Return of the Crimson Guard (131 page)

Kyle exchanged looks with Stalker, Badlands and Coots, cocked a brow. Coots stepped up, rubbing his hands together. ‘Where're we off to, lass? Darujhistan? Korel? Aren?’

She just smiled, the lines around her mouth tight. ‘After you.’

Kyle had only the briefest sensation of disorientation then his moccasins touched down on a dusty dirt floor in an empty, long-abandoned room. He spun, taking in the dusty quarters – what was this? Stalker and the brothers joined him, stepping out of nowhere, to flinch as well, hands going to weapons.

‘Where are we?’ Stalker breathed the question aloud for all of them.

Badlands crouched at a gaping window. ‘Eternal Ice take it! We're still here!’

‘What?’
Everyone joined him.

There's the battlefield!’

‘I see Cawn pennants.’

Stalker stepped away from the window. ‘What is this …’

‘The Sanctuary …’ Kyle murmured, peering around. ‘In the east – the butte. What did Shimmer call it?’

‘The Sanctuary of Burn,’ Coots supplied.

‘So why here?’ Stalker asked.

‘’Cause someone else is here,’ said a new voice.

They spun, weapons hissing from sheaths, to see one of the Crimson Guard Brethren. ‘Stoop!’ Kyle exclaimed.

‘Aye, lad.’

‘What in the Wind King's name are you doing here?’

The shade walked up, grinning, dressed in his vest, ragged hanging shirt and tattered trousers as he had been in life. ‘I'm with you, lad.’

Everyone shoved their weapons away.
‘With
me?’

‘I'll be taggin’ along with you for a time. K'azz's dispensation.’

‘Really? Just as those other Brethren come to K'azz?’

‘Yeah – for a while. Till the Vow pulls me back, I s'pose.’

‘Just like back home,’ Badlands said aside to Coots, who glared for silence.

‘So, why can we see and hear you then?’ Stalker demanded, ever sceptical.

A translucent shrug. ‘I guess because you was Guardsmen for a time.’

‘So no one else would see or hear you?’ Badlands asked.

‘I dunno. I ain't no mage. Unless they're priests o’ Hood or mages, I s'pose.’

‘Too
much like back home,’ Badlands commented behind a raised hand.

‘Shut it
Coots answered, and he shook himself, brushing dust from his thick mane of hair.

Kyle went to the window, leaned against the ledge. Out on the plain fires glowed in the gathering twilight.
So many. Where had they all come from?
‘Are we here because you are here?’

Stoop scratched his temple with his shortened arm just as he used to in life. ‘Naw. I go wherever you go. There's someone else here. C'mon, I'll take you to him.’

Kyle and the Lost brothers exchanged looks as the shade walked out of the room through one of the open portals. A moment later he reappeared, waved them on. ‘C'mon. This way.’ Stalker motioned
Kyle to lead. Kyle opened his hands as if to deny any part in this but he went out first.

Stoop led them through a jumbled labyrinth of tumbled, fallen-down rooms and halls. Some were no more than canted walls open to the sky, others as dark as collapsed mines. The dust and litter of years lay thick upon everything.

After a time Kyle smelled wood smoke and cooking animal fat. Pausing, he turned back to the brothers and touched the side of his nose. They nodded, carefully eased weapons from sheaths. Crouched, he slowly advanced through the thick shadows of a nest of small chambers. The crackling and snapping of a wood fire led him on until he saw the glow ahead. He paused, waited for the brothers to catch up. The shade of Stoop had gone on ahead. Once they were all together Stalker signed for Kyle and himself to take the right and the left while Coots and Badlands would cover the centre. Everyone nodded.

On a silent count, they crashed into the room, weapons raised. A big man sat against the wall of a littered chamber, a small cookfire burning.

‘Is that you, Kyle?’ the man exclaimed, surprised. ‘What're you doing here?’

Kyle straightened, his weapon falling. ‘Greymane!’

One of his eyes was swollen shut. His upper lip split and swollen. The entire side of his face was blossoming dark purple while his hair was clotted with dried blood. His armour lay piled in a corner. He gestured to Stoop's grinning shade. ‘I knew it would be a Guardsman, but I wasn't expecting you.’

Kyle crouched at the fire. ‘What're you
doing
hiding here?’

The man looked uncomfortable, lowered his gaze. ‘Well … the Imperials still have a price on my head, you know.’

And Kyle remembered.
Head worth a barrel of black pearls.
He waved to the brothers. ‘Well, we'll help get you out – won't we, Stalker?’

The eldest of the Lost brothers pressed a hand to his brow, sighed. ‘Sure. Of course. Seems that's all we do.’

Badlands crouched at the fire. ‘What's that you got roasting there?’

‘Rabbit.’

‘Looks done. C'n I?’

Greymane gestured for the man to help himself.

‘We should go south,’ Badlands said, pulling off a tear of flesh and licking his fingers. He rested his great hairy arms on his knees.

‘North,’ Coots immediately said.

‘I was kinda thinking west,’ Greymane offered, somewhat bewildered.

‘I like north,’ Stalker said, nodding to himself.

Chewing, Badlands raised a hand for silence. ‘But you know – south would really be better.’

Kyle just grinned, sat down next to the fire and started untying his leggings. This could take all night.

