‘You – you should not have done that, Fiddler.’
‘Relax,’ the man replied, tapping his satchel. ‘Saved one House – the only one that means anything to us now.’
‘Ours is a house still divided, Captain.’
‘The King in Chains? Never mind him – the fool’s too busy undermining the throne he happens to be sitting on. And the Knight is with us.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘I am. Be at ease on that count.’
‘When that god manifests, Fiddler, it will be upon a battlefield – thousands of souls will feed its shaping. We are speaking of a god of war – when it comes, it could well fill half the sky.’
Fiddler glanced across at Banaschar, and then he shrugged. ‘Beware the vow of a Toblakai.’ And then, with a half-smile, he filled a tin bowl with stew and handed it up to the Adjunct. ‘Eat, dear Consort. The rest are with us. Reaver, Fool, the Seven… Leper…’ and his gaze fell for a moment with that title, before he looked back up, grinned over at Banaschar. ‘Cripple.’
Cripple. Oh. Well, yes. Been staring me in the face all this time, I suppose. Been thinking it was terror, that old mirror reflection. And surprise, it was.
While they ate, Banaschar’s memories wandered back, to the moment in her tent, and her words with Lostara, and all that followed.
Children, gather close. Your mother’s days are fraught now. She needs you. She needs us all.
Glancing up, he saw Tavore studying him. ‘Banaschar, was it you who removed my helm? Wiped down my face and combed through my hair?’
His gaze dropped. ‘Yes, Adjunct.’
She made an odd sound, and then said, ‘I am sorry… I must have looked a mess.’
Oh, Tavore.
Fiddler rose suddenly and said in a gruff voice, ‘I’ll saddle your horse, Adjunct.’
Hedge watched as the three riders rode back into the camp. ‘Bavedict, distribute the munitions.’
The alchemist turned and in a startled voice asked, ‘All of them?’
‘All of them. And get ’em kitted out – water, a little food, armour and weapons and nothing else.’
‘I’ll go talk to the sergeants.’
Nodding, Hedge set off.
He found Fiddler on foot, just outside the Adjunct’s tent. The man was alone, standing looking down at the ground.
‘We’re coming with you,’ Hedge said.
Fiddler looked up, scowled. ‘No, you’re not.’
‘The Bridgeburners are coming with you – nothing you can do about it.’
‘It’s all over with, Hedge. Just leave it alone.’ And he turned away.
But Hedge reached out, pulled the man round. ‘I already asked the Adjunct – I did it last night, once I figured out what was going on. You need me there, Fiddler. You just don’t know it yet – you don’t know the half of it, but you’ll just have to trust me on this. You need me there.’
Fiddler stepped close, his face dark. ‘Why? Why the fuck do I?’
Passing soldiers paused, turned to stare.
‘You just do! If you don’t – I swear this, Fid, I swear it – you’ll spend the rest of your days poisoned with regret. Listen to me! It’s not only us, can’t you see that? You need the Bridgeburners!’
Fiddler pushed him back with both hands, staggering Hedge. ‘They’re not Bridgeburners! It’s not just a fucking name! You can’t just pick up any old useless fools and call them Bridgeburners!’
‘Why not?’ Hedge retorted. ‘It’s what we were, wasn’t it? At the beginning? Young and wide-eyed stupid and wanting to be better than we were!’ He waved an arm to take in the camp. ‘No different from these Bonehunters – don’t you see that?’
‘Don’t follow me!’
‘You’re not listening! I went through – I came back! I have no choice, damn you!’
There were tears glistening in Fiddler’s eyes. ‘Just don’t.’
Hedge shook his head. ‘I told you. No choice, none at all.’
When Fiddler pushed past him, Hedge let him go. He looked round, scowled. ‘It’s almost noon – go eat something, you slack-jawed bastards.’ Then he headed back for his company’s camp.
Fiddler cut between two staff tents, and made it halfway down before he stopped and slowly sank to one knee, his hands over his face. As tears broke loose, shudders drove through him, wave upon wave.
