Orb Sceptre Throne (70 page)

He felt its call because he was close himself. Close, if not already there. But fighting. Refusing. As he told the girl: it was a choice awaiting him. It seemed that no matter which way he turned, there it was, inevitable.

If only he knew which would be for the best. Yet perhaps it wasn’t a question of choice. Perhaps it had always been merely about
doing
. Perhaps that was the better way of thinking of things.

He could not be sure and that doubt was a torment. Because he didn’t think much of his choices so far.

In the morning Yusek stepped out chilled and wrapped in her blanket to see the man still there, still kneeling, the pink and amber sun’s rays painting his back.

Now that just ain’t human
.

She shuffled to the kitchens for hot tea and a round of fresh bread. She had to jostle elbows and push herself forward just to swipe that much. These boys and girls might be priests and such, she reflected, but they sure weren’t shy when mealtime came around.

At her hut she packed what few bits and pieces she owned into a roll that she tied off and threw on to her back. Her new sword she belted at her left hip. On the grounds she found Sall and Lo ready to go. The fellow Lo had challenged was there as well.

Sall greeted her. ‘We are leaving.’

She couldn’t help looking to the sky. ‘Yeah. I guessed.’

‘Where will you head?’ he asked.

She shrugged, indifferent. ‘I dunno. Mengal, I guess. Thanks for the lessons.’

He gave a sign she recognized as meant to dismiss the subject. ‘It was nothing. You were a conscientious student. That is all a teacher can ask for.’

She knew Sall to be her age but sometimes he talked so stiffly, like he was some old guy of thirty or something.

The fellow Lo had challenged stepped forward. Sall inclined his head to the man and, incredibly, so did Lo.

So … Lo just indicated that he considers the man higher ranked. Even though the man refused his challenge. He doesn’t want to take the rank that way. Just as Sall said. Hey! I’m starting to understand these crazy people!

But abbreviated bows only seemed to make the man’s already pained face tighten even more. ‘I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing,’ he growled, his voice hoarse. ‘But when you get to Cant, give my regards to your Second. I’ve heard good things of him.’

Sall turned his masked face to Lo. Something passed between them. Sall turned back to the man. ‘Slayer of Blacksword, we are not returning to Cant.’

Something almost like panic seemed to claw at the man’s face. ‘You’re not?’ The lines bracketing his eyes and mouth tightened into an angry suspicion. ‘Tell me where you are headed.’

‘We travel to Darujhistan to join our brothers and sisters. The First has called and we have answered.’

Yusek stared. Darujhistan? They’re going to
Darujhistan
!

The man was shaking his head, appalled. ‘All the scheming gods – you mustn’t go there. Don’t you see?’

‘See … what?’

‘Don’t make yourself a weapon,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘Take it from me. Weapons get used.’

Sall tilted his head a fraction. His eyes behind the mask appeared troubled, but he answered, ‘It is our duty. Our defining purpose. It makes us Seguleh.’

The man blinked as if fighting back tears. Every word Sall spoke seemed to strike him like a blow. ‘Gods, you people have backed yourselves up to the very Abyss …’

Lo moved slightly – a motion Yusek would never have caught before, but she understood it now as a gesture of impatience.

Sall said: ‘Thank you for your words, Slayer of Blacksword. But we must go.’

‘I’m going with you,’ the man said.

Even masked, Sall’s shock was obvious. He glanced at Lo, who answered with a gesture Yusek had seen him use in regard to her very often: the
It’s her life
sign.

‘If you wish,’ Sall said. ‘You are free to travel where you will.’

‘Fine.’ He motioned to the hut dwellings. ‘Just let me pack a few things.’

After the man had gone, Yusek faced Sall. ‘You didn’t tell me you were going to Darujhistan!’ And she couldn’t believe it when the answering shift of his shoulders said,
How is this is relevant?

