Return of the Crimson Guard

As they walked along, Rillish asked his sergeant, ‘What is her name, anyway, Chord?’

‘Ah, that would be Corporal Talia, sir. Designated instructor in swordsmanship. The lads, they don't care a fart for technique. They think a thick arm and a thick head will see them through. But the lasses, sir, they know it's their edge.’

‘True enough, Chord. Thank you.’

‘Perhaps we could arrange some training, sir. While we rest and regroup. You've been on your back for some time now.’

‘Thank you, Chord. But you know regulations. Only commissioned ranks can spar together.’ Rillish rubbed the side of his nose. ‘Too many officers found run through, if I remember correctly.’

‘As you say, sir. But it seems to me that command is far away now, and there's some as might question whether we're really even in the army now, sir, if you follow my thinking.’

Rillish stopped outside the yurt the Wickans had given for his use — though obviously desperately short of shelter themselves. ‘Thank you, Chord. But the day I follow your thinking is the day I tear off all my clothes and jump into the ice of the Cut.’

‘I blame the drink, sir.’

‘You wouldn't have any of it left, would you?’

‘Used it to poison the enemy, sir.’

‘And a sad waste it was too.’

‘The bottle got a promotion out of it though, sir.’

‘True enough — wait, don't tell me — it's now known as Korbottle Dom.’

Looking away, Chord grinned. ‘Heard that one before have you, sir?’

‘Many times. And about this yurt…’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Give it back to the Wickans tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Later that night Chord stopped beside Corporal Talia's bedroll. He tapped her awake with a foot. She opened an eye. He produced a bottle from under his cloak. ‘Why don't you go offer to share this with the lieutenant?’

‘Why isn't he here instead of sorry-arsed you?’

‘All traditional, he is. Thinks rank's a problem.’

She sat up on one elbow. ‘Oho, so that's the way of it. Questions of coercion.’ She took the bottle from Chord. ‘Well, we'll just have to hammer that out.’

Chord offered a mock salute. ‘Don't take too long. That yurt's disappearing tomorrow.’ He walked away thinking that it was good to see the lieutenant up on his feet again, but that it was the duty of any sergeant to see to the fullest recovery of his commanding officer… at least those worth saving.

Over the next few days Rillish saw little of any of the Wickan youths he'd got to know during the march. They had all been adopted into families of their clans while Mane, Nil and Nether were absorbed in the furious debates that swirled night and day around the central ring of yurts as participants came and went, sometimes sleeping then returning to pick up old arguments where they'd left off. He was glad to have no part in it. What part awaited him now troubled him enough. Resignation seemed increasingly the compelling path. Especially now with his new-found intimacy with Corporal Talia. To his mind it was too complicated for the command structure. What if an opening for promotion came up and he gave the sergeancy to her? Grumblings of favouritism? What if he did not? Unfairly penalizing her? There was no way either of them could win. Unless he was no longer her superior officer.

That settled it then; problem was, there was no one to resign before.

Sitting cross-legged on his bedding, Untan duelling swords across his lap, Rillish wrapped his sharpening stone in a rag and sheathed the blades. Unless he could report to someone who — technically — outranked him. He stood, gestured a soldier to him. ‘Find Nil or Nether and tell them I wish to speak with them.’ The soldier saluted, jogged off.

A formal letter might be necessary. Rillish picked up his kitbag of bits and pieces that he'd pulled together since losing everything at the fort. Perhaps he had a scrap of vellum or two.

The soldier returned. ‘Sir, Nil and Nether wish to speak to you at the central ring.’

‘Thank you.’

Rillish straightened his torn and faded surcoat, belted on his swords, pushed back his hair that had grown too wild and long of late and carried more grey in it than he wished. He crossed to the main ring. As he went, the constitution of the population of Wickans here in the plateau impressed him once again — so many youths and elders and almost no one of middle age. All those had gone away to fight in foreign wars and precious few had returned. As he neared the ring he noticed the quiet; things had apparently finally been settled. Only Wickan elders faced him — no youths had the stomach, or patience, for these sorts of interminable disputes. Or perhaps they had things to do with their time. Many of the elders wore torn and dirty leathers, and many betrayed the gaunt and ashen pallor of hunger, that grim companion of all refugees. They parted to let him pass. Some glared open hostility. Fists even rested near the bone handles of long-knives.

So fares the reputation of the Malazans now in the company of Wickans. And deservedly so, too. He found the twins next to that special youth's yurt. Here he got his first good look at the child who sat cross-legged on a blanket, a small sheep's wool cap high on his domed head. It was true that the youth's black eyes held an unusual amount of self-awareness for one of his age.

‘Rillish Jal Keth,’ began Nil, ‘it has been decided. My sister and I are now guardians and councillors to this youth who since his birth has been unquestionably recognized as Coltaine reborn. In this capacity we wish to enlist you as captain and military adviser to the Head of All Clans. Do you accept?’

Rillish stared. Had he correctly understood? He came to offer his resignation and this is what he hears? Shocked outrage had taken the crowd — everyone was awaiting his reply. Many now glared open hatred. Rillish struggled to find his voice. ‘Adviser? I? Surely there must be a Wickan officer among you-’

‘There are a number. But we have chosen you.’

As the moments passed, a wall of objections now firmed up in his mind. ‘With all due respect, a Wickan would be more suitable, would know the land better-’

‘That is all true, assuming we intend to fight a war of defence,’ said Nether. ‘We do not. Foreigners have invaded our lands and brought war to us and so we intend to return the favour. We will not ride down into the steppes to drive them off. No, that we leave to Temul who commands on the steppes. We, instead, will lead the counter-offensive. We shall ride south into Untan lands bringing war and invasion to them. What say you to that, Malazan?’

Rillish felt as if he couldn't breathe. Good Gods, the two mean it. Could it be done? How many could they muster? A few thousand at least, many old veterans to steady and instruct the young bloods. The finest skirmishers and horse raiders anyone knew of. And last he'd heard there weren't enough soldiers left in Unta to hold a drinking party. Still, there remained questions of loyalty. ‘To what end, Nether? Nil? To what end?’

Angry calls sounded from all around. ‘He spits in our faces!’ someone shouted in Talian. Nil raised his arms for silence. The twins exchanged glances, their eyes glittering like sharp stones. ‘To force a renegotiation of our treaties with the Empire.’

‘I see. Then I can only answer in one way — I offer my resignation. Do you, Nil or Nether, as senior officers, accept?’

A roar as the crowd of enraged elders surged inward, raised blades flashed orange in the afternoon light. A clot of dirt struck Rillish's chest. Both twins threw their arms up for silence, shouting down the crowd.

‘Yes,’ sounded a piping voice that cut through the din like a whistle. The elders were silenced instantly, almost as if abashed. The twins stared down, astonished.

‘Accepted,’ said the toddler, grinning up at Rillish.

It occurred to Rillish then that in the view of many, the twins were not the senior officers present. ‘Very good,’ he stammered, shaken despite his scepticism. ‘Then I, Rillish Jal Keth, accept your commission.’

The child clapped his hands, clearly delighted. The twins quickly, and loudly, swore their confidence. After a long tense silence, the surrounding elders shuffled forward one by one, taking turns to bow and acknowledge his selection.

At the end of the ceremony Rillish was left with the twins, an old woman and the toddler, who had fallen