‘Yes, High Mage.’
To Ussu’s critical eye, the fortress of the Three Sisters was more a glorified tax hut than a defensible fortification. Its walls were thin, single-layered. It possessed a ditch, yes, but the causeway leading up to the gate was far too wide for his liking. And streaming up this causeway came a steady line of refugees carrying their few worldly goods wrapped in rags, heaped in donkeys, or pulled in carts. To Ussu’s surprise they were also allowed to drive cattle, goats, and sheep up into the bailey. Where would the fodder come from to feed all these animals? Flanked by Borun, he urged his mount ahead through the press. He reflected that, if the worst came to the worst, at least they could eat the animals.
Within, makeshift huts crowded what should be an open marshalling field. Smoke rose from a blacksmith’s hut across the way. A long barracks of a sort ran down one side. Across rose the motte, topped by a square stone tower keep. A slimmer inner causeway led up to its gate. Ussu directed his mount to that dirt ramp and to the black-robed figures standing upon it, each bearing a staff.
Upon reaching the base, Ussu bowed in his saddle. The four bearded priests remained unmoving. ‘Greetings. I am Ussu, adviser to our Overlord. This is Commander Borun.’
One of the priests gave a slight nod. ‘Greetings, Ussu, Borun. I am Abbot Nerra. I command this fortress.’
Ussu blinked his surprise. ‘What of Captain Hender?’
‘He has been relieved.’
Ussu strove to keep his face blank. Hender was a veteran of the Sixth. He would have sent these refugees onward, not allowed them to clog up a military outpost. The disarray, the admission of all these civilians — so many mouths to feed! — now made sense.
‘And where is the Envoy?’ Nerra demanded.
Turning in his saddle, Ussu saw that indeed the Envoy, surrounded by his entourage, was just now entering the bailey. He gestured to the gate. As the Envoy drew near, the priests of Our Lady descended the ramp until their heads were close to level with those mounted. Abbot Nerra bowed to Enesh-jer, who received the obeisance as if it were no less than his due. ‘My lord Envoy,’ Nerra began, ‘the fate of this flock, all those loyal to Our Blessed Lady, is in your hands.’
The Envoy’s lean features drew back in a skull-like grin. ‘We will stop these invaders. Heretics and unbelievers all.’
Ussu glanced from face to face. Could these men really be in earnest? When Enesh-jer arrived with the Sixth he knew nothing of this local cult. Still, it was said that there was no fanatic like the converted. He looked to Borun then wondered why he bothered: it was impossible to read the armoured Moranth. If he could distinguish anything from the man’s posture, it was disengagement and boredom.
‘Do not concern yourself, Abbot,’ Enesh-jer was saying. ‘We will establish a bridgehead across the Ancy. No invaders will reach Roolian lands.’
‘Excuse me, m’lord.’ Ussu spoke up, astonished. ‘Surely you do not plan to march forces across the bridge. They will be isolated upon the far side. If the bridge is not to be blown we must remain on this shore, defend here.’
Something like a hissed sigh escaped the Envoy’s slit lips and his eyes bulged in his skull face. ‘No doubt,’ he enunciated, nearly strangled by his passion, ‘our Overlord sees some value in your opinions on esoteric topics, Adviser. But in matters of tactics and disposition of forces I suggest you remain silent.’
Inwardly Ussu fumed, but he also felt a distinct chill as all eyes studied him — many with open enmity. Keeping his face flat, he bowed.
Enesh-jer nodded stiffly, accepting Ussu’s apparent deference. ‘I will remain to command the fortress with, ah, your permission, Abbot.’ Nerra bowed. ‘Very good. There remains, then, the matter of the near shore…’
Ussu kicked Borun’s armoured boot. The Moranth commander loudly cleared his throat. ‘I would ask for the honour, Envoy. With your permission.’
The Envoy gave a wave to signal his granting of said honour.
Ussu bowed again to take his leave and reined his mount round. He was ignored. As he crossed the bailey Borun joined him. ‘This fortress is a death trap,’ Ussu murmured to the Moranth commander. They urged their way forward through the press of wide-eyed civilians and complaining animals. As they reached the ramp across the ditch, he studied the narrow wall of set stones and shook his head. ‘There will be no siege. It will be a sacking.’