* * *

‘You're shittin’ me, aren't you?’ Nait told Heuk.

‘No – it's true. I've heard it from all kinds of people.’

‘People like who?’

‘Like all kinds.’

‘Damn.’ Nait sat back into the cool of the trench. ‘Dammit!’

A cavalry officer bearing Cawn colours rode up next to the trench. He squinted down into the dark of the deepening afternoon shadows. ‘I'm looking for a Sergeant Jumpy.’

Urfa stood, goggled up at the man and smiled her uneven teeth. ‘Nice horse.’

Jawl, Stubbin and Kibb came walking up carrying broken timbers and slats that they dropped next to a pile. The officer eyed what looked like a large bonfire in the making. ‘You're not going to sit out here tonight, are you?’

‘Yes, we are,’ Nait said, standing. ‘What of it?’

‘I understand orders are to marshal east along the trader road. This is one broad killing field. It's unhealthy. And dangerous. There'll be jackals.’

‘Jackals don't like fire,’ Nait said, deadly serious.

The cavalry officer blinked, uncertain. ‘So … there's no Sergeant Jumpy then?’

‘No, sir,’ Nait answered. He waved to Least who, passing, raised a hand in salute. ‘Lim?’ Nait called. Least gave a thumbs-up.

‘Try third company,’ Urfa suggested.

‘What company is this?’

Urfa's eyes crossed as she frowned. ‘Don't know, sir.’ She turned to the trench. ‘Hey, you useless lot! What company are we?’

Voices muttered from the shadows. ‘I thought we was first.’

‘Fourth.’

‘Naw, I think it was first.’

Smiling raggedly, Urfa winked. ‘There you are, sir. We're either first or fourth. Sure you won't stay? Got a fire. Got a big ol’ fish
to fry. We're gonna get drunk and say goodbye to all our friends.’

‘Sounds enchanting,’ the Cawn officer observed drily. He gave his reins a gentle pull. ‘I'll leave you to it then.’

Urfa fell back down into the trench. ‘Damn. He was cute. I like cavalry officers.’

‘He'll find the cap'n,’ May warned from where she lay in the last of the sun next to the trench.

‘Eventually,’ Nait said. He crouched again next to Heuk, who sat hugging his jug to his chest. ‘So – they can't take it off? Really?’

Eyes shut, Heuk gave an exaggerated nod. ‘Never. Doesn't come off.’

‘Shit.’ Nait stood, examined the wood pile. ‘Call this fuel for a bonfire? I want twice this! C'mon, another trip to the wreck. Let's go!’

Groaning, his squad slowly climbed to their feet, ambled off.

‘I thought that, from what she said … that maybe, y'know – it was possible.’

Heuk mouthed a silent ‘No.’

‘Then how do they do it?

A lift and drop of the shoulders from Heuk. Cursing, Nait threw down a handful of dirt and stalked off. Heuk cracked open an eye to watch him go and smiled.
Good. Tourmaline – you owe me three kegs of Moranth distilled spirits. And you better come through else ol’ Nait will discover that armour does come off after all.

T
HE SLAUGHTER SPREAD FOR NEARLY A LEAGUE IN ALL DIRECTIONS
. Hurl walked her uneasy mount gently around the field of picked-clean Seti dead. Two days and nights old they looked to her; stench beginning to thin; clouds of carrion drifting away but for the odd fat kite or crow too befuddled with food to bother flying from them; jackals and their rival wolves trotting slunk low across the gentle hillsides.

The column was quiet behind her and Rell and Liss. Many rode two to a mount as the journey had proven too hard for the weaker, sicker horses. As every sign pointed to a long pursuit Hurl considered more seriously sending most of them back. After all, she'd seen Ryllandaras, knew what he could do. Why throw these troopers against him when really, in the end, it would come down to Rell and the burden slung on the back of her mount?

And Ryllandaras was not one to challenge such a large column. He was a scavenger, an opportunist, a predator of humans. No doubt he would merely run and run, on and on across this seemingly endless plain dominating the centre of Quon Tali until they gave up the chase. Or became so weakened as to prove a tempting target. If she sent the column back leaving, perhaps, ten … that might, as they say, … sweeten the offer.

They came upon the main Seti encampment: tattered, abandoned wikiups, trampled cookfires, abandoned equipment, and dead. Many dead. Men, women and infants. A camp massacred and abandoned. Mounted, Liss pointed ahead and Hurl squinted, a hand pressed to her nose and mouth against the flies. A horse and rider waiting ahead. Hurl angled the column towards the man. He was a large fellow, tall and broad, dark bluish-black Napan, wearing an expensive coat of blackened mail. Old as well, his tightly curled hair going grey. Hurl raised a fist in a halt. The men and women of her
column dismounted. She heard Sergeant Banath ordering a search for survivors – and food and water.

She stopped in front of the man, who inclined his head in greeting. From his appearance she was afraid he would be who she suspected he might be. His wary, almost resigned expression only supported her suspicions. He directed her attention to a pole stuck into the ground beside a large fire-pit. A grisly object decorated the pole, a man's head gnawed by scavengers, eyes gone, tongue gone from slack jaws.

‘Imotan,’ the man said, ‘Shaman of the Jackal warrior society.’

‘Did you have any part in this?’