Paran took a sip of the heady mead, felt it burn down his throat. 'Capustan is not your true enemy, Warchief-'
'The Pannion Domin will wage war on us. I know this, Malazan. They will take Capustan and use it to marshal their armies on our very borders. Then they will march.'
'If you understand all that, then why-'
'Twenty-seven tribes, Captain Paran.' Humbrall Taur drained his mug, then wiped his mouth. 'Of those, only eight chiefs will stand with me. Not enough. I need them all. Tell me, your new chief. Can he sway minds with his words?'
Paran grimaced. 'I don't know. He rarely uses them. Then again, up until now, he's had little need. We shall see tomorrow, I suppose.'
'Your Bridgeburners are still in danger.'
The captain stiffened, studied the thick honey wine in his mug. 'Why?' he asked after a moment.
'The Barahn, the Gilk, the Ahkrata — these clans are united against you. Even now, they spread tales of duplicity. Your healers are necromancers — they are conducting a ritual of resurrection to bring Trotts back to life. The White Faces have no love of Malazans. You are allied with the Moranth. You conquered the north — how soon will you turn your hungry gaze on us? You are the plains bear at our side, urging us to lock talons with the southern tiger. A hunter always knows the mind of a tiger, but never the mind of a plains bear.'
'So it seems our fate still hangs in the balance,' Paran said.
'Come the morrow,' Humbrall Taur said.
The captain drained his mug and set it down on the edge of the chest. Spot-fires were growing in his stomach. Behind the cloying mead numbing his tongue, he could taste blood. 'I must attend to my soldiers,' he said.
'Give them this night, Captain.'
Paran nodded, then made his way out of the tent.
Ten paces away, Picker and Blend stood waiting for him. The captain scowled as the two women hurried over. 'More good news, I take it,' he growled under his breath.
'Captain.'
'What is it, Corporal?'
Picker blinked. 'Well, uh, we've made it. I thought I should report-'
'Where's Antsy?'
'He ain't feeling too good, sir.'
'Something he ate?'
Blend grinned. 'That's a good one. Something he ate.'
'Captain,' Picker interjected hastily, shooting Blend a warning glare. 'We lost Quick Ben for a while, then got him back, only he ain't woken up. Spindle figures it's some kind of shock. He was pulled into a Barghast warren-'
Paran started. 'He was what? Take me to him. Blend, get Mallet and join us, double-time! Well, Picker? Why are you just standing there? Lead on.'
'Yes, sir.'
The Seventh squad had dropped their gear in the Bridgeburner encampment. Detoran and Hedge were unfolding tents, watched morosely by a pale, shivering Antsy. Spindle sat beside Quick Ben, fingers combing absently through his tattered hairshirt as he frowned down at the unconscious wizard. The Black Moranth, Twist, stood nearby. Soldiers from other squads sat in their respective groups, watchful of the newcomers and coming no closer.
Paran followed the corporal to Spindle and Quick Ben. The captain glanced at the other squads. 'What's with them?' he wondered aloud.
Picker grunted. 'See Hedge's swollen face? Detoran's in a temper, sir. We're all thinking she's got a crush on the poor sapper.'
'And she showed her affection by beating him up?'
'She's a rough sort, sir.'
The captain sighed, guiding Spindle to one side as he crouched to study Quick Ben. 'Tell me what happened, Spin. Picker said a Barghast warren.'
'Aye, sir. Mind you, I'm just guessing. We was crossing a barrow-'
'Oh, that was smart,' Paran snapped.
The mage ducked. 'Aye, well, it wasn't the first one we crossed and all the others were sleepy enough. Anyway, the spirits reached up and snatched Quick, dragged him outa sight. We waited a while. Then they spat him back out, like this. Captain, the warrens have gone sour. Nasty sour. Quick said it was the Pannion, only not really the Pannion, but the hidden power behind it. Said we was all in trouble.'
Footsteps approached and Paran turned to see Mallet and Blend approach. Behind them walked Trotts. A few ragged, sardonic cheers rose to greet him from the other squads, followed by a loud raspberry. Trotts bared his teeth and changed direction. A figure bolted like a rabbit. The Barghast's grin broadened.
'Get back here, Trotts,' Paran ordered. 'We need to talk.'
Shrugging, the huge warrior swung round and resumed his approach.