We’re going to die – can’t he see that? I can’t lose him again – I just can’t.
He could still feel Hedge’s shoulders where he’d pushed him, and see the hurt look on the man’s face – no, don’t. His hands stung, his hands burned. He balled them into fists, head hanging, forcing himself to draw deep breaths, forcing all the rawness away, and with it the terrible anguish that threatened to break him, crush him down.
He needed to go to his soldiers now. The sergeants would have them ready. Waiting. Marines and heavies, the last of both. One more thing to do, and then we’ll be done. All of it, finished.
Gods, Hedge, we should have died in the tunnels. So much easier, so much quicker. No time to grieve, no time for the scars to get so thick it’s almost impossible to feel anything at all.
And then you showed up and tore them all open again.
Whiskeyjack, Kalam, Trotts – they’re gone. Why didn’t you stay there with them? Why couldn’t you just have waited for me?
Still the tears streamed down his face, soaking his beard. He could barely see the matted dead grasses beneath him.
End this. One more thing to do – they’ll try and stop us. They have to. We need to be ready for them. We need – I need…to be a captain, the one in charge. The one to tell my soldiers where to die.
Wiping at his face, he slowly straightened.
‘Gods,’ he muttered. ‘First the Adjunct, and now this.’ He sighed. ‘Let’s just call it a bad day and be done with it. Ready, Fid? Ready for them? You’d better be.’
He set out.
There was glory in pissing, Corabb decided as he watched the stream curve out and make that familiar but unique sound as it hit the ground.
‘Doesn’t look like you need both hands for that,’ Smiles observed from where she sat nearby.
‘Today, I shall even look upon you with sympathy,’ he replied, finishing up and then spitting on his hands to clean them.
‘Sympathy? What am I, a lame dog?’
Sitting leaning against his pack, Bottle laughed, earning a dark look from Smiles.
‘We are going somewhere to fight,’ Corabb said, turning to face her and the others sitting on the ground beyond. ‘Today, you are all my family.’
‘Explains the sympathy,’ Koryk muttered.
‘And I will stand at your side, Koryk of the Seti,’ Corabb said.
Smiles snorted. ‘To what, keep him from running?’
‘No. Because, this time, he will stand with us. He will be a soldier again.’
There was a long moment of silence from the gathered squad, and then Koryk rose and walked a short distance away.
‘There’s demons crouched in his brain,’ Cuttle said under his breath. ‘All that whispering must be driving him mad.’
‘Here comes the sergeant,’ Corabb said. ‘It’s time.’ He went to his kit bag, checked the straps once again, picking up the crossbow and admiring it for a moment before tying it on to the satchel. He re-counted the quarrels and was satisfied to find that they still numbered twelve.
‘Load up,’ Tarr said when he arrived. ‘We’re headed northwest.’
‘That’s damn near back the way we came!’ said Smiles. ‘How far? If I even come within sight of that desert, I’ll slit my own throat.’
‘It’s a big lake now, Smiles,’ Bottle pointed out.
Tarr said, ‘Should be there by noon tomorrow, or so the captain says. Take food for two days, and as much water as you can carry.’
Corabb scratched at the beard covering his jaw. ‘Sergeant – the regulars are getting ready to break camp, too.’
�
�They’re going east, Corporal.’
‘When do we rendezvous?’
But the sergeant’s only reply was a sharp glance, and then he went to his own gear.
Smiles edged up close to Corabb. ‘Should’ve used that thing for more than just pissing, Corporal, and now it’s too late.’
Oh. I get it. We’re not coming back. ‘Then we march to glory.’
‘Hood’s breath,’ Smiles sighed.
But he caught a look on her face – quickly hidden. She is afraid. She is so young. ‘And you, Smiles, shall stand on my other side.’
Did she almost sag towards him then? He could not be sure, and she kept her face down, turned away as she worked on her satchel.
‘You have let your hair grow long,’ he said. ‘It makes you almost pretty.’
Cuttle edged close. ‘You really don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you, Corabb?’
