‘So go ask ‘em, Look. And they’ll tell you the same. Fener cult’s finished.’
‘That’s why I think we should kill them. For betraying the cult. For betraying us. And what’s with that gold skin anyway? It’s creepy.’
‘Listen,’ Shoaly said, ‘we just partnered with these squads. In case you forgot, Lookback, this is the company that crawled out from under Y’Ghatan. And then there’s Fiddler. A Hood-damned Bridgeburner and maybe the only one left. Gesler was once high-ranked and so was Stormy, but just like Whiskeyjack they got busted down and down, and down, and now here you are wanting to stick ‘em. The cult got outlawed and now Fener ain’t nowhere a god’s supposed to be but that ain’t Gesler’s fault. Not Stormy’s neither.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Lookback retorted. ‘We should just leave ‘em and that’s that?’
‘Leave ‘em? Drawfirst, explain it to this fool.’
She had pushed her breasts back into their harness and was making some final adjustments. ‘It’s simple, Look. Not only are we stuck here, with Fid and the rest. We’re all gonna die with ‘em, too. Now, as for me – and probably Shoaly here – we’re gonna stand and fight, right at their sides. Gesler, Stormy, those cute heavies they got. And when we finally fall, nobody’s gonna be able to say we wasn’t worth that standing there beside ‘em. Now, maybe it’s because you’re the last heavy in Primly’s squad. Maybe if Masker was still with you, you’d not be talking the way you’re talking. So now you gotta choose, Lookback. Fight with us, fight with Reliko and Vastly Blank in Badan Gruk’s squad, or fight on your own as the sole fist in Primly’s. But every one of those choices is still fighting. Creep up behind Ges or Stormy and I’ll lop your head off myself.’
‘All right all right, I was just making conversation—’
Sounds from their left drew the heavies upright, reaching for weapons. Three figures padding down the main street towards them. Strap Mull, Skim and Neller.
Skim called out in a low voice, ‘Soldiers on the way. Look sharp.’
‘Letherii?’ Shoaly asked.
‘No,’ she replied, halting opposite them while the other two marines continued on into the tavern. ‘Picture in your heads the ugliest faces you ever seen, and you then kissin’ them big and wet.’
‘Finally,’ Drawfirst sighed, ‘some good news for a change.’
* * *
Beak and the captain made their way back to where Fist Keneb waited at the head of the column. There had been Tiste Edur ahead of them for some time, unwilling to engage, but now they were gone, at least between here and yon village.
The captain drew close to the Fist. ‘Beak says they’re marines, Fist. Seems we found some of them.’
‘All of them,’ Beak said. ‘The ones who got far ahead of the rest. They’re in the village and they’ve been killing Tiste Edur. Lots of Tiste Edur.’
‘The munitions we heard yesterday.’
‘Just so, Fist,’ Beak said, nodding.
‘All right, finally some good news. How many?’
‘Seven, eight squads,’ Beak replied. He delighted in being able to talk, in person, with a real Fist. Oh, he’d imagined scenes like this, of course, with Beak there providing all kinds of information to make the Fist do all the heroic things that needed doing, and then at last Beak himself being the biggest hero of all. He was sure everyone had dreams like that, the sudden revealing of some hidden, shy side that no-one else knew anything about and couldn’t ever have guessed was even there. Shy, until it was needed, and then out it came, amazing everyone!
‘Beak?’
‘Fist?’
‘I was asking, do they know we’re here?’
‘Yes sir, I think so. They’ve got some interesting mages, including an old style warlock from the Jakata people who were the first people on Malaz Island after the Stormriders retreated. He can see through the eyes of all sorts of creatures and that must have been helpful since the coast. There’s also a Dal Honese bush shaman and a Dal Honese Grass Dancer. And a Nathii swamp necromancer.’
‘Beak,’ said Keneb, ‘do these squads include Fiddler? Gesler and Stormy?’
‘Fiddler’s the one with the fiddle who played so sadly in Malaz City? The one with the Deck games in his head? Yes sir, he’s there. Gesler and Stormy, they’re the Falari ones, but with skins of gold and muscles and all that, the ones who were reforged in the fires of Tellann. Telas, Kurald Liosan, the fires, the ones dragons fly through to gain immunities and other proofs against magic and worse. Yes, they’re there, too.’
