It was a skeleton in verdigrised armour sprawled in the desert sands. The wind had piled little dunes of dust and sand up over its limbs. Reaching it Hethe stopped, jerking as if startled. They caught up with him.
‘What is it?’ K'azz asked.
In a sighing of sands and creaking of leather-cured sinew and tendons, the skeleton stood. All five of them leapt back, drawing weapons; their scout remained where he stood. The animated corpse took hold of the front of Hethe's robes and raised him from the ground, shook him like a dog. Coots edged forward for a blow. The thing raised a hand. ‘Hold!’
Out of the bottom of the ragged robes fell the little winged and tailed monkey they'd followed before. It hung its head before the skeleton, kicked at the dirt like a guilty child. ‘This has gone far enough,’ the being said. ‘I do not want Shadow becoming embroiled in this. Now go.’ Brightening, the monkey-thing puffed up its chest and marched off. After it had gone a few paces it shot back a glance, wrinkled up its wizened features, stuck out its tongue, then scampered off at a run.
All six of them watched it go. It seemed to Kyle to shrink down into the distance with impossible speed. He faced the corpse — for upon closer inspection it resembled more a desiccated body, dried cured flesh and all. Like the Imass he'd heard so much of. Thinking of that, he glanced to K'azz who likewise was examining the creature, wonder — and suspicion — on his face. ‘Who are you?’ K'azz asked.
‘My name is Edgewalker,’ came the breathless dry response, like wind over heated sand. ‘Though it means nothing to you. What is important is that you do not belong here. I am sending you back.’
‘About damned time,’ Coots said aside to Kyle.
‘To Quon?’ K'azz asked, but the being merely waved. ‘Quon Tali!’ K'azz shouted, demanding. The grey gloom of the Warren gathered around them, choking off all vision. It was not dark or night, merely so dim Kyle could barely see. Ahead, a pale glow asserted itself; he and the rest headed for it. Kyle found himself in a cave hacked from loose sandy rock. He headed for its opening where starlight shone cold but bright. He had to step over several figures wrapped in thin blankets asleep around a dead fire-pit. He came out into a clear cold night. Cliffs surrounded them, marred by dark openings, a multitude of caves. A road passed before them climbing the incline. In the distance roaring and flashes bruised the night like lightning to both the north and south. K'azz climbed down ahead and now faced the south, staring. They joined him.
The road switchbacked down cliffs to a long, narrow stone bridge over a wide river. The far bank was swarming with figures lit by countless torches. The mass of them were all crowded around the far end of the bridge and filled its length to about the halfway point where the press stopped, held back by what appeared to be just a few men. Avowed? He looked to K'azz; the man was studying the bridge, his eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Cole,’ he whispered, ‘Amatt, Lean, Black and Turgal.’
‘Brethren!’ K#x0027;azz roared. ‘Attend!’
Silence and stillness. Dogs ran away, loping through the rocks, tails down. Kyle studied the bridge. Such a mass of soldiers facing such a thin barrier… why not just cut them down with arrows and bolts? But then, the bridge appeared to have stone sides, and the press was so close — any flights of missiles would account for far more of the attackers.
Stalker nudged him, lifted his chin to across the way. Something obscured the many dark cave openings opposite — gauzy grey shapes came emerging from the shadows. They filed down, approaching, silent. Kyle jumped as more stepped out from behind him. Shades in the hundreds. All the Avowed dead. They surrounded the party. All empty dead sockets stared fixed upon K'azz and Kyle could feel the heat, the awful will of that regard. It seemed as if the rest of the party need not even have existed to these shades. Just a year ago such a visitation would have sent Kyle screaming into the night; but by now he felt inured to any horror. He even recognized two of the fallen.
K'azz studied them in turn, nodding to many. ‘This attack is against my wishes. Who leads this invasion?’
Hissed from hundreds of indistinct throats:
A nod from K'azz, who'd known all along. ‘Obey no more orders from him. He is expelled from our company. He is
‘Not so easy, I suspect,’ Stalker whispered aside to Kyle.
‘Now, give my regards to those defending the bridge and ask if they can hold much longer. And send word to all — I am returned.’
The Brethren bowed and as one they bent to a knee. Then, to Kyle's eye they seemed to slowly disperse, disappearing as a haze in the sun. All but one: the shade of a short thin man with one hand — Stoop — who approached, smiling. ‘Well done, lad. Well done. Knew you'd pull it off.’
To this outrageous claim Kyle could only shake his head.
A shade materialized next to K'azz. ‘Cole sends his welcome and asks how many days you require.’
A tight grin from K'azz. ‘Tell Cole I'll send relief as soon as I can.’
The shade remained. K'azz, who had started for the road, stopped short. ‘Yes?’
‘The truth is they are badly wounded and may not last much longer.’
The Crimson Guard commander spun, faced the bridge — glanced back to the north where battle-magics glowed like auroras brought to earth and combat shook the ground.
Kyle glanced between the two as well. Gods, what a choice! He faced Stoop. ‘What do you think?’
The shade examined the bridge and the thousands behind. He scratched his chin. ‘Don't know what's goin’ on up north but we can't let them through.’
‘I agree,‘ K'azz said, making Kyle jump — he didn't think him close enough to overhear. ‘Thank you, Kyle.’ To Stoop: ‘Tell Cole I'm coming.’
‘Queen forgive me,’ Kyle breathed. Beside him, Badlands sent an entreating look to the sky as if asking —
Ullen was in the north-west when word came of the attack and complete slaughter of the field hospital. He stared for a time wordlessly to the north, numb of all feeling.
Ullen blinked, confused. ‘Yes?’
‘Your… orders, sir?’
He raised his weak, newly healed right arm to wipe his brow, found it slick with sweat. ‘Relocate the field hospital closer to the reserves.’
‘The only reserves are those with us, sir.’
Ullen looked up. ‘Only my legion?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then… move it… closer to the field.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The messenger saluted, departed.
Ullen studied the south. He would not, could not, face his staff. He clasped his sweaty hands at his back to quell the urge to wipe them on his uniform. The darker smear of night, empty of all stars, still hung over the redoubt in the east — bless that mage whoever he was — he'd saved that flank. Now, if he could only salvage some order out of the west. He could not understand the Guard's reluctance out there on that flank. They could have routed them if they'd pressed their advantage. A phalanx marched now up the middle, standard in prominence, making an obvious effort to lay claim to overall control of the field. And what did they have left to throw against them? Nothing. If they could not be stopped then the Guard would have effectively won. His lines would have been cut in half.
A young girl came running up to his position, one of the Untan irregulars. His guards grabbed hold of her leather hauberk to yank her back. She fought the man, punching him. ‘Commander Ullen!’ she shouted. He waved her through. The oversized crossbow on her back rolled side to side as she came. ‘The Guard, sir — they're fallin’ apart!’
He studied her, disbelieving. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Units are breakin’ up. Crimson Guardsmen runnin’ this way and that. Some even fightin’ each other. I heard Avowed even attacking Avowed.’
