Other hands extended over the charcoal embers and Hiam glanced up to see Wall Marshal Quint eyeing him with narrowed gaze.
‘A close one,’ Quint murmured.
Hiam cleared his throat. ‘Shouldn’t have been. I just lost my footing.’
Not even deigning to honour that with a response, Quint watched him from over the embers.
‘You have a report?’ Hiam asked, rather testily.
A slow nod. ‘Trouble in the west. Out near the Wind Tower. Seven fell in one shift — a run of bad luck.’
Hiam straightened, alarmed. ‘And?’
‘Marshal Real was there. He called for the Lady’s grace — and was answered. He held until relief arrived.’
Grunting his understanding, Hiam relaxed. ‘I see. Bless him then. The Lady has gathered him to her. May he sit as one of the Holy Martyrs.’
Quint nodded again. ‘She judged him worthy.’
‘And our champion. How is he doing?’
‘He has roused himself. We should squeeze another season out of him after all.’
‘Excellent. That frees up a lot of men.’
‘Yes. And you — just what did you think you were doing down there?’
Hiam drew his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. ‘Helping out.’
‘Damn foolishness is what that was. Throwing yourself away. Don’t do that. We all need you. The men need to know you’re here watching over them. That alone is worth a thousand spears.’
Hiam was quite impressed by his old friend’s burst of loquaciousness. It was the most he’d heard out of him in years. He smiled chidingly at the scowling Wall Marshal. ‘Why, Quint… if I didn’t know better I’d think you were worried.’
‘Ha! I want you out of the action. Am I going to have to post a guard on you?’
‘You wouldn’t do that.’
‘You know I would and you know it’s within my rights.’
It is at that. The Wall Marshal was meant as a counter-weight to the Lord Protector — and his judge also, if need be.
To change the subject Hiam asked, ‘Any word from Master Stimins?’
Quint snorted his contempt. ‘Came across him on the Rampart of the Stars. Lying prostrate he was, ear to the stones. Says he was listening to the wall. Mad as a barking cat.’
Hiam smiled, imagining the confrontation. Quint’s outrage. Stimins’ complete confusion in the face of it.
Quint turned his head aside, drawing Hiam’s gaze to an approaching runner. The man jogged straight up, extending a folded slip. Hiam thanked him and took the missive.
Emissary from Overlord of Fist. Must talk. Shool.
Hiam nodded to the runner. ‘I will accompany you back.’ To Quint: ‘You have the wall, Marshal.’
Quint’s scarred face twisted even further. ‘It’s about damned time.’
It was after dawn when Hiam and the messenger reached the Great Tower. The Lord Protector was clenching his teeth against the sour bile of exhaustion and he managed the last few trotting leagues on blind will alone. Reaching the door he nodded stiffly to the messenger, dismissing him without daring to risk a word. Within, he leaned back upon the door to suck in great lungfuls of the warmer air and tried to swallow to wet his parched throat. A guard approached and he knelt, adjusting the studded leather wraps and his greaves. Seeing him, the guard, a Chosen veteran, stood to attention. ‘Sir!’
Hiam straightened, nodded to acknowledge the man then edged back the folds of his cloak and drew off his full helm. He pushed a hand through his icy sweat-soaked hair. ‘Hot out there tonight, Chenal.’
‘And me stuck in here.’
‘No matter — more than enough for all of us. Tomorrow, yes?’
‘Aye. Tomorrow.’
‘Guests?’
Chenal raised his gaze to the ceiling. ‘Claims to be Roolian. But he’s one o’ them invaders from way back. Plain as the nose on his face.’
‘Thank you, Chenal. Give them my regards tomorrow.’
‘That I will, doubly.’ He saluted, fist to heart. ‘Lord Protector!’
Hiam answered the salute, headed to the circular stairs. He took his time. He wiped his face on his cloak as he climbed, steadied his breath. Outside the door he paused, then slowly pushed it open. Within, Marshal Shool leapt to his feet, saluting. ‘Lord Protector!’ Another man wheeled, startled from where he stood warming himself at the fireplace. The moment he turned Hiam knew him as Malazan, as his skin ran to a far darker hue than the coffee brown common among many of this region. He was wrapped in furred cloaks and wore thick boots, and a fur hat rested on a chair nearby.
Hiam acknowledged Shool, who extended a hand to the guest: ‘Lord Hurback, emissary of the Overlord of Fist.’
Hiam bowed, placed his helm on the narrow table next to the door, set his shield on a stand, then hung his cloak. ‘Lord Hurback. You are most welcome.’
Hurback bowed also, then his thick black brows wrinkled in confusion. ‘You have seen fighting, Lord Protector?’
Hiam went to a sideboard, poured himself a cup of tea, picked up a slice of black bread. ‘Of course. Every brother — and sister — of the Stormguard fights. During the season none is away from the wall for more than a day.’
‘Of course,’ the emissary echoed weakly. ‘How commendable.’
Hiam invited him to sit before his plain wooden desk and slid in behind. He tried not to show the relief he felt as he eased his weight from his aching legs. Shool bowed and moved to leave; Hiam gestured that he should remain.
‘To what do we owe the honour of your visit, m’lord?’
The man sat, taking care to straighten his fur-trimmed robes. Ermine and wolf, so it appeared to Hiam. His curly black hair was greased to a bright shine and rings set with red stones glittered at his fingers. Hiam reflected that this was perhaps the first of these invader Malazans he’d met who wasn’t in chains at the wall. They sell their own as readily as they sell any other — remember that, Hiam.
‘I bear a personal missive direct from Overlord Yeull. I have been entrusted with its contents and have been instructed to offer any further clarification as needed.’
Full of his intimacy with this self-styled Overlord, isn’t this one… Hiam eyed his cot waiting for him across the room. Why didn’t he just hand over the damned thing? ‘He is well, I hope? Any word from our Mare allies regarding these renewed Malazan aggressions?’
The emissary goggled at him, clearly startled beyond words. What do they think we are here? Brainless brutes? Our intelligence service is vastly superior to theirs. Across these lands every adherent of the Lady knows where their loyalties ought to lie. With us. Those whose blood defends them.
‘The Lord Protector is eminently well informed,’ the emissary managed. ‘Reports are that they have broken the invading fleet and that only a few stray vessels managed to land on Skolati shores.’
That is not what our sources in Mare are reporting. So, landings are confirmed. A thought struck the Lord Protector and he almost glared at the hapless emissary: Lady forgive them! He hasn’t come to request troops to help defend Rool, surely!
Struggling to keep his voice level, he asked, ‘And what can we in Korel do for the Overlord?’
An expression flitted across Lord Hurback’s broad flat face, one Hiam was unaccustomed to seeing opposite him: a kind of vain smugness. The emissary extended the sealed vellum missive. ‘You shall see, Lord Protector.’
Vaguely troubled by the man’s manner, Hiam broke the seal, opened the folds, and read. It was some time before he looked up again. ‘Is this true?’ he breathed, stunned and perplexed. ‘The Overlord pledges ten thousand fighting men for the wall? Even now? Facing invasion? This does not make sense…’
In the face of the Lord Protector’s amazement, the emissary’s self-satisfaction returned. He shrugged as if to dismiss the offer as inconsequential between friends. ‘It makes perfect sense, Lord Protector. As you know, we in Rool cleave tightly to the Blessed Lady — more so than many of our erstwhile allies, yes? We know this land’s true enemy. And we are concerned. This pledge is a measure of that concern.’