Kellanved's Reach

Kellanved raised his walking stick in emphasis. ‘Oh yes, my friend.’

Dancer shook his head. ‘No. Don’t do this. I mean it. Don’t.’ Peering right and left to make certain they were alone, he leaned close to hiss through clenched teeth, ‘Remember Jadeen!’

Kellanved disparaged that with a wave. ‘As I said – do not worry yourself, my friend. All is in hand. I have a plan!’

Dancer wanted to groan, but the little mage ambled off, humming to himself and tapping his walking stick. Why was it that every time the fellow said that he was less and less reassured?

*

In the midst of the preparations for departure Urko came stomping off the gangway of the Sapphire to face Kellanved. ‘What’s this about a raid?’ the huge fellow demanded.

The mage nodded to him. ‘Indeed. Cawn. But first we leave with the morning tide for Malaz to pick up troops.’

Urko snapped his fingers. ‘Right! Surly wouldn’t let me go to Vor, but we’re all refitted now. I can meet you at the Bay of Cawn.’

Kellanved nodded indulgently. ‘Very well. Two days hence. The Bay of Cawn.’

‘I’m short of captains I can trust – can I dragoon my brother?’

Kellanved waved him off. ‘Yes, yes. Whatever you think appropriate.’

The huge fellow tramped down the gangplank, chortling to himself.

Dancer watched him go, then turned to Kellanved. ‘We’re leaving Surly shorthanded.’

‘No we’re not,’ the mage answered, and he pointed his walking stick up to the shrouds. Dancer looked up to see a female sailor come descending the ratlines, handhold over handhold, to thump down barefoot to the deck to face them, hands clasped at her back.

Surly. She eyed them the way Dancer’s old teacher used to eye him when he’d been careless. ‘You’re up to something,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

Kellanved laughed, a touch nervously. ‘Why, we’re taking possession of Cawn, of course!’

She shook her head. ‘Cawn’s a smokescreen. What are you really after?’

The mage pressed his steepled hands to his lips and nodded. ‘Very well. Divide and conquer, Surly. I intend to take control of the centre of the continent. I will isolate east from west. They will be divided, unable to coordinate against us. Divide and conquer.’

The woman let out a long taut breath – clearly she’d been dreading, or anticipating, this moment for some time. She nodded to herself. ‘I see … and if you fail I will still hold Nap. Yes?’

Kellanved waved his accord. ‘Oh, of course! Nap shall always be yours. Just as Malaz shall be mine.’

Surly snorted to show what she thought of Malaz, but nodded her agreement. ‘Very well.’

Dancer eased out his own breath and loosened his shoulders. That was the hard part. Now, we shall see. This is it. The throw for the mainland. At least it wouldn’t be him summoning their eldritch friends.

*

The task force sailed for Malaz. There they picked up all the recruits and trainee marines, together with further Malazan vessels, and sailed immediately for the Bay of Cawn. On board the Sapphire, Dancer was surprised to find that damned stuffed-shirt cultist Dassem Ultor himself present.

He looked the young man up and down, resenting, only slightly, those wind-blown curly black locks. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘You’ve come for my soldiers,’ the fellow asserted. ‘You’ll not have them without me.’

Dancer looked him up and down again, than glanced to the surrounding lads and lasses crowding the deck, all of whom had eyes only for Dassem, as if hanging on his every whim, and he had to shrug his shoulders. ‘Fine. It doesn’t matter. We doubt there’ll be any resistance.’

‘None the less, I’ll not have the life of one man or woman in my care thrown away on some wild scheme of your partner.’

Dancer fought the urge to slap the fellow down. ‘As I said … we don’t anticipate any major resistance.’

‘Let us hope so,’ the swordsman answered, his hand going to the grip of his weapon.

Dancer almost – but not quite – rolled his eyes to the sky.

In the Bay of Cawn they rendezvoused with further vessels from Nap, including those under the command of the brothers Urko and Cartheron Crust. Then they swung inland for the harbour of Cawn itself. It was night when they arrived – they were twelve hours late out of Malaz – and Dancer knocked on the main cabin door of the Sapphire and let himself in. He found Kellanved behind a desk, feet up, snoring.

He resisted smacking the fellow, settling instead for noisily slamming down a chair and sitting. The mage gasped, his feet falling, and he blinked about. ‘Yes? What?’

‘Is it done?’ Dancer asked.

‘Is what done?’

‘The Hounds! Did you loose them?’

The mage nodded his greying wizened head. ‘Oh yes, last night.’

Dancer rubbed his neck, almost wincing. Gods. Just like that. He shook his head. ‘So. They should be pretty damned cooperative.’

‘I should think so.’

Dancer shifted uncomfortably in the chair. ‘I have to say, I don’t understand. Why Cawn? Why now? The Hounds are a devastating weapon …’