Return of the Crimson Guard (112 page)

T
HE BREATH OF RILLISH'S MOUNT FOGGED IN THE COOL NIGHT AIR
. He stroked her muzzle, waiting in the courtyard alongside his readied troop.
Prepare for travel and battle.
Nil's message had said and so he'd had Sergeant Chord fall everyone out. Though where within riding distance could any battle be found? Negotiations were still proceeding with the envoy along predictable lines – the same phrasings as in earlier treaties signed decade after decade and similarly broken one after the other. Were the twins so fed up they planned an attack on Unta?

‘Riders,’ Chord said aside though Rillish could hear them just as well.

Shortly afterwards the twins followed by a guard of some twenty veterans thundered into the courtyard. They reined in close to Rillish. The brother and sister wore thick dark-blue tunics sashed with trousers and leather boots. Nether's long hair was pulled back and tied in leather strips. Horn-handled long-knives thrust forward from under their arms. Nil looked down at him and the severe set of his mouth tightened further. ‘Just you, Captain.’

He glanced between them – something had changed. They looked … intent upon something neither were happy about. Talia appeared at his side, took his hand while disguising the gesture between their bodies. ‘Just me?’

Nether motioned to the road. ‘Come. We must hurry.’

‘Very well.’ He mounted, caught Sergeant Chord's eye. ‘Take care of things for me here, Sergeant.’ Chord tilted his head in assent, spat on to the ground.

Talia had a hand on his boot. ‘What's going on?’ she asked, her voice low.

‘I don't know. Listen to Chord.’ He adjusted the weight of his new hauberk of banded iron, the hang of his swords. ‘Take care of yourself. I'll … I'll see you later.’

‘Come back to me,’ she said, her voice so tight as to be almost breathless.

‘Yes.’

The twins urged their mounts onward and the troop exploded forward, hooves hammering the beaten earth of the court. Rillish noted that almost all the guard accompanying Nil and Nether were old veterans of the Seven Cities campaigns – a hard-bitten if ancient lot. They drove hard, taking the road south, and as they went they passed contingent after contingent waiting strung out along the darkened road.
Sweet Fanderay! Must be a thousand!
All waiting in the night. He urged his mount forward and room was made for him next to Nil at the van.

‘What's going on?’ he shouted.

He was relieved when Nil offered him a familiar smile. ‘You remember our conversations some days ago? We are setting out to seal our agreement with the throne. And in such a way that cannot be denied! We, above all, have reason to detest Laseen but here we are riding to her deliverance.’ He shook his head. ‘Such is politics.’

‘Is this what the envoy—’

A negative wave. Nil pushed his wind-tossed hair from his face. ‘No. This is nothing to do with him. We and the witches have been sensing the west. All are agreed a confrontation is gathering such as Quon has not seen in a century. We go to tip the balance and our price of Laseen will be sovereignty!’

Sovereignty?
Oh, Nil, Nether, I hope so for your sake. A high goal for your people. Worthy of … Rillish craned his neck, scanning the riders within sight … all the oldest of the lot, many bearing what would otherwise count as incapacitating wounds: crippled arms, missing hands, eyes. So. They ride to give their all in this one last throw to win the highest goal for their children and grandchildren. Self-rule.

And he rode with them. He leant to Nil once more. ‘I am honoured, Nil. But why me? Why am I here?’

A fey, easy laugh. ‘Should we win through, Captain, someone must
negotiate. You know your own court's ways. You must study every word, every statute. Make sure the terms are binding!’

‘I shall, Nil.’

‘Good! I know you will,’ and he laughed in a completely unrestrained boyish manner. That's why I'm so relieved – I won't have to do any of that!’

The column reached a bridge and rumbled across, the hooves sounding like a thunderstorm over the cut and set limestone blocks of its sturdy arches. Torches appeared at nearby guardhouses, inns and farmhouses, but the column passed on, heading west into what was once the sovereign state of Bloor.

Rillish knew, of course, that the Wickans had no intention of riding all the way to Heng. That left travel through Warren – another reason perhaps that he alone had been chosen to accompany them, having just recently endured such a mad journey. And he frankly dreaded any revisit.

Yet he had to admit to some curiosity: how would it be done? All some thousand of them? Such a passage would be unheard of. From what he had pieced together mage-invoked travel through Warren was similar to that of a mouse daring a daylight raid upon a cat's milk-pan. Done most timorously.

Again, however, the grim and deadly intent upon the faces around him determined his answer: none intended a return in any case. Therefore, no price, no matter how high, would prevent their going. Gods! And he was part of this charge!

He urged his mount close to Nil once more. ‘What Warren?’ he called.

The young warlock pulled his gaze from ahead, appeared puzzled for a time, then grinned. ‘Much debate and snarling surrounding that, Captain. Which would afford quickest passage? One was finally agreed upon – the one least likely to invoke the wrath of any guardian – the Abyss itself!’ And he laughed, kicking his mount on ahead.

Stunned, Rillish let his horse ease back into line.
Yes, least likely to arouse the wrath of anyone: because there was nothing there!
Would they fall for ever, as some said? Ride off the edge of the world? Or sink into the great ocean that some believed encircled all lands? Which would it be? Well, soon he would find out. Though he didn't imagine he'd have the chance to pass the knowledge on.