‘Form up,’ Tarr said. ‘We’re in the lead to start.’
Cuttle met his sergeant’s eyes and gave a faint nod. Tarr turned and looked ahead to where Fiddler waited. The captain looked ill, but he held Tarr’s gaze without expression, and then Fiddler swung round and set off.
Their march would take them through the entire camp of regulars, down the central, widest avenue between the uneven rows of tents, awnings and blinds. The sapper looked up at the sky, then back down again – those blazing slashes seemed closer than ever, unnerving him.
Cuttle waved the others in their squad forward, then glanced back to see Balm leading his own soldiers, and beyond them Sergeant Urb. And then the rest of them. Hellian, Badan Gruk, Sinter, Gaunt-Eye, and the heavies falling in wherever they felt like it.
He stepped in behind Shortnose – the man had a way of wandering off, as if forgetting which squad he’d joined, but now he was here, trudging along under a massive bundle of rolled chain armour, weapons and shield. The heavy had tied a Nah’ruk finger bone to his beard and it made a thumping sound on his chest as he walked. His maimed shield hand was bound up in leather straps.
As they walked, the regulars to either side began converging ahead, as if to line their route, as if to watch in that Hood-damned silence of theirs as the marines and heavies passed. His unease deepened. Not a word from them, not a thing. As if we’re strangers. As the troop approached the broad avenue, the only sound came from their marching – the hard impact of their boots and the clatter of equipment – and through his growing anger Cuttle had an uncanny sensation of walking through an army of ghosts as the regulars drew up on either side. He didn’t see a single youthful face among all the onlookers. And not a nod, not even a tilt of a head.
But we look just as old and ruined, don’t we? What are they seeing? What are they thinking?
Tavore, I don’t envy you these soldiers. I can’t read them at all. Do they understand? Have they worked it out yet?
They’re heading east – to block the army the Assail are sending after us – to buy us the time we need. But if they can’t do it – if they can’t slow the bastards down – it’s all lost. This whole damned thing falls apart.
You’re headed for a fight. And we won’t be there for you – any of you. No fist of heavies. No knots of marines in the line. So if that’s a look of betrayal in your faces, if you think all this is about abandoning all of you, then Hood take me—
The thought ended abruptly, and Cuttle’s growing anger simply disintegrated.
The regulars began saluting, fists to their chests. Standing at attention, in suddenly perfect rows to either side.
The few muttered conversations among the marines and heavies fell off, and suddenly the silence became oppressive in an entirely different way. Cuttle felt more than heard the company’s footfalls slipping into cadence, and in the squad directly in front of him he now saw the soldiers edging into paired rows behind Captain Fiddler, with Corabb and Tarr in the lead, Smiles and Koryk behind them, followed by Bottle and Shortnose.
‘You just had to be uneven,’ growled Balm in a low voice as he came up on his right.
‘Then drop back.’
‘And shake this out all over again? Can’t even remember the last time I found myself on a parade – no, we just hold this, sapper, and hope to Hood no one trips over their own Hood-damned feet.’
‘Wasn’t expecting this.’
‘I hate it. I feel sick. Where we going again?’
‘Stop panicking, Sergeant.’
‘And who in the White Jackal’s name are you, soldier?’
Cuttle sighed. ‘Just march, Sergeant. Once we get through this, we can relax again. Promise.’
‘We getting medals or something?’
No. This is something else. This is what the Adjunct said wouldn’t happen. Look at these regulars.
They’re witnessing us.
‘Did you see this?’ Kisswhere asked.
Sinter kept staring straight ahead, but she frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your visions – did you see any of this? And what about what’s coming – what about tomorrow, or the next day?’
‘It’s not like that.’
Her sister sighed. ‘Funny. I can see what’s coming, right through to the very end.’
‘No you can’t. That’s just fear talking.’
‘And it’s got a lot to say.’
‘Just leave it, Kisswhere.’
