‘Lieutenant,’ Yusen said, his eyes still on the many garlands and lengths of string woven from human hair. ‘Might I remind you that we’ve crossed nearly half of Himatan. Been chased by damned Disavowed of the Crimson Guard. Are escorting a fragment of the Crippled God. And we’re still alive?’ He drew a heavy breath. ‘I suggest we listen to our hired mages on these matters. If I don’t miss my guess is they saw action in Genabackis. Fifth or Sixth Army.’ The blue eyes swung to Murk and Sour, and Murk thought them as bright as the deep ice he’d seen in the Northern Range.
‘Genabackis?’ Burastan repeated wonderingly. ‘But that was One Arm …’ She peered at them more closely now, her gaze sceptical. ‘You served with Fist Dujek?’
Murk didn’t answer at first; he thought it irrelevant, but Sour knuckled his brow, saying, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Murk could almost see the speculations now circulating through the woman’s mind: just who else might these two have served beside?
For some reason the old empire carried a lot of weight with this woman for she nodded then, and saluted Yusen, murmuring, ‘Very good, Captain.’
But Murk wasn’t happy: here he’d wanted to learn more about Yusen’s history yet the man had managed to wring theirs out of them instead. Neatly done, that, he had to admit.
Yusen now eyed Sour. Murk thought he read a strange sort of affection in the man’s expression. ‘So, cadre. You have a recommendation?’
Sour straightened, pushed out his chest. ‘Yessir. Scouts report a stream to the southeast. I suggest we march in its bed. That’ll keep the troops out of all these poisonous plants and it’ll disguise our trail.’
‘What about them swarming biting fish?’ Murk objected. ‘They nearly took that trooper’s hand right off! What was his name, anyway?’
‘His name’s Bait now,’ Sour answered. ‘Anyways, they only like the shallows and the shores. We keep to the middle and we’ll be fine.’
Yusen was frowning his consideration, thinking it through. ‘Yet you didn’t like the river …’
Sour nodded eagerly. ‘Yeah. That was cloudy water. Clear water’s fine. You keep away from cloudy water. Ain’t healthy.’
The captain studied Sour for a time longer, his lips pursed. Then he nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. ‘Very good. Lieutenant?’
‘Sir?’
‘We have our marching orders. See to it.’
To her credit, the woman saluted quickly and smartly. ‘Sir.’ Seemed an order was an order, no matter what. She waved for Murk and Sour to follow her. They walked away together.
Yusen watched them go. Then, once he was alone, he reached into his gambeson, where the loops and horn catches tied the front, and gently drew a small object from under the shirt. It was a flattened and bruised blue blossom. He held it cradled in the palm of one hand. His gaze went to where the mages and the lieutenant had disappeared among the thick stands of drooping fronds.
He shook his head, snorting lightly. ‘Wondered why he gave me the silly thing …’
* * *
They came to a river and so abrupt was its appearance, so silently did it course, that Ina thought it some sort of a conjuration. She let fall the frayed switch she’d been using to beat a path through the leaves and fronds — some as tall as she — and wiped her hands over the bark of a thick curving root to remove the worst of the sticky sap.
The Enchantress had asked only once why she did not employ her sword to hack her way through the undergrowth. That day she’d been particularly vexed by the hanging lianas, while the dry scimitar-like grasses had cut the back of her hand to bloody ribbons and she had snapped, ‘Why don’t you use your powers to blast us a route?’
T’riss had been quiet after that. Ina mentally castigated herself for her failure of patience and composure — not to mention any possible blasphemy.
Now she faced a river. A wide ribbon of muddy reddish water moving so smoothly it was almost impossible to detect any flow. Her first thought was to throw herself in and luxuriate in the washing away of the layer of sweat-adhered dust and dirt that she could scrape from her arms with a fingernail. In fact, it appeared as if she could jump right in from the undercut slope she stood on overlooking the river’s edge.
A hand took her arm from behind and so startled was she that she reacted automatically: instead of yanking forwards to free herself — as any untrained person would do — she shot her elbow backwards and up, straight towards the throat or face of the attacker.
A meaty crack rewarded her, and the hand slipped from her arm. She spun, blade emerging at the same instant ready to thrust or block, only for it to fall from her hand as she saw the Enchantress lying sprawled unconscious behind her.
‘Good gods!’ she cried. She fell to her knees to scoop the woman up, intending to take her to the river’s edge to resuscitate her. Grunting with the effort — for T’riss was a solid woman — she rose. Then she remembered her blade. How could she abandon her blade?
But the Enchantress was a more pressing matter so she carried her to where she could bull her way through the brush down the slope to the shore. Here she laid her burden in the grass then padded out into the river to wet her robes. She returned to squeeze the cloth over the woman’s face.
T’riss coughed and spluttered, then turned her head aside.
Ina found she could breathe deeply once more as a great pressure eased itself within her chest. Thank the First! To think I’d almost concussed the Queen of Dreams! Yet … how could I have done so?
She watched the woman sit up and press both hands to her head as if testing its soundness, then she went to retrieve her sword. When she returned T’riss was still sitting, but had a wet fold of cloth pressed to her forehead. When Ina went to her knees before her she raised a hand to forestall any protestations.
‘I should have known better than to lay hands on a Seguleh,’ she said.
‘M’lady — I am stricken. Name your punishment.’
T’riss held the cloth to her brow while nodding thoughtfully. ‘Your punishment is to continue to accompany me.’
‘M’lady mocks.’
‘I hope that I do.’
Ina was quiet for a time. Has she foreseen my death?
The Enchantress attempted to rise, unsteadily. Ina offered an arm. The woman straightened carefully. Close now she peered up at Ina’s masked face. ‘You are wondering how it was you could strike me?’
Ina gave a curt answering nod. ‘Yes. I was … startled.’
‘You were startled,’ the woman muttered, rubbing her forehead. ‘Well. I come to Ardata completely unguarded and open. It is the only way. She would not have accepted me otherwise.’
Ina frowned behind her mask. ‘Unguarded?’
‘Ah. I speak of my own powers, of course. I do not know what you would name it. My aspect. My manifestation. My territory. An area of concern that, through general neglect and laziness, has become my responsibility.’
‘I am sorry, m’lady … but you have lost me.’
The Enchantress smiled. ‘Of course. I am thinking aloud — to the jungle. Now,’ and she let go of Ina’s arm, ‘a river. Good. We are moving far too slowly while events elsewhere overtake us. Clearly the best way to move through this region is by water. Let us do so.’
She gestured. Off through the surrounding bush there came a noise as of branches snapping, or dragging, brushing against one another in a rising storm of noise. Bits and pieces of driftwood and fallen branches cast up along the shore came sliding towards them. They ranged in size from sticks and branches all the way up to medium-sized logs. They came grating and slithering together into a heap. They twined, moulded and flattened, and before Ina’s amazed vision there took form a long slim open hull of woven wood.
‘I thought you said you had abandoned your powers,’ Ina said, without thinking.
‘I did not say I had abandoned them,’ the Enchantress objected, a touch impatient. ‘I only said that I was unguarded.’