of the Malazan’s remaining in the fort.
‘What will you tell Pal?’ Fen asked, his focus firmly settled at the nearing gates.
‘We offered the terms as requested, but unfortunately the dogs refused our generous appeal. Instead they offered the terms of a duel and we felt aggrieved enough to accept,’ Sull explained.
‘And what about what we offered?’
Sull glanced at the impressive figure beside him ‘Come now Fen. If they do decide to fight, than you will dispatch their supposed champion. They will either accept the terms as we have outlined them, or they will refuse and remain in the fort. Either way we win!’
‘And if I should lose?’ Fen asked, without a hint of reservation in his voice.
Sull laughed, his shrill tones at odds with his usual decorum ‘Have no fear!’ he continued to laugh ‘They have no one of any skill to defeat such as you. I will however bind you with our God’s wards so to give you a more impressive edge. Also, I doubt that they would play fair. Especially if they have munitions still to hand!’
Fen grunted a acknowledgement, the best that Sull hoped to gain.
‘How will you explain the terms of the duel?’ Fen asked after a brief silence.
Sull looked up to the top of the wall, seeing the small hazy image of Motak’s face staring down at him. Again finding a refreshed smile surfacing, Sull than answered as they entered through the opened gateway.
‘If the Malazan’s win, than we will offer them food to help sustain their plight. However, with our win, the dogs will lay down their arms and surrender totally to our will. With this outcome, Pal will still lead Hatra out to Raraku, but accidents can occur on such long journeys. I as his superior Advisor, will become the new leader and lead us to Raraku’s beating heart!’
‘And once we reach there?’ Fen asked. The first time he had enquired into the future beyond the localised realm of Hatra.
‘And then things will get interesting!’ Sull answered, refusing to explain further. Instead a fit of laughter again consuming him, a writ of will which he knew he would have to contain if he was to confront both Motak, and more importantly with Pal over this new development.
Forcing down his mirth, he allowed a expressionless apparel to swim over his features. Time was soon approaching, and by this time tomorrow, he would be free of the oppressive nature which had been hanging over him since his time as a hidden agent of his God’s superior will.

[Riot]

Candle stood silently, his stance held in full attention, his eyes unwavering as they moved from one face to another. The line of his mouth was perfectly straight, no obvious detail of his state being displayed but his expressionless bearing.
The mess hall was crowded, seats pulled forward so that they confronted Candle in a semi-circle. Most guards were seated, some leaning forward, hands clasped before them in a unsettling state, whilst others were standing, lingering back from the frontline, adjusting from one foot to the other, clearly as anxious as their seated brethren.
‘Well?’ Candle asked once everyone appeared to be as settled as they possible could in the present circumstances.
Sheep was seated at the front with Prime on his left, and Private Quiet on the other. When he had first taken his seat, he was oblivious to who was already seated there, only after his rump rested down did he bother to look, offering a somewhat lacklustre smile as a simple gesture. Turning his sights to Prime, he was surprised to find a look of anger wash across her features. It was there but briefly, but it was there.
His own response was of confusion, yet he dared not ask. Not yet anyway.
Sheep allowed himself the opportunity to lean back into his chair. Tonight he had sentry duty, and he wanted at least some respite during the day. Chewing lightly at his bottom lip, he waited for the Captain to continue with his address.
Unfortunately, Candle had other ideas.
‘Well?’ he again responded.
It was Legit who answered. Legit who was also seated, but had turned the chair so that his legs were splayed either side of the rest, his forearms leaning upon the bolstered support itself.
‘Well, can we beat him?’ he returned a question of his own.
Candle cast a glance towards Prime.
‘I don’t know!’ she honestly replied, shifting her weight as she tried to cast her voice around the hall ‘The bastards fast, too fast for someone of that size,’
‘Mean!’ someone else commented.
‘Yes, but is it possible?’ Legit continued to press for an reply.
Molehill shrugged, his eyes locked down to the cards in his hands as he spoke ‘Anything’s possible,’
‘Good answer!’ Legit’s sarcasm was as fresh as ever.
‘Sorry!’ Molehill’s return was lost due to its low pitch.
‘Whose the best swordsman?’ Legit pressed on.
‘So its decided that we’re going to accept the duel?’ Creases put forth a query.
‘Aye,’ Legit nodded ‘We haven’t much choice,’
‘Could just sit here and die!’ Splinter voiced, face going red as he suddenly realised that he had spoken aloud. Beside him, Spider struck at his shoulder, her face showing her apparent frustration.
