‘Listen to us, that’s what,’ Blistig answered. ‘We need to find another approach. Come up from the south, perhaps-’
‘And spend more weeks on this march? Don’t you think Korbolo would have thought the same? Every waterhole and spring will be fouled. We would wander until Raraku killed us all, with not a single sword raised against us.’
He caught the momentary locking of gazes between Blistig and Tene Baralta. Gamet scowled. ‘Conversations like this one will not mend what is broken, sirs. Save your breaths. I have no doubt the Adjunct will call a council of war at the appropriate time.’
‘She’d better,’ Tene Baralta snapped, gathering his reins and wheeling his horse round.
As he cantered off, Blistig leaned forward and spat. ‘Gamet, when that council is called, be there.’
‘And if I’m not?’
‘We have enough baggage on this train, with all those nobleborn officers and their endless lists of grievances. Soldiers up from the ranks are rare enough in this army-too rare to see even one throw himself away. Granted, I didn’t think much of you at first. You were the Adjunct’s pet. But you managed your legion well enough-’
‘Until the first night we fought the enemy.’
‘Where a cusser killed your horse and nearly took your head off.’
‘I was addled before then, Blistig.’
‘Only because you rode into the skirmish. A Fist should not do that. You stay back, surrounded by messengers and guards. You may find yourself not issuing a single order, but you are the core position none the less, the immovable core. Just being there is enough. They can get word to you, you can get word to them. You can shore up, relieve units, and respond to developments. It’s what an officer of high rank does. If you find yourself in the midst of a fight, you are useless, a liability to the soldiers around you, because they’re obliged to save your skin. Even worse, you can see nothing, your messengers can’t find you. You’ve lost perspective. If the core wavers or vanishes, the legion falls.’
Gamet considered Blistig’s words for a long moment, then he sighed and shrugged. ‘None of that matters any more. I am no longer a Fist. Keneb is, and he knows what to do-’
‘He’s acting Fist. The Adjunct made that clear. It’s temporary. And it now falls to you to resume your title, and your command.’
‘I will not.’
‘You have to, you stubborn bastard. Keneb’s a damned good captain. Now, there’s a nobleborn in that role, replacing him. The man’s a damned fool. So long as he was under Keneb’s heel he wasn’t a problem. You need to return things to their proper order, Gamet. And you need to do it today.’
‘How do you know about this new captain? It’s not even your legion.’
‘Keneb told me. He would rather have promoted one of the sergeants-there’s a few with more experience than anyone else in the entire army. They’re lying low, but it shows anyway. But the officer corps the Adjunct had to draw from was filled with nobleborn-the whole system was its own private enterprise, exclusionary and corrupt. Despite the Cull, it persists, right here in this army.’
‘Besides,’ Gamet nodded, ‘those sergeants are most useful right where they are.’
‘Aye. So cease your selfish sulking, old man, and step back in line.’ The back of Gamet’s gloved hand struck Blistig’s face hard enough to break his nose and send him pitching backward off the rump of his horse.
He heard another horse reining in nearby and turned to see the Adjunct, a cloud of dust rolling out from under her mount’s stamping hoofs. She was staring at him.
Spitting blood, Blistig slowly climbed to his feet.
Grimacing, Gamet walked his horse over to where the Adjunct waited. ‘I am ready,’ he said, ‘to return to duty, Adjunct.’
One brow arched slightly. ‘Very good. I feel the need to advise you, however, to give vent to your disagreements with your fellow Fists in more private locations in the future.’
Gamet glanced back. Blistig was busy dusting himself off, but there was a grim smile on his bloodied face.
The bastard. Even so, I owe him a free shot at me, don’t I?
‘Inform Keneb,’ the Adjunct said.
Gamet nodded. ‘With your leave, Adjunct, I’d like another word with Fist Blistig.’
‘Less dramatic than the last one, I would hope, Fist Gamet.’
‘We’ll see, Adjunct.’
‘Oh?’
‘Depends on how patient he is, I suppose.’
‘Be on your way then, Fist.’
‘Aye, Adjunct.’
Strings and a few other sergeants had climbed up onto a hill-everyone else being busy with breaking camp and preparing for the march-for a clearer view of the collapsed Whirlwind Wall. Sheets of dust were still cascading down, though the freshening wind was quickly tearing through them.
‘Not even a whimper,’ Gesler sighed behind him.
‘The goddess withdrew, is my guess,’ Strings said. ‘I would bet the Adjunct didn’t even draw her sword.’
‘Then why raise the wall in the first place?’ Borduke wondered.
Strings shrugged. ‘Who can say? There are other things going on here in Raraku, things we know nothing about. The world didn’t sit still during the months we spent marching here.’
‘It was there to keep the Claw out,’ Gesler pronounced. ‘Both Sha’ik and her goddess want this battle. They want it clean. Soldier against soldier, mage against mage, commander against commander.’
‘Too bad for them,’ Strings muttered.
‘So you’ve been hinting at. Out with it, Fid.’
‘Just a hunch, Gesler. I get those sometimes. They’ve been infiltrated. That’s what I saw from Bottle’s divination. The night before the battle, that oasis will get hairy. Wish I could be there to see it. Damn, wish I could be there to help.’
‘We’ll have our turn being busy, I think,’ Gesler muttered.
The last sergeant who had accompanied them sighed, then said in a rasp, ‘Moak thinks we won’t be busy. Unless the new captain does something stupid. The Adjunct’s going to do something unexpected. We may not get a fight at all.’
Strings coughed. ‘Where does Moak get all this, Tugg?’
‘Squatting over the latrine, is my guess,’ Borduke grunted, then spat.
The heavy infantry sergeant shrugged. ‘Moak knows things, that’s all.’
‘And how many times does he get it wrong?’ Gesler asked, clearing his throat.
‘Hard to say. He says so many things I can’t remember them all. He’s been right plenty of times, I think. I’m sure of it, in fact. Almost sure.’ Tugg faced Strings. ‘He says you were in Onearm’s Host. And the Empress wants your head on a spike, because you’ve been outlawed.’ The man then turned to Gesler. ‘And he says you and your corporal, Stormy, are Old Guard. Underage marines serving Dassem Ultor, or maybe Cartheron Crust or his brother Urko. That you were the ones who brought that old Quon dromon into Aren Harbour with all the wounded from the Chain of Dogs. And you, Borduke, you once threw a nobleborn officer off a cliff, near Karashimesh, only they couldn’t prove it, of course.’
The three other men stared at Tugg, saying nothing.
Tugg rubbed his neck. ‘Well, that’s what he says, anyway.’
‘Amazing how wrong he got it all,’ Gesler said drily.
‘And I take it he’s been spreading these tales around?’ Strings asked.
‘Oh no. Just me and Sobelone. He told us to keep our mouths shut.’ Tugg blinked, then added, ‘But not with you, obviously, since you already know. I was just making conversation. Just being friendly. Amazing how that Whirlwind Wall just collapsed like that, isn’t it?’
Horns sounded in the distance.
‘Time to march,’ Gesler muttered, ‘praise Hood and all…’
Keneb rode up alongside Gamet. Their legion had been positioned as rearguard for this day of travel and the dust was thick in the hot air.