The Nemil captain had reported – second-hand – that another Edur fleet had been sighted the day before. Well to the north, less than a score of ships, struggling eastward in the face of this unceasing wind.
Those ships were in a bad way, the captain had said. Damaged, limping.
Struck by a storm, perhaps, or they had seen battle. Whatever the cause, they were not eager to challenge the Nemil ships, which in itself was sufficient matter for comment – apparently, the roving Edur ships had been preying on Nemil traders for nearly two years, and on those instances when Nemil escorts were close enough to engage, the results had been disastrous for the antiquated biremes.
Curious news. The Adjunct had pressed the Nemil captain on information regarding the Perish, the inhabitants of the vast, mountain-girdled peninsula on the western side of the Catal Sea, which was itself a substantial, southward-jutting inlet, at the very bottom of which was the heart of the Nemil Kingdom. But the man had simply shaken his head, suddenly mute.
Nether had, moments earlier, suggested that perhaps the Edur fleet had clashed with these Perish. And suffered in consequence.
The Malazan fleet was cutting across the mouth of the Catal Inlet now – as it was called on the Malazan maps – a distance the captain had claimed was a journey of four days' sailing under ideal conditions.
The lead ships were already a fourth of the way across.
There was more than wind, magic or otherwise – the way the horizons looked blurry, especially headlands…
'The Nemil,' Nil said, 'were not reluctant to speak of the Edur.'
'Yet they would say nothing at all of the Perish,' Nether added.
'History between them,' Keneb suggested.
The others turned to him.
Keneb shrugged. 'Just a thought. The Nemil are clearly expansionist, and that entails a certain… arrogance. They devoured the Trell peoples, providing a reassuring symbol of Nemil prowess and righteousness. It may be that the Perish delivered an opposing symbol, something that both shocked and humbled the Nemil – neither sentiment quite fitting with their own notions of grandiosity. And so they will not speak of it.'
'Your theory makes sense,' the Adjunct said. 'Thank you, Fist.' She turned and studied the riotous eastern sky. 'Humbled, yes,' she said in a low voice. 'In the writings of Duiker, he speaks of the manifold scales to be found in war, from the soldier facing another soldier, to the very gods themselves locked in mortal combat. At first glance, it seems an outrage to consider that such extremes can coexist, yet Duiker then claims that the potential for cause and effect can proceed in both directions.'
'It would be comforting to think so,' Keneb said. 'I can think of a few gods that I'd love to trip up right now.'
'It may be,' the Adjunct said, 'that someone has preceded you.'
Keneb frowned. 'Do you know who, Adjunct?'
She glanced at him, said nothing.
Thus ends her momentary loquaciousness. Well. And what did it tell me?
She's well read, but I already knew that. Anything else?
No.