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.
CHAPTER V
THE 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?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I came to do it. But Ryllandaras beat me to it.’
‘Ryllandaras? Why?’
‘Imotan tried to compel him,’ Liss said, stopping next to Hurl. She tilted her head in wary greeting. ‘Amaron.’
Laugh, Hood! It is him. The man who'd tried to have her killed; who, along with his Old Guard cronies, was responsible for all those dead at Heng. Including Shaky. Hurl turned away, looked to the sky, blinking to clear her eyes.
Rell arrived to stand close to Hurl, watching Amaron warily.
‘Why did you come?’ Liss asked, tired and rather curt.
‘I came to answer a murder.’
High-pitched laughter burst from Hurl. ‘What? A murder? One murder?’ She opened her arms wide. ‘Take a good look around!’
‘You're not one to talk, Hurl,’ he answered, his voice as unforgiving as iron.
She stopped laughing as if slapped, clutched at her throat.
‘In any case,’ he continued, ‘he was a good friend and a good man. He had befriended the Seti. He should not have died the way he did.’
Liss nodded, accepting that. She pushed back the matted curls of her greasy hair. ‘And now … ?’
Amaron lowered his gaze, let go a long slow exhalation. ‘I ask to join your party.’
Hurl laughed anew, either at his staggeringly brazen request, her
glaring culpability behind it all, or at both of them. Even she wasn't sure. Liss said nothing, only looking between her and Rell, her face held carefully neutral.
Rell crossed his arms, saying flatly, ‘We could use him.’
They camped upwind a short distance from the slaughter. As dusk gathered the barking of jackals and calls of wolves closed. Hurl doubled the perimeter guard.
‘You don't expect him this night, do you?’ Sergeant Banath asked Hurl as they sat around the fire eating hardtack scavenged from the abandoned Seti camp.
‘No. Just being careful.’
‘Mightn't he circle around to return to Heng?’
‘Not with us after him,’ Liss said, then she went on to explain: ‘Right now, we're far more attractive.’
Banath's brows rose in such a way that said maybe he didn't really want to know that. Hurl just watched sidelong to where Amaron had thrown down his gear.
Dawn brought a whistle and a call from the perimeter guards. Hurl straightened from a smouldering fire, a cup of tepid tea held in both hands to warm them. Rell jogged up to her side fully armed and armoured, visor lowered. ‘What is it?’ she called loudly.
‘Four riders approaching!’
‘Seti?’
‘No.’
‘Ready arms! Crossbowmen!’ Hurl tossed back her tea, sucked her teeth, handed the cup to an aide. Amaron joined her as she walked to meet the horsemen. She could not help but watch him warily.
A modest smile played at his mouth. ‘No need for alarm,’ he said. ‘I know one of them.’
‘Friend of yours?’
‘Yes.’
Hurl didn't know whether to be reassured or uneasy. The closer the riders came the more impressed she had to admit she was by their cut. A more hard-bitten, intimidating gang you'd be hard pressed to gather anywhere.
Amaron stepped out to greet them. One threw a leg over his mount and the two hugged. The other three dismounted with much groaning, back-straightening and feet-stamping. Hurl now saw that each was also rather long in the tooth as well.
Rell came to her side, arms crossed. Amaron escorted the four to her. ‘Urko,’ he said, indicating the burly, square-faced one with silver brush-cut hair. Gods, the old commander himself. ‘Master Sergeant Braven Tooth.’ The fellow gave a short bow, his thick gnarled brows nearly hiding his eyes. ‘And, ah …’
Of the remaining two, the obvious Malazan veteran inclined his balding tanned pate. ‘Temp.’
The last, an old burly Seti warrior, gave a peremptory tilt of his head. ‘Sweetgrass.’
Hurl introduced herself, Sergeant Banath and Rell. Liss was nowhere to be seen.
The veteran who'd given the name of Temp raised a hand to Rell. ‘You the one who stood against Ryllandaras?’
Rell nodded. Temp and the Seti exchanged a long glance.
‘So,’ Hurl addressed Urko. ‘What can we do for you? Everything's been settled down south, I understand. Shouldn't you be making yourself scarce?’
The Old Guard veteran may not have led part of the siege against Heng, but he had abetted it. Now, he rubbed a gouged and scarred hand over his head, grimaced something resembling discomfort. ‘We, ah, come to join up.’
‘Join?’
‘Yes. ‘Gainst Ryllandaras. We want his head.’
‘Why?’
‘We saw the field hospital, lass,’ Braven Tooth said.