‘Faith’s pretty handy with a sword!’ Spider called aloud after venting her anger upon Splinter.
‘Hood’s balls to that!’ Faith returned, his face suddenly very white ‘That bastard would finish me off before I knew it!’
‘How about your company?’ Prime asked of Legit.
Legit allowed his eyebrows to raise ‘Probably me,’ he admitted.
Prime turned back to Candle ‘And your probably the best we have!’ she informed him.
Candle nodded, but still he refrained from speaking.
‘Could just blow the bastard up!’ Creases suggested.
‘Be a waste,’ Corporal Lore was the furthest from the front, his face appearing more ragged in its appearance then normal. The news offered from the High Advisor had struck him hard. More so than should have been normal.
‘So we send someone down and let them get killed by their damn Champion?’ Faith asked, his tone derisive in its creation.
‘Aye, sounds good to me,’ Legit swung round so that he could stare at the other Sergeant with the full weigh of his gaze.
Faith squirmed, yet he had the grace not to say anything further.
‘Enough!’ Candle stated ‘I’ll fight Fen’dhlea Ob,’
‘Er…’ Prime shook her head ‘…no sir, you can’t. Your role is to lead the regiment as it remains,’
Candle shook his head also ‘The best chance for that is to accept the challenge myself,’
Legit raised a hand, his face displaying that the command was not warranted in its request ‘Your needed for future endeavours!’ he said to Candle ‘I’ll fight him. I’m more disposable,’
‘No!’ Candle enforced his words ‘And that’s final. If I lose than Sergeant Legit, you have command,’
Prime shook her head but remained tight lipped.
‘If I lose than you will follow the instructions as laid out by the duel. You will lay down your arms and hand over the fort to Hatra,’ Candle explained.
‘And put our faith in the hands of those bastards?’ Legit asked.
‘Yes,’ Candle nodded ‘As honour dictates,’
Legit shook his head, yet he didn’t object. The remainder of the guards were mute in astonishment, each and everyone of them realising that this could be the very last day of their captivity. The possible last day in which Candle commanded them.
‘I would suggest that we all rest and prepare for what tomorrow brings,’ Candle suggested to the hushed hall.
‘Than you best have my rations than!’ Legit stated.
‘Aye, and mine!’ offered Spider.
Candle looked as if he would protest at such a suggestion, but Legit followed on before he had the chance.
‘If your to fight than you best have at least something inside of you. I can live without one days food, but you can’t if your planning to follow through with this stupid idea,’ he explained.
Candle slowly nodded, his eyes expressing his gratitude to both Legit and to Spider, who was slightly blushing.
‘Get some rest people!’ he announced, before following his own proposal, turning and leaving through the furthest door which led out to the parade ground and eventually to his quarters.
Those collected about in the mess hall began to break up, some returning back to the role of sentry duty which they had briefly escaped from, while others went off to return to the activities that they had been participating in before being aroused by Molehill’s initial cry of alarm.
Legit stayed where he was, his entire posture suggestion that the he was brooding over the Captain’s plan.
Sheep stayed where he was, finding that Prime appeared to be in no hurry to leave her seat. Quiet also remained, her silent presence a constant which was surprisingly disquieting in her stillness.
‘Oh well!’ he muttered, finding that nothing else would come to mind.
Prime offered him a strange glance, yet she was too concerned by her own thoughts to say anything. Instead she focused back forward, only after allowing her eyes to pass over Quiet.
Sheep refrained from sighing, knowing that at that exact moment, everyone who remained was caught up within the snare of their own grim thoughts. By venting some steam, he would be almost voicing allowed the joint concern which was associated with them all.
As a soldier he knew that such an obvious reaction would be deemed as lax. As a mage he recognised that such a thought was stupid in the extreme. As a human, he was scared ****less, his mind wishing to leak out the coherency of his panic induced state.
All these turmoil’s stirred relentlessly within him, threatening to overwhelm his senses and to break him mentality.
Tonight, he decided, he would practise further on his warren, hoping to find some form of relief which would surely save them one and all.
He gulped silently, knowing that the task was too much for his addled brain.

[Riot]

Controlling his will, seizing upon the opportunity which flared about him, Sheep slowly relaxed his breath, drawing out the air from his lungs so to help maintain his bearings.
