‘That’s why we’re paying them,’ Lazar said.
‘Since we’re talking problems anyway,’ Fingers said, sniffing and hawking something up over the side, ‘maybe Shell should ’fess up about ours.’
Blues sat back against the side as the boat rocked in the rolling waves. It was evening and the Korel shore was a jagged dark line dominating the north. Shell watched his gaze move between them. ‘You mean about this “Lady”.’
‘Un-huh. Look, I know the plan was for us to get hold of Bars then the five of us blast through to a Warren to escape. But you must feel her strength. This is way more than we bargained for back in Stratem. There’s a good chance she could slap us down…’ He coughed, holding his chest and grimacing in pain.
Blues was nodding, eyeing the distant shore. ‘So maybe something more… mundane.’
‘In which case’ — Fingers pressed shut one nostril and blew heroically, emptying the other over the side in a blast of stringy wetness — ‘we’ll need a boat. And a crew.’
Lazar raised his dark brows in silent appreciation. Shell inclined her head to the suffering little man. God’s grin, Fingers. You may be as sick as a dog, but you are your usual cunning self.
Blues turned away, gestured amidships, and called: ‘Get Orzu.’ Then he looked Lazar up and down. ‘You look the part more than any of us. How would you like to be the next Champion of the wall?’
The big man considered, frowning, then spat over the side. ‘I hear the pay is the shits.’
Orzu at first refused. What else could the man do? Shell mused. After all, when four armed and dangerous passengers ask you to sell them into slavery it would be prudent to show some reluctance. Only their continual assurances of their seriousness half convinced him. Then Fingers pointed out that in any case they intended to be let off on the Korel shore, and so he, Orzu, and his clan of Sea-Folk might as well profit from it. The old man finally bowed to that logic.
The deal struck was their bounty in return for one boat, with a minimal volunteer crew, to remain behind until the spring’s turn, celebrated here by bonfires lit in the name of the Lady’s Blessing. For the rendezvous, if any, Orzu suggested a maze of isthmuses, saltwater swamps, and narrows south of the city of Elri. Blues agreed.
Then the man said he had to go ahead to make the arrangements. He peered at them all for a time, a hand pressed to the side of his face, shaking his head, then gave a heavy sigh. ‘You are crazy, you foreigners. But fare you well. May the Old Ones guide you.’
‘You too,’ said Shell.
‘Take care of your family,’ Blues said.
The old man pressed his hand atop his head. ‘Aya! They are so many! Such a burden. It is heavy indeed.’
They took shelter in an isolated cove on the uninhabited south shore of Korel. It seemed the Korelri had no interest in what they named Crack, or sometimes Crooked, Strait. All their attention was reserved for the north, and the threat beyond.
In the morning Ena accosted Shell while she ate a breakfast of fish stew. ‘What foolishness is this I hear?’
‘Foolishness?’ Shell answered mildly.
‘You giving yourselves over to the Korelri? In truth?’
‘Yes.’
The girl-woman made an angry gesture. ‘Stupidity! You will be killed.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Look at you. You are no warrior.’
‘Ena… I’ve served in a mercenary company for a very long time. You’d be surprised.’
‘The Riders…’
‘An enemy like any other. Listen, Ena. You would do whatever you must for your family, yes?’ A guarded angry nod answered that. ‘Very good. And so would I. At least grant me that dignity.’
Again, a slow nod. ‘You do this for your people?’
‘Yes.’
The young woman sat and cradled her broad stomach. ‘I will stay with the boat.’
Now it was Shell’s turn for anger. ‘You most certainly will not.’
‘The Korelri will not harm me.’
‘When are you due?’
An indifferent shrug. ‘Soon.’
‘Can’t have that kind of complication.’
‘Babies are born all the time everywhere. It is not a complication.’
‘It is if it’s not necessary.’
Ena smiled mockingly. ‘Babies are not necessary? You have been too long in your mercenary company, I think.’
That stopped Shell. She could not maintain her anger in the face of chiding from someone certainly younger in years, but perhaps older in other ways, than her. True. There is no stricture. It would not seem to be against the Vow. Why not, then? Time away from duties, I guess. Always something else to do. And now I am too old. Yet, am I? I took the Vow in my twenties… Strange how this had not occurred to me before. Change in company, I suppose.
She studied the girl’s blunt profile while she looked out to sea. Straggly dirty hair, grimed face; yet sharp intelligent dark eyes. ‘Don’t stay with the boat, Ena.’
She smiled wistfully, agreeing. ‘The Elders wouldn’t allow it anyway.’
‘Good luck with your life and your child, Ena.’
‘And you, Shell. May the Old Ones guide you.’
Old Ones? Shell thought about that. Which Old Ones might that be? Burn, she imagined. The Elder Gods. Hood. Mael. D’rek. Osserc? K’rul? Sister Night? That sea-cult that was probably another face of Mael, Chem’esh’el? Who knew? Something chthonic, certainly. Perhaps they should accept all the help they could get, but with the proviso this cult of the Lady presented: one should be careful of whom one accepts help from.
*
The exchange took place on a military pier at the Korelri fortress named Shelter. Shell, Blues, Lazar and Fingers were led up, hands securely tied. It was overcast as usual, a grim dark day. Snow blew about them in flurries. The flat grey fortress walls and the stone pier all had a military look to them. No colour, starkly functional. A troop of guards accepted them. From his dark blue cloak and silver-chased armour, the one leading the detachment was the lone Korelri Stormguard. And he was old, grey-bearded.
He looked them up and down, each in turn, while Orzu watched, clasping and reclasping his hands. Blues and Lazar the Chosen accepted immediately. He stopped in front of Shell.
‘You can fight?’ His accent reminded Shell of the rural Malazan Isle twang.
She raised her bound wrists. ‘Untie me and find out.’
The man ran a hand through her blonde hair, longer now than she usually kept it. ‘Perhaps you could contribute more in one of the brothels.’
Twins’ laughter! I didn’t even think of that! Maybe I have spent too long in a mercenary company.
And so she head-butted him.
He lurched away, gasping his pain, a hand to his nose. Blood gushed over his mouth. The guards leapt forward, weapons sliding from sheaths. But the Stormguard raised his other hand. His eyes were black with rage, yet that rage slipped away and the mouth twisted into a grin revealing blood-stained teeth. ‘Show the Riders your spirit, woman.’
Next he turned to Fingers. He regarded him carefully, his thin shivering frame, pale drawn face, cracked lips, sick watery eyes and running nose, and was not impressed.
‘I don’t want to be in the brothel either,’ Fingers said.
‘Show me your hands,’ the man growled.
Fingers held them up. The Stormguard turned them over, felt the palms. Then there was a metallic click and Fingers yanked his hands away: a dull metal bracelet encircled one wrist.
‘That’s otataral, mage. Don’t try any of your daemon tricks.’
Fingers’ shoulders sagged. He glared at Orzu. ‘Did you tell him? Bastard!’ He went for Orzu but the Stormguard kicked him down. Lazar lashed out, but somehow the Chosen slipped the blow.
Shell was impressed. And he was probably assigned this duty because he was too old to stand the wall. For the first time she wondered just what they had gotten themselves into.
The Stormguard pushed them along. ‘Pay the man, Gellin. Standard bounty.’
‘Standard?’ Orzu yelped. ‘But they are skilled fighters. Champion material.’