A hand steadied him from behind — Captain Betteries. Rillish nodded to the officer, who acknowledged the thanks and then turned to the soldiers. ‘Scouts we sent across report they have livestock on the other side!’ he shouted. ‘Full larders. Even beer.’
Sergeant Tight rubbed at his tearing eyes. ‘Bless ’em.’
‘But no one advances until we’re all formed up right and proper!’
‘Aye, sir!’ came the shouted response. The captain turned back to Rillish.
‘My apologies, Fist,’ he murmured, his face pale.
‘Quite all right. Something of a whim this… deciding to cross today.’
A fierce smile from the company commander. ‘Yes. Good day for a walk.’
‘Sergeant,’ Rillish called over the shouting and barked orders.
‘Aye, Fist?’
‘A word of advice. If you ever make Fist grade, change your name.’ And he kneed his mount out of the way, leaving the man behind frowning and scratching his head.
Captain Betteries held back the press with his bared sword. He waited until the mass that already jammed the length of the bridge had filed across, then allowed on one squad at a time. Rillish scanned the far shore. The Roolians had raised barricades — overturned wagons, heaped logs and stones. Greymane had his forces forming up short of the barriers, waiting.
The Roolians were also forming up. More and more of their forces were converging. This assault held the promise of eventually embroiling all combatants from both sides. Greymane, he imagined, would not withdraw or let up until he’d broken through — perhaps even if it meant fighting on into the night. Rillish cast about and found a messenger. ‘For Captain Betteries. Have a quarter of our forces held back.’
The messenger saluted and ran off.
Shortly later the man returned, saluting. ‘Compliments of Captain Betteries, Fist. He responds — a quarter of our forces? That would be the sick-list.’
Damn Soliel! True enough. They don’t have the resources. It’s today, or never.
A great thundering animal roar of rage swelled then from the barriers and the Fourth Army arose at the command of a giant of a man in banded iron armour raising two swords, and charged.
*
Suth could not believe his eyes and ears as he stumbled along the east shore of the Ancy, far behind his rescuers. Columns crowded the bridge, horns sounded orders, and already there was clashing at the barriers on the west shore. They were attacking! And it was happening without him!
Once they’d been helped across the Ancy, Suth had waved the squad on: they were burdened enough carrying the still unconscious Adjunct and Newhorse, who was too weak to walk. He could make it on his own. Waving good luck, the rescuers had jogged off, leaving him to follow as best he could.
Now they were attacking without him! And he exhausted and without his armour. He was never going to live this down. Footsore, his head throbbing, he went to find his gear.
*
Devaleth thanked the squad that had carried in the Adjunct, yet wasted no time in hurrying them out. Closing the flaps, she turned to the young man lying on the pallet. It was far worse than she’d imagined. She cut away the leather and cloth around savage bites in thigh and arm — already they festered. A compound of leaves steeped in a tincture that cleaned wounds went on those. As to his mind — she pressed a hand to his hot brow and reached out, ever so tentatively, to his thoughts, then yanked her hand away as if stung.
Chaos and confusion, yes, but not shattered. Astounding. His mind ought to be irrevocably crushed — so much so that it would be a mercy to let him slip away. Perhaps it was because the man was no mage. No talent, as they said among these Malazans. Not cursed, as she’d say herself.
Yet… something else. Something deeper, more troubling. Her brow furrowing, she bent closer to the man’s eyes. Reaching, she lifted one lid with a finger then flinched away. Ancient One protect her! For an instant… but no. Impossible. It must have been the light. That could not have been an amber glow.
*
They’d left his gear at their camp. Wincing and hissing his pain, he pulled on his long padded gambeson then laced up his hauberk and grieves. Helmet high on his head, he limped down to the bridge. A mounted officer, an unattached lieutenant acting for Command, thundered past then reared, halting.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.
Suth saluted. ‘Just returned from scouting up north, sir.’
The officer grunted, accepting this. ‘You’re wounded.’
Suth wiped his face, finding a layer of flaking dried blood. ‘It’s nothing, sir. I can fight…’
‘Report to the infirmary.’
‘Sir, no. I-’
‘No?’ The officer wheeled his mount to face him directly. ‘I order you to the infirmary!’
Suth bit his tongue. Fuck! Should’ve just saluted, dumbass! ‘Yes… sir.’
Nodding a warning, the officer kicked his mount and raced off, dirt flying. Suth glared at the ash-grey overcast sky then headed for the infirmary tents.
*
Envoy Enesh-jer watched the engagement from a narrow window in the top floor of the Three Sisters stone tower. Some time ago he’d summoned the field commander, Duke Kherran, and now impatiently awaited the man’s arrival.
Far later than he expected, the man appeared, helmet in hand, cloak dragging in dirt behind. His round moon face gleamed with sweat. Mud spattered his fine mail and Roolian brown surcoat. ‘With all due respect, Envoy, it is unadvisable to summon me from the-’
‘Duke Kherran!’ Enesh-jer cut in. ‘Last I knew I was the Overlord’s chosen and so you shall treat me as such.’
Stiffening, the Duke clamped his lips shut. He knelt on one knee, bowed, then straightened.
Enesh-jer nodded. ‘That is better. Now… I have been watching the engagement and I am rather surprised to see that our lines have in fact retreated. Why is that, Duke, when I gave strict orders that these invaders were to be swept from the bridge?’
The Duke blinked at Enesh-jer, utterly at a loss. At last he cleared his throat and said, ‘Of course, Envoy. I will see to it myself.’
‘Good. Do so. And Duke…’ Enesh-jer bent closely to him. ‘If you cannot fulfil my expectations then remember — there are many others here awaiting their chance.’
Duke Kherran bowed again, his face held rigid. ‘Envoy.’ He marched out. Enesh-jer eyed the mud the man had tramped into the room, his mouth sour, then returned to the window.
Behind him the thick doors swung closed and the lock rattled shut. The Envoy whirled round. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’
A man all in black stepped out from behind a display of carved ivory icons of the Lady. He was quite short and he smiled with small pointed teeth. The Envoy backed away. The man plucked an icon from a shelf, studied it. ‘You remember enough, don’t you, Enesh-jer, to know who I am.’
The Envoy reached behind him to touch a wall, pressed his back to it. ‘I will call for the guards.’
The man waved the icon towards the entrance. ‘Those doors are built to resist a siege.’
The Envoy raised his chin, ran a hand down the front of his robes, straightening their folds. ‘I am not afraid to die. The Lady will welcome me.’
‘A true believer.’ The man tossed the icon over a shoulder to shatter on the flagstones. The Envoy winced. ‘You come across them… now and then.’ The man walked to one of the slit windows, peered out. ‘Ah! He’s broken through. Took him longer than I thought.’ He offered a wink. ‘Guess he’s out of practice.’
Enesh-jer slid along the wall to a window, glanced out. His face paled even further. It was the invaders who had broken through. Leading the charge came an armoured giant. Even as the Envoy watched, the man heaved aside an overturned cart, knocked soldiers from their feet with raking blows.
‘In a rare fury, he is,’ the assassin commented.
‘Both his swords are broken,’ Enesh-jer said, wonder in his voice.
‘Breaks all his swords, he does.’ The man glanced at him again and bared his pointed teeth. ‘All ’cept one.’