Ahead, the starry sky swirled, blurring and smearing in a sickening way. The road broke up in wavering lines like those of heat-mirages,
though the night was cool. Rillish chanted prayers to Fanderay, Soliel, the Queen of Dreams, Dessembrae, and Trake: may they find a firm something under the hooves of their mounts and air to breathe. The column's van, led by Nil and Nether together with a troop of other warlocks and witches, disappeared into the void revealed beyond, opening the way. The column pressed onward, unflinching, and Rilllish felt a scream gathering itself in his chest. It clawed its way up to his throat as his place in the ranks neared the void, then burst forth along with other shouts and calls from those alongside him as many drew swords, mounts leaping,
‘Hood look away!’

* * *

From cover lying flat within tall grass at the crest of a hill, the setting sun behind, Hurl, flanked by Sergeant Banath, scanned the battlefield. It looked to her as if the Imperials were doing far better than she'd imagined. The Malazan forces controlled the ground in the east and the west, but the Guard still held the centre. Banath motioned to where the Pilgrim Way descended into the Idryn river valley. ‘Will they move on the bridge, you think?’

‘I don't think so.’

‘What if the Guard breaks through – what's to stop them from heading north?’ and Banath raised his chin to where the tall glowing pavilion advertised the presence of the Imperial person herself.

‘They might. But I don't think she'll hang around for them.’

‘So, what's the objective here?’

Hurl motioned him back down the hillock. ‘Annihilation.’ They jogged back down to the copse of woods where her troop waited with Rell, Liss and the three brothers. Hurl came to Liss's side. ‘You'll keep us hidden?’

The shamaness nodded. ‘As well as I can, but I'll confess, the magic unleashed on the far side of those hills is like a return to the old campaigns where the mage cadre ruled the field. And I fear we'll see much worse through the night.’

‘We're just here for Ryllandaras.’

‘Oh? What of relieving the Empress?’

‘Keeping him occupied would be more than enough of a contribution, don't you think?’

Liss's gaze skittered aside and she pursed her lips. ‘Too true.’

Hurl came to Rell who had dismounted, out of necessity, for Hurl had never before seen a more awkward rider – other than herself. ‘Regret coming?’

The man edged his helmet and gilded visor side to side. ‘No, I do not. Though I do regret not having the chance to match swords with the Avowed. I have heard much of them.’

Hurl studied the man for a time, his repaired armour, the twin milky spheres serving as the pommels of the swords at his sides – said by Silk to have been the very weapons carried by Li Heng's ancient Protectress. ‘Why did you ever leave your homeland, Rell? All these years it's been obvious to me that you miss it greatly.’

The man clasped his hands at his back, his visor sinking as he peered down. ‘I had no choice. I was exiled – no, that is not true. I left of my own choice, for to stay would have been untenable.’

‘I don't understand.’

‘No.’ In Rell's tone Hurl imagined a regretful smile. The man turned half-aside as if he could not bear to speak aloud to her – or to anyone. ‘I was young. Very full of myself. I had been promoted to the highest martial body of my people. One of the youngest ever to have been so honoured. I fought many duels – but not as you and your people seem to understand them, to the unnecessary death or sloppy exhaustion. At the level I fought, blood was rarely spilt. All could be decided by the judging body in a mere one or two passes. Speed, technique, execution. Perfection of form and precision of application. Indeed, some matches were lost merely because of what one contestant
failed
to do. An opening overlooked. A technique not pursued to its uttermost realization. For us, in short, fighting had become a form of religious dedication and expression.’

Hurl's mouth had gone dry.
Ye gods! This would explain a lot.
She swallowed to speak, said, her voice rough, ‘Well, then, why leave?’

‘As I said. I was full of myself. I did the unthinkable – I disputed a ruling. The judges, all my superior in rank of course, re-emphasized their judgment. I, then, dared to question their interpretation. For this presumption I was expelled from the martial order of my society. Forbidden to carry arms. All that was left to me was a life as a craftsman, farmer or servant. I would remain free, but would never fight again. Well, you can imagine … How could I in my hot youth bear to watch my peers – men and women far less skilled than I – walk by exalted in rank while I bowed before them? No. I chose exile instead. Now, however, I would return if I could. I think I would farm. Raising something from seed to fruitful crop would, I think, prove very satisfying.’

Yes, Rell, you have come a long way. But perhaps your only failing was being too headstrong in a society too rigid to accommodate it.
‘You could think of Heng that way.’

A tilt of the helm. ‘My thanks, Hurl.’

A grating shriek echoed through the twilight from hill to hill and Hurl's back shivered, the hair on her arms rising. She ran to Liss. ‘What was that?’

‘Another summoned creature met an ugly end over there. Things are heating up. We can expect Ryllandaras soon, though I suspect that even he would think twice before stepping out on to that conflagration. Mage duels, I think, to the misery of all, will settle that engagement.’

Hurl looked to the east where the crests of hills flashed in silhouette lurid red and yellow and where the echoes of sharper bursts staccatoed like falling rocks amid the roar of battle. Above the field swirled an eerie reflected glow such as that of the green and blue banners that sometimes flickered in the northern sky.
Earthquake, firestorm and typhoon all rolled into one. Gods aid the common soldiers in that maelstrom! All they can hope to do is keep their heads down and avoid notice while the Avowed mages flex their muscles to clear the field.

* * *

‘What in the name of stinking Poliel was that!’ May called out from down the trench.

‘I don't know and I don't wanna know!‘ Nait shouted. ‘Just keep firing!’ A gaggle of skirmishers ran past, heads down, and Nait called to them, ‘Over here! C'mon, take cover!’