‘How come we ain’t shootin’ at ’em?’ Bendan said, chin on his arms as he leaned against the top of the palisade of sharpened logs. He was watching the encircling lines of Rhivi cavalry encamped so close to the hilltop fort he was damned sure he could throw a stone and hit one.

‘Short on crossbow bolts and such, ain’t we?’ Hektar said, strangely cheerful. ‘And they know it.’

‘How do you know they know it?’ Bendan accused.

‘’Cause they’re camped so close – that’s why.’

Bendan returned to glaring at the tribesmen and women. ‘Well, don’t matter. Not like they need to do anything. I mean, we’re trapped, ain’t we? Got nowhere to go. Encircled. Brilliant piece of planning from these Fists, hey?’

The sergeant rubbed a hand over his bald night-dark pate. ‘From the city, aren’t you?’

‘Uh-huh. That’s right. Darujhistan.’ He didn’t bother clarifying that really he was from a rubbish heap next to it. ‘Why?’

‘Well then, you’d know that if we ain’t going anywhere then neither are these fellows. And that’s all to our advantage, isn’t it? We just have to wait them out. They got herds to mind, families, territory to patrol. And they only go to war a few months out of the year. My guess is we’re already far past that season, right?’

Bendan blinked, his mouth open. ‘Yeah. That’s right … damned right.’

Bone joined them on the catwalk behind the palisade. At least, the fellow was the right height for Bone. The man was smeared head to foot in green-grey clay that was drying and cracking even as they watched. The old saboteur winked at Hektar and cracked a smile. Even his teeth were gummed with the clay.

‘You fellers done playing in the mud?’ the sergeant asked.

‘Yeah. We’re all done.’

‘’Bout time. Now go get cleaned up.’

The bemired figure straightened to strike a parade-ground formal salute then grinned, his clay-caked cheeks cracking.

Bendan watched him go. ‘Why’d he have to get so dirty?’

‘All that mud keeps you warm at night. Didn’t you know that, lad?’ Hektar wandered off.

Bendan eyed his retreating back. ‘Yeah – I knew that!’ he called. ‘I know things.’

That night officers went round all the sergeants, whispering to each to rouse his squad. The night outside the tall walls of the palisade was bright with blazing campfires that encircled the fort. Bendan’s squad was one of those positioned at the base of the palisade where they waited, tensed. Others jammed the catwalk, hunched down behind the sharpened log ends, shields at the ready.

One fellow signed from atop the catwalk. ‘Here it comes,’ Hektar murmured. He peered up the lines of squads jamming the camp. ‘Ready shields.’

Bendan gaped at the huge Dal Hon. ‘What? What’s comin’? Ready shields? Why?’

Then a great roar shook the ground from beyond the palisade wall. A rushing and thrumming and hissing that sounded like a hungry beast lunging for them. The night sky blossomed as bright as day as a ring of fire-arrows arced up above the fort as dense as hail.

‘
Mother of all the gods!
’ was all the time Bendan had before something slammed his shield down on to his head, making him stagger.

‘Don’t look up, you damned fool,’ Little snapped.

Something struck him in the chest, sloshing frigid water all down his front. ‘Take it, quick!’ someone shouted. ‘Let’s go!’

Dazed, he grasped a small wooden barrel and passed it on. Next came a leaky leather bucket already nearly empty. One-handed, Bendan passed it up the line to the squads atop the catwalk, where it was emptied over the timbers and tossed back down. The troopers worked in pairs, one emptying, one holding his shield high over them both.

For what seemed half the night Bendan passed along a bizarre collection of barrels, large and small, leather satchels, earthenware jugs, even leather boots. Most held barely any water at all by the time they reached him, but on they went to contribute to maintaining the palisade wall. Meanwhile, behind him he caught glimpses of flaming tents and the infernos where their remaining wagons and carts had been left to burn. What few horses they’d kept were slaughtered that night – mostly out of mercy, as the encircling fires drove them insane with terror.

