requisitioned and pressed every skilled healer in the city into helping out. But even if he does recover completely there's nothing to be done for the scarring. The man lost most of the skin of his arms and face. High Denul can do only so much. For all that, though, he actually doesn't seem to mind. He's even practising to keep limber as he heals.’ Silk raised his hands in wonderment. ‘Simply amazing.’
‘Well, you move my bed up here and I'll lie down in it. In any case,’ Storo eyed the pale, sunken-eyed mage, ‘you look worse off than me.’
Silk shrugged, leant his weight against the stone crenellations. ‘Up all night with the saboteurs, helping to hide their work. They're making miracles all up and down the walls. Shaky's actually working. I don't think I've ever seen him work before.’
‘You too. Back in Genabackis, I always had the feeling you had one hand behind your back. That you weren't committed.’
A dry wind off the prairie tousled the mage's long blond hair. He pushed it back from his face. ‘Not my battle. This is.’
‘You proved that last week. Going to finally tell me what you did? I was out of it by then. Sunny claims the sun shone out of your arse and you farted everyone away.’
Silk could not keep a grin away. ‘Colourful. And not too inaccurate. No, all I did was summon the power of the old city temple and it responded with one last glow of its old reflected glory. That's all.’
‘And I'm Dessembrae the Lord of Tragedy.’
The mage shaded his gaze and studied the plain and distant dun-brown hills along the horizon. Storo shifted his own hard stare to share the view. ‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘There's the real worry.’ He rubbed his chest beneath his shirts, grimaced his pain. ‘Truth is I'm blind, Silk. I've no idea what's going on out there. Don't know how many men they have. Even where they are. There might be fifty thousand Seti tribesmen just over those damned hills and I haven't the faintest idea of it. Or at Unta. What's going on at the capital? Are reinforcements on their way? How much support can I expect?’ He spat over the wall. ‘It's a mess. A Hood-spawned bitch's-whelp of a mess.’
The mage gave a slow shrug of commiseration. ‘I'm sorry. I wish I could be more of a help. But that sort of scrying and communication over great distances is not my forte.’
‘Well, who in Utter Night can help? Isn't there another battle mage in the city? Have they found the garrison cadre mages yet?’
‘No. One was thought to have joined Orlat. The other disappeared that night, fled or killed by them. That leaves me.’ Silk paused; his gaze flicked to Storo. ‘There is one other who could be of help — if you'd accept.’
‘Who? Gods, I hope you don't mean that hag you got to help us before.’
‘Her name is Liss, Captain.’
‘Ah. Sorry, Silk.’ Wincing, Storo squeezed his side, drew an experimental breath. ‘How can she help?’
Silk raised his chin to the distant undulations of the Seti prairie. ‘She knows them, Fist. Knows them well. She was once one of their shamanesses — a Seer. I gather that they're actually rather frightened of her.’
‘So am I.’
A voice called from far along the wall, ‘Sergeant Storo!’ Silk and Storo turned. Magistrate Ehrlann approached, the servant at his side struggling to keep him within the shade of a wide umbrella.
Storo raised a hand to quiet Silk.
‘Yes, yes. All very well,’ allowed Ehrlann, waving negligently. ‘However, a ruling body recognized by the Throne really cannot afford to acknowledge a field-promotion until it is approved by military high command.’
‘And just when might that be?’ Silk asked, not even bothering to lighten his tone.
‘Why, when the paperwork comes through, of course,’ Ehrlann smiled.
Silk pointed to the prairie. ‘You do understand that the Imperial Warren is now closed to all. That no mage dare risk travelling any of the Warrens now that civil war is upon us. That the Kingdom of Cawn lies between us and Unta and that it has arisen in rebellion against the Imperial Throne!’
Magistrate Ehrlann frowned. ‘Well, then, it may take some time for the paperwork to reach us here.’
Storo clamped a hand on Silk's shoulder and squeezed hard. ‘Quite right, magistrate. The City High Court should call an emergency meeting to discuss its course of action. You must settle the positioning of troops, the strategy of the defences, the organization of the civilian population. You must commission a detailed inventory of all logistical necessities and the requisition of the funds to purchase them. And all that is just a beginning.’
Magistrate Ehrlann blinked at Storo, quite stunned. ‘Of course… well… the process has already begun in special committee-’
‘Then you'd best get back in case they decide on some idiotic course of action in your absence.’
Ehrlann smiled thinly. ‘Thank you. Yes.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Come, Jamaer.’ The magistrate swung to the stairs.
Storo watched them go then turned away to rest his forearms on the battlements once more. ‘Gods, they'll be talking until the Last Night is upon us.’ He addressed Silk. ‘Until that time comes, what do you suggest?’
‘I intend to find us some allies.’
‘Good. Please do. As many as possible.’
‘And Liss?’
Storo nodded his assent. ‘Tell her to keep those Seti shamans as far away as she can.’
Silk's smile was tight with suppressed pleasure. ‘Oh, she'll enjoy that a great deal, I'm sure.’ He bowed and went to the stairs. At the top he paused. ‘Fist, may I ask, just what is our defence strategy in any case?’
Our defence strategy? An odd one. Kill as many of the Seti bastards as is humanly possible.’
Ho was releaved to find that the newcomers to the Pit intended to keep a low profile. Thinking it over for a time, however, he realized that this worried him just as much. The two were acting less like the potential tyrants he feared, but more like the suspected spies he feared even more. Yet it all seemed too preposterous; an insignificant detail no doubt buried among the chaos and smoke of the uprising: why did Pit not rise in rebellion? Even after guards were pulled away to help pacify Skullcap, Pit remained a model of quiet. Why should this be? What could over a hundred mages, warlocks, seers, thaumaturgs and assorted
A council meeting would have been called to settle upon a course of action but the problem was the two would be sure to hear every word of the screaming matches yammering down the tunnels. And so Yath and his people kept watch; especially that eerie shadow of his, Sessin.
On his way to the minehead, Ho scratched the patches of dry raw skin on his arms and legs that so cursed all inhabitants of the Pit. They all had more than enough to keep themselves busy in any case. There was the question of what to do with Iffin; just two weeks ago the fellow was walking down a tunnel when he meets Sulp ‘Ul — a man he'd worked beside peaceably enough for nearly ten years — when suddenly Iffin reaches over and jabs a sharpened stick through Sulp's throat. Sulp dies choking on his own blood. We confine Iffin to a barred cave and question him. Turns out it was a family vendetta from the old Cawn-Itko Kan border wars from before the Empire. And Iffin wasn't even old enough to remember those days!
Hopping to scratch one ankle, Ho had to shake his head. He'd thought those old rivalries and hatreds had all gone the way of the Jaghut. But now, with rumours arriving of nations seceding from the Empire — Quon, Dal Hon, Gris — and every week the list seeming to grow longer, old, long-quiescent hatreds and rivalries were now raising their noses and sniffing the wind. All the old festering slights that only the heel of the emperor manged to quell. Ho could only dread what was to come if the continent returned to its old destructive ways of shifting alliances and the never-ending feud for dominance.
At the great round of the mine-head he spotted the two newcomers silently staring upwards at the circle of clear blue sky overhead. Or so it seemed to any casual observer — to Ho it looked more like they were studying the crumbling, rotten stone of the walls searching for a way up. He came up behind them. ‘Those walls won't support the weight of a man.’
The one who gave his name as Grief slowly turned his head to give Ho a long hard stare. ‘Looks that way.’
‘If I were you I wouldn't waste my time trying to scare up an escape plan. Escape attempts only bring reprisals for the rest of us.’
The one named Treat turned around fully. ‘You warnin’ us? Gonna turn us in?’
