While they watched, yet more cavalry came riding on to the field, this time from the east, up the trader road from Cawn: the provincial Cawnese cavalry. These forces too ranged themselves facing the Guard from the north and east. So many.

‘And where were these armies just two days ago?’ she murmured, unintentionally giving voice to her thoughts.

‘Elsewhere, thankfully,’ K'azz grinned, but then he nodded his understanding. ‘We are being granted a rare sight, Shimmer. The gathering might of a far-flung Empire in truth. Seems in our absence the Malazans have pulled together a true political and logistical whole…’ He paused, the crow's-feet at his eyes deepening as he squinted, his mouth drawing down. ‘We are the invaders now, Shimmer. Quon does not want us.’

And Shimmer exhaled. Some long-held breath clenched deep within her stomach relaxed after so long. Thank all the Gods he sees this. There is hope for us yet.

She glanced around the retreat: yes, all that were left now were Guardsmen and the Untan noble who accompanied the Wickans. The Bael recruits came walking up, Stalker, Badlands and Coots. They joined Kyle. From what K'azz had told her of them she hoped they would ease themselves back into the Guard, but something told her this would probably not happen. The scout, Stalker, raised his chin to the field. ‘Damn lot of them. We heard the news. Any idea who's in charge down there now – if anyone?’

‘It had better not end up the Sword,’ a voice said from nearby. Shimmer turned. It was the Untan nobleman. Rillish?

‘Why?’ K'azz asked.

The man drew a long breath as if searching for where to start. ‘The Wickans told me of his actions up north in Seven Cities. The man's bloodthirsty. Has no mercy. He'll order you all wiped out – the Wickans as well, probably. He has a hatred of them.’

K'azz appeared doubtful. ‘Surely enough blood's been spilled…’

Shimmer recounted her meeting with the man – only one day ago? Seemed like years, another world. Yes, the Untan's evaluation struck her as true. A man to whom lives meant nothing. ‘I met the man with Skinner,’ she said. ‘At the parley. From what I saw of him I agree with Rillish.’

‘I see.’ K'azz pursed his thin lips. ‘Of course from a military point of view I can understand it… I had just hoped we'd moved on to a political solution. But, if not…’ He motioned to her. ‘Have the Brethren summon all mages.’

She nodded.

A Wickan elder came walking up, his thick, greying, unkempt hair blowing in the wind, a hand on his long-knife pommel, his walk bow-legged. He raised a clawed hand to Rillish. ‘You're wanted on the field.’

The Untan noble bowed to K'azz. ‘Until later, Commander.’

K'azz gave a brief tilt of his head in assent. ‘Yes, I hope to hear later on how you came to join the Wickan command – I'm sure it must be quite a story.’

The man's smile was solemn. ‘Yours, I think, would interest most here far more. May Burn guard your way.’

Shimmer watched him jog down the hillside. Only the Guard now remained on the hilltop retreat. ‘What do you have in mind?’ she asked.

A mischievous half-smile pulled at his lips. ‘I think we should have a look at the Imperial Warren.’

Ho remained while Imperial regulars, Malazan, Falaran and Moranth, saw to the treatment of Laseen's corpse. They formed an unofficial guard, held back the gathering crowd, wrapped the body in clean cloth, then appropriated a supply wagon brought down to collect wounded, and carefully placed the body on its empty bed. The woman he'd found on the field, Tayschrenn's bodyguard, they sat up front. She'd given her name as Kiska and seemed shattered – not by her wounds, but by the trauma of having lost Tayschrenn. The other remaining Claw operative, once his wounds had been stabilized, had got up and simply wandered off to become lost among those many milling about the battlefield.

Of the other mages who had come together to attempt to counter Yath, all save one had gone their separate ways. The surviving Crimson Guardsmen, Blues, Treat, Sept, Gwynn and Fingers, had discreetly slipped away to join their brothers and sisters on their hilltop position. Blues and Gwynn had carried Fingers on a stretcher as just another of the wounded, and, Hood knew, there were more than enough of those. The Wickan twins, witch and warlock, had ridden off with a troop of horsemen who'd come leading extra mounts for them. They'd left with Su, who, from what he'd overheard, was in truth the elder cousin of the twin's grandmother, and very possibly the eldest Wickan alive today.

‘It's not over,’ Su had called to him from where she sat gently cradled by a rider astride a mount, enigmatic and true to form. He'd just waved goodbye.

The saboteurs, including sergeants Jumpy and Urfa, seemed content to sit sprawled in the shade of their trenches, helmets and armour shed, re-dressing wounds and cadging water and food from the many Kanese and Cawn cavalry wandering the battlefield, collecting wounded and souvenirs.

This left him and the priest-mage, Heuk. The impromptu honour guard forming up surrounding the wagon had set out north. Ho invited Heuk to join the wake. ‘I'm curious to have a look at this Mallick creature the Cawn officers are so puffed up about.’

Heuk walked with him. He gestured to the wagon. ‘I still can't believe it.’ He wiped a dirty sleeve across his equally dirty face, winced at the glaring sun.

‘Neither can I. It seems impossible.’

Ho saw his feelings echoed in the stunned, numb faces of the regular soldiers all assembling without fanfare, without orders, all gathering together to follow the wagon as it made its slow way north to the trader road. Only now, it seemed to Ho, were they becoming aware of what they had had in their Empress. Unflinching. A presence so solid they need not even have considered it. For all her faults it may be that it was she who held them all together. Now, with her gone, the break with the past was complete. Who was left to take the throne? Who could possibly fill that cold, hard, perilous seat – or would possibly dare? No one that he could think of. But then, he'd been away for a very long time, and even a day can be a lifetime in Imperial politics.

Heuk had been eyeing him edgewise, an unwelcome calculating look in his eyes. ‘The Empire has a need of a High Mage…’

‘I'd rather have my skin flayed from my body. What about you?’

‘Me? I'm just a squad mage.’

Certainly. A squad mage who terrifies all other mages. But he let it lie – they each had their secrets and preferred anonymity.

The cortege eventually reached the encampment of the Cawn command near the crossroads. Here it stopped and the Cawnese provincial nobles gathered to pay their respects. Also present were many assembled Imperial officers. Beneath his breath Heuk pointed out each to Ho: ‘The tall pale one is High Fist Anand. Next to him is Fist D'Ebbin. Don't know the names of the Kanese and Cawn officers and mages here.’ A palanquin pushed its way among the gathered officers, a bald, armoured, giant Dal Hon at its head. Ho exchanged knowing glances with Heuk. Bala. Quick to sidle up, she was.

Searching among everyone Ho saw no one dominating figure. Rather, it was the way they all stood in an uneasy semicircle slightly apart from one particular figure that directed his gaze to the man: the seemingly harmless short, rotund, figure who must be this Mallick Rel. The man's pale moon face held an expression of deep remorse and sadness, but beneath this Ho read rigidly contained triumph.

‘A poignant day for the Empire’, Mallick said softly to High Fist Anand next to him. Though in pain from his wounds, Anand looked down at the man with obvious disgust. ‘A day to be remembered.’ He clasped his hands across his stomach. ‘Yes. And for more than this one compelling reason. For while we mourn the loss of our Empress we must also rejoice in the surmounting of this misguided secessionist movement. And for the crushing of our old enemies, the mercenary Crimson Guard.’ The man glanced to the ground as if in humility. ‘Such is Laseen's legacy of peace and security to us.’