Bendan’s squad was relieved before dawn. For cover they hunched under their shields at the base of the palisade. The salvos were nothing like as dense as before, but a steady fall of harassing fire was being maintained. Incredibly Hektar still carried his idiotic bright smile. Bendan was soaked and frozen, his arms and back ached as if mattocked and he hadn’t gotten a wink all night. He wanted to smack the grin from the man’s damned face.

‘What’s to smile about?’ he snarled.

‘Outrun ’em again, didn’t we?’ The man laughed. ‘They thought they’d hit on the answer but ol’ Steppen, she was one step ahead. Ha! Get that? One step.’

‘Yeah. Ha, real funny. Now what?’

The sergeant raised his great rounded shoulders. ‘Whatever. We’re still in here and they’re still out there. That’s all that counts.’ He sat up straighter to yell: ‘Another day’s soldiering and another of the Emperor’s coins, ain’t that right, lads?’ Laughter up and down the walls nearby answered that. ‘Now get some sleep.’

Sleep? How could the man sleep knowing that at any instant thousands of these Rhivi tribals could come storming this pitiful wall? And laughter? How could anyone think this was funny? Still, that laughter … it had been that dark sort that if he’d heard it in a bar would’ve sent him reaching for his knife.

*

Midway up the scree slope of a mountain shoulder a lone rider halted his mount to swing himself from the saddle. His boots crunching on the bare rocky talus, Torvald Nom eyed the ever-steepening valley side then rested his forehead against the horse’s flank.
Shit. Didn’t look quite so precipitous from the foothills
. Cursing the fates, he set down his pack, undid the bridle, and unbuckled the girth to let the saddle fall to the ground. He poured out the last of the feed into his hand and let the horse finish it, then gave it a slap and waved it off. He watched it make its way back down the slope, heading for the valley floor, then he shouldered his pack and started up the loose rocks.

The view from the ridge revealed yet another valley in front of him and he let his head hang for a moment.
Me and my stupid ideas. Still
… He eyed the valley head where the talus gave way to naked rock which sloped back to a higher ridge and beyond that, far beyond that, a snow-capped peak.
The Moranth occupy these high mountain valleys? What do they eat? Snow and mist? Ye gods, I’ll starve before reaching them
. He started down the slope, sideways, one hand catching at rocks and low, wind-punished brush.

Come dusk he reached the thin creek of melt that ran down the centre of the valley. It was loud amid its rocks and so cold it numbed his hand when he drank from it. He set down his pack and started searching for fuel. Night came swiftly in the upper valleys and he was surprised when the sunlight was cut off so soon in the west. All he had for kindling was dry moss and a few handfuls of duff. He took out his tinderbox and set to work.

The fire he coaxed to life did little to thaw his bones. He huddled over the smoky smudge and thought of home. Tis throwing pots – and not necessarily at him. Warm dinners from her hands. He hadn’t appreciated that as much as he should have. A lot to be said for that. Even more than warm embraces afterwards. Not that he could remember those; still, there must’ve been some, certainly. Once. Consummation of the union and all that. Winking friends and a great deal of liquor. He remembered being terrified that Rallick would show up and shove his knife into his back; which hadn’t exactly helped his performance that night either.

Shivering, he decided he’d had enough of climbing. He could tramp from one end of this mountain range to the other and not turn them up. If they were here it was up to them to come to him. That he’d settle tomorrow. Having reached a decision on the matter, Tor gathered his blanket about himself and lay down to sleep.

In the morning’s chill he shivered awake, stretched, emptied his bladder, and shocked himself with a splash of the frigid meltwater. He prepared for a march, but left one object out of his pack: one of the Moranth Blue globes given to him long ago when, as a much younger man, he’d saved a life.
And without expectation of any payment, too
. Yet the gift was offered, and it would have been gauche to reject such gratitude, wouldn’t it? At least that had been his thinking at the time.