See how they stared at him in wonder! Oh, just like the dream!
And he knew, all too well, how all this was going to turn out and even that couldn’t make him anything but proud. He squinted up at the darkness overhead. ‘It’ll be dawn in a bell or so.’
Keneb turned to Faradan Sort. ‘Captain, take Beak with you and head into the village. I’d like to see these squads presented – barring whatever pickets they’ve set out.’
‘Yes, Fist. Plan on dressing ‘em down, sir?’
Keneb’s brows lifted. ‘Not at all, Faradan. No. I might end up kissing every damned one of them, though.’
So once more Beak walked alongside Captain Faradan Sort, and that felt good and proper now, as if he’d always belonged with her, always being useful when that was what she needed. False dawn was just beginning and the air smelled wonderfully fresh – at least until they came to the pits where the Edur bodies had been dumped. That didn’t smell good at all.
‘Gods below,’ the captain muttered as they skirted one of the shallow pits.
Beak nodded. ‘Moranth munitions do that. Just . . . parts of people, and everything chewed up.’
‘Not in this pit,’ she said, pointing as they passed another mass grave. ‘These ones were cut down. Swords, quarrels . . .’
‘Aye, Captain, we’re good at that, too, aren’t we? But that’s not why the Edur left – there was almost a thousand of them gathered here, planning on one more push. But then orders came to withdraw and so they did. They’re now a league behind us, joining up with still more Edur.’
‘The hammer,’ Faradan Sort said, ‘and somewhere ahead, the anvil.’
He nodded again.
She paused to search his face in the gloom. ‘And the Adjunct and the fleet? Beak?’
‘Don’t know, sir. If you’re wondering if they’ll get to us in time to relieve us, then no. Not a chance. We’re going to have to hold out, Captain, for so long it’s impossible.’
She scowled at that. ‘And if we just squat here? Right in this village?’
‘They’ll start pushing. There’ll be four or five thousand Edur by then. That many can push us, sir, whether we want them to or not. Besides, didn’t the Fist say he wanted to engage and hold down as many of the enemy as possible? To keep them from going anywhere else, like back behind the city walls which would mean the Adjunct’s got to deal with another siege and nobody wants that.’
She glared at him for a moment longer, then set out again. Beak fell in step behind her.
From just behind a black heap of tailings at the edge of the village a voice called out, ‘Nice seeing you again, Captain.’
Faradan Sort went on.
Beak saw Corporal Tarr rise from behind the tailings, slinging his crossbow back over a shoulder then dusting himself off before approaching on an intercept course.
‘Fist wants to knock before coming in, does he?’
The captain halted in front of the stolid corporal. ‘We’ve been fast-marching for a while now,’ she said. ‘We’re damned tired, but if we’re going to march into this village, we’re not going to drag our boots. So the Fist called a short halt. That’s all.’
Tarr scratched at his beard, making the various depending bones and such rustle and click. ‘Fair enough,’ he said.
‘I am so relieved that you approve, Corporal. Now, the Fist wants the squads here all out in the main street.’
‘We can do that,’ Tarr replied
, grinning. ‘Been fighting for a while now and we’re damned tired, Captain. So the sergeants got most of us resting up in the, uh, the tavern. But when the Fist sees us, well, we’ll be looking smart as can be, I’m sure.’
‘Get your arse into that tavern, Corporal, and wake the bastards up. We’ll wait right here – but not for long, understood?’
A quick, unobtrusive salute and Tarr headed off.
‘See what happens when an officer’s not around enough? They get damned full of themselves, that’s what happens, Beak.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Well, when they hear all the bad news they won’t be anywhere near as arrogant.’
‘Oh, they know, sir. Better than we do.’ But that’s not completely true. They don’t know what I know, and neither, Captain my love, do you.
They both turned at the sound of the column, coming up fast. Faster than it should be, in fact.
The captain’s comment was succinct. ‘Shit.’ Then she added, ‘Go on ahead, Beak – get ‘em ready to move!’
‘Yes sir!’
