* * *
Ullen was in the north-west when word came of the attack and complete slaughter of the field hospital. He stared for a time wordlessly to the north, numb of all feeling. What had he not done that he should've? A larger rearguard? More messengers? A tighter distribution of the command? Vve failed my soldiers. The men and women who look to me to protect them. Standing before him, the pallid-faced messenger cleared his throat. ‘Sir?’
Ullen blinked, confused. ‘Yes?’
‘Your … orders, sir?’
He raised his weak, newly healed right arm to wipe his brow, found it slick with sweat. ‘Relocate the field hospital closer to the reserves.’
‘The only reserves are those with us, sir.’
Ullen looked up. ‘Only my legion?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then … move it … closer to the field.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The messenger saluted, departed.
Ullen studied the south. He would not, could not, face his staff. He clasped his sweaty hands at his back to quell the urge to wipe them on his uniform. The darker smear of night, empty of all stars, still hung over the redoubt in the east – bless that mage whoever he was – he'd saved that flank. Now, if he could only salvage some order out of the west. He could not understand the Guard's reluctance out there on that flank. They could have routed them if they'd pressed their advantage. A phalanx marched now up the middle, standard in prominence, making an obvious effort to lay claim to overall control of the field. And what did they have left to throw against them? Nothing. If they could not be stopped then the Guard would have effectively won. His lines would have been cut in half.
A young girl came running up to his position, one of the Untan irregulars. His guards grabbed hold of her leather hauberk to yank her back. She fought the man, punching him. ‘Commander Ullen!’ she shouted. He waved her through. The oversized crossbow on her back rolled side to side as she came. ‘The Guard, sir – they're fallin’ apart!’
He studied her, disbelieving. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Units are breakin’ up. Crimson Guardsmen runnin’ this way and that. Some even fightin’ each other. I heard Avowed even attacking Avowed.’
‘But that's incredible. Why … ?’ he glanced around, searching for confirmation. ‘Who else says so?’
‘I saw it with my own eyes, sir.’
‘Fist D'Ebbin approaching, sir,’ a lieutenant called out. Ullen dismissed the girl then jogged ahead to meet the Fist. He found the short, round commander surrounded by his bodyguard. All had seen fighting. The Fist's armour was hacked, a cheek and his lips swollen from a blow. The man pulled off his helmet and gauntlets to wipe his face.
‘My compliments, Fist,’ said Ullen, and he meant it.
D'Ebbin gave a small wave as if to say it was of no great importance. ‘Been some kind of falling out among the Guard. Two camps appear to be organizing. One is firming up around the standard with the phalanx. The other is pulling together out of the Blades facing us. That phalanx, though, looks like it's determined to take control of the field.’
‘We have to meet it.’
A curt nod of his bullet-head. ‘Understood.’
‘How many can you spare?’
‘We have to keep the main group contained.’
‘Reinforcements will come once the Kanese have broken through. They should some time soon.’
His hairless bony brows rose. ‘In truth? Then when they come we'll swing east.’
‘Done.’
‘You'll wait?’
Ullen shook his head. ‘We can't leave the challenge unanswered. It would look like capitulation. The men will break.’
‘I understand. The column numbers about two thousand. But you know, my people estimate there are some forty Avowed among them?’
Forty Avowed? How could any force meet such a potent body? Still, there were twenty thousand Kanese on their way – enough to keep them pinned down, surrounded. Grind them down one by one. But how long will it take them to break through? He had to hold until the Kan forces arrived. ‘I have four thousand Malazan regulars with me, Fist. The commander's, Anand's, reserve. I will meet them.’
The Fist drew his gauntlets on. ‘I ask that you wait. The day is within your grasp. You have done a masterful job. I commend you. Do not throw it away.’
Ullen saluted. ‘I go now to save it, Fist.’
‘D'Ebbin nodded his assent, saluted. His face settled into grim resignation. Tor sceptre and throne, Lieutenant-commander.’
‘Sceptre and throne.’ Fist D'Ebbin jogged away. Ullen turned back to his staff. ‘Relay my orders. We march to meet the Crimson Guard standard. We must keep them engaged until the Kanese arrive. Now is our turn to bloody our swords.’
‘We are with you sir,’ said the Imperial lieutenant, and Ullen was surprised and pleased to hear the support in his voice.
‘Very good. Order the march.’ His officers saluted and ran to their commands.