Urko nodded. ‘Word of it came to me after the battle. I went and saw the remains. Hundreds of wounded soldiers massacred. Unarmed men and women. He made a mistake there. No one does that and gets away with it.’
‘We're after him, with or without you,’ Temp said, matter-of-fact.
They would too – just these four. Oponn forefend! They may have a chance now.
Hurl gave a noncommittal bob of her head. ‘We'll see. Welcome, for now.’ She waved them into camp.
She found Liss out walking alone on the prairie. The grass caught at her many-layered skirts. The brisk wind pulled at her thick, matted curls of hair. Her arms, bare, showed thick veins, red angry sores, and bulged with fat. Hurl came close to her, found her gazing down at the ground, prodding the dirt with one sandalled foot. ‘What is it?’
She took a deep breath, looked away as if studying the horizon, but her gaze was inward. ‘Word came last night from Silk. Storo's dead.’
Hurl stared. ‘What?’
Liss's dark eyes captured hers. ‘A bone infection. Not caught in time. Ryllandaras's wounds are – notoriously virulent. I'm sorry. They want you back, Hurl. To rebuild. Perhaps you should leave this to Urko and his friends. I know who those two are. They may just be up to it.’
But Hurl lurched away. No. It wasn't true. When she'd last seen him he was alive. Weak, yes. But recovering. This wasn't true. She pushed through the thick grass seeing nothing. They wanted her back? To rebuild? That's a joke. She'd destroyed everything. Released a monster that was the greatest mass murderer of men and women known. And what of this curse? True or not? Of those who'd participated in his release who was now left? She, Silk and Rell. Yet, when Liss had met her, she'd called her builder. And her attitude to Rell? Looking back now: a kind of reverence? Admiration? She stopped walking. What if Liss really was a seeress, patroness of seers?
She spun and walked straight up to the woman, who turned her face, would not meet her gaze. ‘Have you seen us succeed? Will we defeat Ryllandaras?’
Chin pulled in, her puffed pale face rounded, Liss said slowly, ‘I have seen one way you may succeed.’
‘Good enough.’ Hurl went to find Sergeant Banath.
Tracking him down she ordered him to return with the cavalry column. She'd only retain a small guard. He objected, of course. Refused to go. But she would not yield and so eventually, later that day, two columns set out. The far larger one south-west, the much smaller one north-west.
Over the next few days Hurl established a kind of an accord with her mount. She came to accept that perhaps the mare wasn't going to do her in for the affront of actually riding her. And for her part, she would admit that perhaps the breed of horse had some claim to worthy service among humanity.
The morning of the third day Liss announced that he'd been close that night; that he'd been watching them. Hurl imagined he was probably trying to figure out whether they were merely appallingly overconfident or might actually pose a threat. Liss believed he would either strike that next night or dismiss them and return to hunting. She said she intended to draw him in.
Liss gave the orders for the preparations that night. She'd been close to the Seti warrior, Sweetgrass, these last few days, talking often and long, and now the man carried a very different expression on his brutal features from the glower he arrived with. He actually appeared thoughtful – if that were possible.
She had them gather wood through the day for a towering bonfire. As evening came she set the few remaining regulars to guarding the horses and motioned Hurl to accompany them.
Hurl just stared, unmoving.
‘Go on, Hurl. You're no veteran like these. You have to stand aside.’
‘I can fight as well as anyone.’
‘No one questions that. Please. It's important to me.’
Hurl waved to the south where they planned to hobble the horses a safe distance away. ‘You want me way over there? Fine! I'll go. But as soon as I hear anything I'm coming!’
‘Thank you.’
Urko walked up, nodded to Liss. ‘Evening's coming.’ He tucked his broad spade-like hands up under his armpits. The man's giant arms were as wide as Hurl's thighs. ‘Amaron tells me we should give your plan a go.’ He cocked a brow. ‘So, what is it?’
‘You men should lie low in a broad circle around the bonfire. When Ryllandaras comes, encircle him. Keep him close to the fire. If you keep him close he won't escape.’
‘Really?’ The man's fleshy mouth drew down in disbelief. ‘Just like that?’
‘Yes. If you do your part and don't let him past you.’
‘Oh, we'l
l do our part – you can count on that.’ And he walked off scratching his head.
Hurl listened to all this with a jaded frown. ‘What about you? Where will you be?’
‘I'll be at the fire, Hurl.’
Return of the Crimson Guard: A Novel of the Malazan Empire Page 93