The problem with owls was that, even as far as birds went, they were profoundly stupid. Getting them to even so much as turn their damned heads was a struggle, no matter how tightly Bottle gripped their tiny squirming souls.
He was locked in such a battle at the moment, so far past the notion of sleep that it seemed it belonged exclusively to other people and would for ever remain beyond his reach.
But all at once it did not matter where the owl was looking, nor even where it wanted to look. Because there were figures moving across the land, through the copses, the tilled grounds, swarming the slopes of the old quarry pits and on the road and all its converging tracks. Hundreds, thousands. Moving quiet, weapons readied. And less than half a league behind Keneb’s column.
Bottle shook himself, eyes blinking rapidly as he refocused – the pitted wall of the tavern, plaster chipped where daggers had been thrown against it, the yellow runnels of leakage from the thatched roof above the common room. Around him, marines pulling on their gear. Someone, probably Hellian, spitting and gagging somewhere behind the bar.
One of the newly arrived marines appeared in front of him, pulling up a chair and sitting down. The Dal Honese mage, the one with the jungle still in his eyes.
‘Nep Furrow,’ he now growled. ‘Mimber me?’
‘Mimber what?’
‘Me!’
‘Yes. Nep Furrow. Like you just said. Listen, I’ve got no time to talk—’
A fluttering wave of one gnarled hand. ‘We’en know! Bit the Edur! We’en know all’at.’ A bent finger stabbed at Bottle. ‘Issn this. You. Used dup! An’thas be-ad! Be-ad! We all die! Cuzzin you!’
‘Oh, thanks for that, you chewed-up root! We weren’t taking the scenic leg like you bastards, you know. In fact, we only got this far because of me!’
‘Vlah! Iss th’feedle! The feedle orn your sergeant! Issn the song, yeseen – it ain’t done-done yeet. Ain’t yeet donedone! Hah!’
Bottle stared at the mage. ‘So this is what happens when you pick your nose but never put anything back, right?’
‘Pick’n back! Hee hee! Een so, Bauble, yeen the cause alla us dyin, s’long as yeen know.’
‘And what about the unfinished song?’
An elaborate shrug. ‘Oonoes when, eh? Oonoes?’
Then Fiddler was at the table. ‘Bottle, now’s not the time for a Hood-damned conversation. Out into the street and look awake, damn you – we’re all about to charge out of this village like a herd of bhederin.’
Yeah, and right over a cliff we go. ‘Wasn’t me started this conversation, Sergeant—’
‘Grab your gear, soldier.’
Koryk stood with the others of the squad, barring Bottle who clearly thought he was unique or something, and watched as the leading elements of the column appeared at the end of the main street, a darker mass amidst night’s last, stubborn grip. No-one on horses, he saw, which wasn’t too surprising. Food for Keneb and his tail-end company must have been hard to find, so horses went into the stew – there, a few left, but loaded down with gear. Soon there’d be stringy, lean meat to add flavour to the local grain that tasted the way goat shit smelled.
He could feel his heart thumping strong in his chest. Oh, there would be fighting today. The Edur to the west were rolling them up all right. And ahead, on this side of the great capital city, there’d be an army or two. Waiting just for us and isn’t that nice of ‘em.
Fiddler loomed directly in front of Koryk and slapped the half-blood on the side of his helm. ‘Wake up, damn you!’
‘I was awake, Sergeant!’
But that was all right. Understandable, even, as Fiddler went down the line snapping at everyone. Aye, there’d been way too much drinking in this village and wits were anything but sharp. Of course, Koryk felt fine enough. He’d mostly slept when the others were draining the last casks of ale. Slept, aye, knowing what was coming.
The new marines from 3rd Company had provided some novelty but not for long. They’d taken the easy route and they knew it and now so did everyone else, and it gave them all a look in the eyes, one that said they still had something to prove and this little help-out here in this village hadn’t been nearly enough. Gonna have to dive across a few hundred more Edur, sweetie, before any of us but Smiles gives you a nod or two.
At the head of the column, which had now arrived, there was Fist Keneb and the sergeant, Thom Tissy, along with Captain Sort and her brainless mage, Beak.
Keneb eyed the squads then said, ‘Sergeants, to me, please.’