‘No. I won’t. Tell me about a vision of the future, with us in it. Here’s mine. You’ve got a baby on your hip, with a boy running ahead. It’s the morning walk down to the imperial school – the one they were building before we left. And I got a girl who looks just like me, but wild, a demon in disguise. We’re exhausted, in the way of all mothers, and I’m getting fat. We brag about the runts, complain about our husbands, bitch at how tired we are. It’s hot, the flies are out and the air smells of rotted vegetables. Husbands. When are they going to finish fixing the roof, that’s what we want to know, when instead of doing something useful the lazy bastards spend all day lying in the shade picking their noses. And then if that’s not—’
‘Stop it, Kisswhere.’
To Sinter’s astonishment, her sister fell silent.
Was that the first time? Must’ve been. Sorido the miller’s boy. I’d woken up that morning with tits. We went behind the old custom house annexe, on that burnt stubble where they’d toasted an infestation of spiders only a few days before, and I lifted up my shirt and showed them off.
What was that boy’s name? Rilt? Rallit? His eyes got huge. I’d stolen a flask from the house. Peach brandy. You could set your breath on fire with that stuff. I figured he needed loosening up. Hood knows I did. So we drank and he played with them.
I had to fight him to get his cock out.
And that was the first time. Wish there’d been a thousand more, but it didn’t work out that way. He was killed a year later in his father’s shop – some rushed order on ship fittings, rumours of another crackdown on Kartoolii pirates because the Malazan overlords were losing revenues or something.
They weren’t pirates. That’s just a name for people being obvious about theft.
There could have been other boys. Dozens of them. But who wants to lie down on the ground on an island crawling with deadly spiders?
Rallit or Ralt or whatever your name was, I’m glad we fucked before you died. I’m glad you had at least that.
It’s not fair, how the years just vanish.
I love you, Hellian. How hard could it be to just say those words? But even thinking them made Urb’s jaw tighten as if bound in wire. Sudden sweat under his armour, a thudding heart, a thickening sensation of nausea in his throat. She had never looked better. No, she was beautiful. Why wasn’t he the drunk? Then he could blather out all he wanted to say in that shameless way drunks had. But why would she want him then? Unless she was just as drunk. But she wasn’t anything like that now. Her eyes were clear and they never rested, as if she was finally seeing things, and all that slackness was gone from her face and she could pr
obably have any man she wanted now so why bother looking at him?
He kept his gaze ahead, trying not to notice all these regular soldiers with their salutes. Better to pretend they weren’t even there, weren’t paying them any attention, and they could walk out of this army, off to do whatever it was that needed doing, and no one needed to notice anything.
Attention made him nervous, when the only attention he really wanted was from her. But if she gave it to him, he’d probably fall to pieces.
I’d like to make love. Just once. Before I die. I’d like to hold her in my arms and feel as if the world’s just slid and shifted into its proper shape, making everything perfect. And I could see all of that, right there in her eyes.
And looking up… I’d see all these soldiers saluting me.
No, that’s not right. Don’t look up, Urb. Listen to yourself! Idiot!
Widdershins found that he was walking beside Throatslitter. He’d not expected an actual military march, and already his bare feet inside his worn boots were raw. He’d always hated having to throw his heels down with every step, feeling the shocks shooting up his spine, and having to lift his knees higher than usual was wearing him out.
He could see the end ahead, the edge of the damned camp. Once out of sight of these wretched regulars going all formal on them, they could relax again. He’d happily forgotten all this shit, those first months of training before he’d managed to slip across into the marines – where discipline didn’t mean striding in cadence and throwing the shoulders back and all that rubbish. Where it meant doing your job and not wasting time on anything else.
He remembered the first officers he’d encountered, bitching about companies like the Bridgeburners. Sloppy, slouching slackers – couldn’t get ’em to stand in a straight line if their lives depended on it, and as likely to slit their officers’ throats as take an order. Well, not quite. If it was a good order, a smart order, they’d step up smart. If it was a stupid order, an order that would see soldiers die for no good reason, well, the choice was not doing it and getting hammered for insubordination, or quietly arranging a tragic battlefield casualty.
The Malazan Empire Page 1044