‘Perhaps they will hold them on the far shore,’ Borun answered, his voice even more hoarse than usual as he tried to keep it low.
Ussu sighed. ‘Perhaps. But if I were Greymane — if he survived to land — then I would send marines ahead to cross to the north and south to make a lunge for the bridge while the main forces closed. And if they succeed in that, we must withdraw swiftly. I suggest to the south, then west.’
‘Then that recourse of which you spoke. Just in case.’
‘Yes. I would also require a tent in your camp, Borun. Where I can work unmolested. And prisoners.’
‘Prisoners? Who?’
‘Any. It does not matter. So long as they are strong. I mean to do some scrying.’
Borun inclined his helmed head. ‘As you request, High Mage.’
*
For the night watch Suth crept down with Len and Yana to the forward nook of rocks where a viewpoint was kept on the bridge over the Ancy far down the valley below. They relieved a team from the 11th, three women. Suth tried to meet the gaze of one as she was of Dal Hon. But she looked through him as if he wasn’t there and he knew why: she was a veteran while he had yet to truly prove himself.
Yana peered out over the rocks. ‘Nice of them to mark out their lines with torches like that for us.’
Len, lying flat with his chin on his folded forearms, said, ‘They’re working day and night. Digging ditches, making stake rows, traps, burning all the brush cover. Digging in.’
‘Damn fools.’
Suth looked to Yana. ‘Why?’
‘The river splits their forces in two.’
‘So? They can retreat over the bridge.’
Len and Yana just shared a glance.
‘What I can’t figure,’ Len said, ‘is why that bridge is standing at all.’
‘Maybe it’s a trap,’ Suth offered.
‘Not worth the risk. You’d only get a few hundred troops.’ He was shaking his head. ‘Hard to believe ex-Malazans are in charge down there.’
Yana snorted. ‘They’re outlaws. Deserters. Good for nothing.’
But Len was unconvinced. He kept shaking his head, lips pursed.
Suth sat back to wrap his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. It was winter season here in Fist. A chill wind blew out of the north. Locals named it cursed. Not that he’d met that many locals. They tended to run away; thought them some sort of demons come to eat their young. Through their entire advance west across Skolati all they found were deserted hamlets, abandoned farmsteads. Everyone had fled to the hills or taken to the cities in the south. Suth found it incomprehensible. But then he came from a land that had known countless sweeping conquests and changes of rulership while this one was so insular they’d even forgotten their current rulers had invaded a generation ago.
All three stiffened as someone hissed from their rear. It was Keri. ‘Officers coming — pull your pants up.’ She scrambled away into the dark.
The three eyed one another. Officers? Yana mouthed, annoyed.
Then footsteps descending among the rocks, three sets. Len just raised his eyes to the night sky, turned away. Suth watched, saw who it was emerging from the dark and reflexively straightened, then forced himself to relax as he remembered the battle rules against identifying officers. It was their captain, Betteries, their Fist, Rillish Jal Keth, and the representative of their overall commander, the Adjunct.
Yana straightened as well while Len, exercising the code of complete indifference affected by saboteurs, ignored the newcomers. Captain Betteries signed for Suth and Yana to stand down, invited the Fist and the Adjunct to a lookout some distance off. Suth pretended to return to the watch but studied the three out of the corner of his eye. Betteries was gesturing to the valley below as if explaining tactics; the Fist was also adding comments, and nodding. The Adjunct just listened, his dark sun- and wind-burnished face revealing nothing. Suth’s gaze strayed to the twinned swords sheathed at the Fist’s belt. Untan duelling blades. Formidable weapons. Long, narrow, twin-edged and needle-pointed. Able to both cut and thrust. Once polished perhaps, but now battered, the leather sheaths hacked and worn. As for the Adjunct’s weapon; Suth pulled his gaze from the curved sword whose ivory pommel and grip seemed to glow with an inner light.