Koryk watched Fiddler, Hellian, Gesler, Badan Gruk and Primly all head over to gather in a half-circle in front of the Fist.
‘Typical,’ muttered Smiles beside him. ‘Now we all go up on report. Especially you, Koryk. You don’t think anybody’s forgotten you murdering that official in Malaz City – so they know you’re the one to watch for.’
‘Oh, be quiet,’ Koryk muttered. ‘They’re just deciding now which squad dies first.’
That shut her up quick enough.
‘You’ve all done damned well,’ Keneb said in a low voice, ‘but now the serious work begins.’
Gesler snorted. ‘Think we didn’t know that, Fist?’
‘Still in the habit of irritating your superiors, I see.’
Gesler flashed his typical grin. ‘How many you bring with you, sir, if I might ask? Because, you see, I’m starting to smell something and it’s a bad smell. We can handle two to one odds. Three to one, even. But I’ve got a feeling we’re about to find ourselves outnumbered what, ten to one? Twenty? Now, maybe you’ve brought us some more munitions, but unless you’ve got four or five wagons full hidden back of the column, it won’t be enough—’
‘That’s not our problem,’ Fiddler said, pulling a nit from his beard and cracking it between his teeth. ‘There’ll be mages and I know for a fact, Fist, that ours are used up. Even Bottle, and that’s saying a lot.’ Fiddler then scowled at Beak. ‘What in Hood’s name are you smiling about?’
Beak wilted, moved to hide behind Faradan Sort.
The captain seemed to bridle. ‘Listen, Fiddler, maybe you know nothing about this mage here, but I assure you he has combat magicks. Beak, can you hold your own in what’s to come?’
A low murmuring reply: ‘Yes sir. You’ll see. Everyone will because you’re all my friends and friends are important. The most important thing in the world. And I’ll show you.’
Fiddler winced and looked away, then squinted. ‘Shit, we’re losing the night.’
‘Form up for the march,’ Keneb ordered and damn, Fiddler observed, the Fist was looking old right now. ‘We’ll alternate to double-time every hundred paces – from what I understand, we don’t have very far to go.’
‘Until the way ahead is full of enemy,’ Gesler said. ‘Hope at least it’s within sight of Letheras. I’d like to see the damned walls before I feed the weeds.’
‘Enough of that, Sergeant. Dismissed.’
Fiddler didn’t respond to Gesler’s grin when they headed back to their squads.
‘Come on, Fid, all those talents of yours got to be all screaming the same thing right now, aren’t they?’
‘Aye, they’re all screaming at you to shut your damned mouth, Ges.’
Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas had collected almost more weapons than he could carry. Four of the better spears, two javelins. A single-edged sword something like a scimitar; a nice long, straight Letherii longsword with a sharply tapered point, filed down from what had been a blunted end; two sticker knives and a brace of gutters as well. Strapped to his back was a Letherii shield, wood, leather and bronze. He also carried a crossbow and twenty-seven quarrels. And one sharper.
They were headed, he well knew, to their last stand, and it would be heroic. Glorious. It would be as it should have been with Leoman of the Flails. They would stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder, until not one was left alive. And years from now, songs would be sung of this dawning day. And there would be, among the details, a tale of one soldier, wielding spears and javelins and swords and knives and heaps of bodies at his feet. A warrior who had come from Seven Cities, yes, from thousands of leagues away, to finally give the proper ending to the Great Uprising of his homeland. A rebel once more, in the outlawed, homeless Fourteenth Army who were now called the Bonehunters, and whose own bones would be hunted, yes, for their magical properties, and sold for stacks of gold in markets. Especially Corabb’s own skull, larger than all the others, once home to a vast brain filled with genius and other brilliant thoughts. A skull not even a king could afford, yes, especially with the sword blade or spear clove right through it as lasting memento to Corabb’s spectacular death, the last marine standing—
‘For Hood’s sake, Corabb,’ snapped Cuttle behind him, ‘I’m dodging more spear butts now than I will in a bell’s time! Get rid of some of them, will you?’
‘I cannot,’ Corabb replied. ‘I shall need them all.’
‘Now that doesn’t surprise me, the way you treat your weapons.’
‘There will be many enemy that need killing, yes.’