Content with his manipulation, he reached outwards and touched the layer of his warren which existed about him. The same chill as before confronted him, only this time he willed himself forward fully, allowing not just his arm, but also the rest of his prevailing body to surge into the wall of the fort.
The radiating depths of chill seized totally over him, leaving his flesh numb by the sensation. Grinding his teeth, he spurred himself on.
He was amazed by the sight presented before him, allowing him to witness the full extent of D’riss and its associated realm. The light of the world was almost lost here, instead the malleable viscosity of the brickwork and mortar which made up the battlement was gloomy in its formation.
Allowing his hand to raise before him, he could still make out the waving portion of his limb, yet he felt as if he was moving within the confines of tar. So thick and unyielding was its construction.
Looking about him, seeing the fine lines of symmetry which existed within this folded realm, Sheep was amazed by the almost lacklustre nature of what was surrounding him.
Stepping forward even further into the brickwork, he was glad to find that the battlement walls were thick in their standing, allowing him plenty of room so to proceed. The only resistance that was set against him appeared to be the mortar which helped to hold the carved blocks rigorously into position.
He couldn’t help but find a smile rising upon his lips, his imagination sparkling due to the sights that he was being bared witness to.
Waving a hand before him, he was shocked to find that the flesh of his arm was bright in its creation, totally at odds with the surrounding material. His flesh seemed more alive than ever before, as if by entering the very nature of his warren had opened up the full feeling of his being. Here his life force was exaggerated, a colourful purposeful vigour of life which was opposed to the realms usual standing.
He could very well believe that the nature of D’riss, with its cold heartless meaning, was to be scornful towards the scenery of surrounding life, finding that the colourful exhibition of existence which coexisted about it was spiteful to its very will. The life-force which existed within every living thing was so at odds with D’riss status, so much so that Sheep could easily believe that the warren was almost jealous by the beating of hearts and by the rushing of blood which coaxed through the flesh of every living creature.
The vibrant manner of his existence whilst in D’riss seemed to prove this point, but he quickly wondered if he was painting an image which was unreal in its possibility. D’riss was but a warren, not a living entity which could form such emotions as jealously.
Could it be otherwise?
He shivered with the thought. There was many views and quoted proposals to what warrens truly were. Some thought them to be living things which mages happen to breech their way into. Some justified their existence to the possibility of other worlds. Some, like Sheep himself were too afraid of any possibilities, as he hated to think that he was using an ability which was beyond the grasp of his mental capability.
Turning fully around so that he was now staring back towards where he had entered the wall, he suddenly realised that there were no sounds; nothing which seemed to tug at his perception.
Intrigued, he spoke aloud ‘Hello!’
The single word seemed strange and drawn out, as if the slowed by the measurement of the stuff which surrounded him. Amused, he wondered if he should speak some more, perhaps to shout aloud, wondering is any of his fellow guards would happen to hear his voice from the adjoined brickwork.
He was almost tempted to go and do just that, to perhaps go and scare the Hood out of Faith. He decided against it however, knowing that to create such an alarm would only spread fear and panic in absorbing proportions throughout the garrison; an act which would only go further to alarm the already tired numbers of the stronghold.
Deciding that he had spent enough time within D’riss, Sheep moved back towards the edge of the wall, finding that he could see beyond the thin layer of the warren, looking out towards the darkened state of the normal realm.
Finding that a small spark had been ignited within his soul, he realised that he would be able to enter his warren any time he wanted; an act which went further to prove that his skills were slowly increasing. This realisation of his improve ability, was an exciting prospect, one which he assumed would continue to advance the more he practised.
Stepping forward, emerging from both the wall and from his warren, his senses were pricked by a sudden blooming of power which seemed to erupt from the shadows ten feet away.
Startled, he halted with his back now pressing lightly up against the wall for which he had just emerged from. The power which was budding was that of an opening warren, one for which he recognised and for which forced him to suddenly forgot all about his endeavours up to that point.
The sense of achievement which had flown through him with his increased mage ability was forced from his mind. Instead, all he could do was press himself further against the wall, perhaps a piece of his shocked mind was trying to once more retreat into the fold of the battlement walls so to protect him. Yet his logic as well as his warren was beyond him, and so in fear he stood unprotected as the warren opened and a figure stepped out.
Sheep was unable to see the face of the person who now stood before him. The darkness of the impeaching shadows was too strong for that. All he could see was the dusky outline of the figure, framed by the oozy darkness of the warren for which he had just materialized from.
