Stonewielder (Novels of the Malazan Empire, #3)

by Ian C. Esslemont

Kyle stared from man to man, unable to find the words. The two commanders exchanged amused looks. Finally Kyle waved his disgust. ‘Lunatics – both of you!’ He stormed out. Bowing, Devaleth followed. Alone, the two were quiet for a time; Nok accepted a glass from Greymane. ‘Your Adjunct,’ Nok said, savouring the drink. ‘Are you sure the lad is up to the job?’ Greymane swallowed, then frowned over his answer, considering how to reply. Eventually he cleared his throat. ‘Nok … I tell you this in all trust. Kyle is from Assail.’ The old Admiral straightened, his eyes widening. ‘That is impossible. ’ ‘I was with the Crimson Guard when it slunk its way wide south of Assail lands. Kyle was recruited then. He’d come down from the north.’ ‘There’s so much I would ask … What of the Imass?’ But the High Fist was shaking his head. ‘No. He’s just a tribesman. He knows nothing of wars or fighting further north. Although …’ and here the High Fist looked away, thoughtful, ‘there were three lads – friends of his – I believe they knew more of what was going on up north. They kept damned mum about it all, understandably.’ Nok raised his glass. ‘One mystery at a time then.’ Greymane answered the salute. ‘Yes. A slow fighting retreat, yes? Give us all the time you can, Admiral.’ The old man smoothed his white moustache, grinning. His eyes, deep in their nest of wrinkles, flashed an almost fey anticipation. He extended a hand. ‘Until we meet again on the west coast.’ Laughing, Greymane took the ...