Cringing for all he was worth, Sheep had not taken a breath since the first impression of the foreign warren had opened. Now his lungs were beginning to struggle for the lack of air, and so he breathed inwards, just as the dark oily warren closed behind the shadow cast figure.
The intake of air he took was engrossed with the scent of the now vanquished warren, and again he recognised that smell. It was the same scent which arose from the corpses of his once fellow soldiers who were now burrowed beneath the weight of sand outside of the fort. The exact same lingering aroma of death which seemed to seep with a malign force from the figure who stood but eight feet from him.
‘Oh Hood!’ he whispered, voice barely above a croak.
‘Not quite!’ the figure answered, taking a step forward so that the first shine of illumination which was cast down from the overzealous moon struck his person.
Sheep closed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing, but knowing at the same time that it was truth; truth made flesh.
The sound of steps eased closer to him, and Sheep knew that he could not hide away from the truth which stood before him any longer. With a calm which suddenly washed over him, Sheep opened his eyes.
‘Hello mage!’ the recognised figure said.
Sheep allowed a small grin to emerge, perhaps the first sign of his possible madness, before replying.
‘Hello Riot!’ he managed.

[Riot]

Sull awoke with a snarl, his throat tightening, his mind snagged within the confines of what he had just been dreaming. Half dazed by his interrupted slumber, he quickly stirred, rising upwards from his bed.
His room was distilled by darkness, only the ill lit illumination which crept in via the window was he able to see by.
Remaining in that position, with the bed cloth fallen from his chest so that it was coiled at his abdomen, he attempted to focus his thoughts. Stroking at his throat, he was stung by the sheer tension which resided within his oesophagus, as if he had been screaming and had rung his throat raw.
Trying to concentrate, he soon realised what had awoken him.
Whilst within the thrones of slumber, a warren had been open, awakening his mind, alerting him to its fuzzy occupation somewhere nearby. He could still sense its presence, even though it had now dissolved. Residue remained, wavering at his senses with its coaxing endeavour.
Wiping at his eyes, he knew that the time was late, yet he was ill prepared to do anything now.
The aspect of the warren was beyond his recognition, to late had he awoken to its creation. The residue which remained could have come from a number of different warrens, none of which he would easily associated with the surroundings lands. The only certainty he had was that its aspect was certainly not of chaos, and therefore it was unaligned towards his own ends.
He wondered whether to be apprehensive or not, believing that the focal point of its creation had come from the Malazan fort.
Could it have been the Imperial warren, raised so to steal forth the remaining soldiers from their enforced captivity. For some reason this struck Sull as wrong. The Malazan’s were confronted by the plain fact that their empire was within the midst of a mighty upheaval, the plight of a small regiment of soldiers stranded within the maelstrom of Seven Cities would be the last thing on the mind of the damn Empress. No, more likely that the warren had been created from someone within, by someone who had up to this point been hiding their abilities.
Still griped by sleeps enticing manner, Sull sighed. Recent events were beginning to take their toll upon his mind. The sudden resolution of the rebellion, as well as matters far closer to home were threatening his regard. The over joyous praise that he had radiated upon himself was perhaps, too great a thing to take lightly. The increasing wealth of excitement was too much for his being, a surge which he had been so long repressing.
Now that he was closer to the end of his gods formidable will, he was increasing the resolve of his own abilities, welcoming the biased notion of his own governed supremacy.
The rise in contentment was perhaps a thing that he was unused to, and therefore he was imagining things which were not truly there. His mind was regurgitating states of possible fear, created in part because now that he was so near to completely his objective, he was beginning to conjure up possibilities of failure.
So close to his designated aim, his mind was stressing with faults that could occur, revealing traits which were usually benign in their formulation. The assignment on his behalf was close to completion and the part of him which was submerged, sheltered deep within, was shouting aloud with the trials which would bring him down if they were allowed to surface.
Which is what had awoken him, he reasoned. Already he was beginning to doubt that a warren had truly opened, the original residue which had confronted him was no more, and so he had simply imagined it.
Yawning aloud, finding that it reverberated from as much from the centre of his tired mind than from deep within his chest, Sull slowly lowered himself backwards. With his head touching the tangled pillow, he soon found his eyes closing shut, his mind already initiating towards the state of needed sleep.
He was soon drifting away, the labouring last thoughts to mind were of what the morning would bring and of the prosperity which would be his when he led his people to Raraku, and to the promise made by the God for which he was now serving for.
A smile warmed his face as he slept.