Suth thought there was more to it than that, but knew that was all he was going to get. ‘And Faro?’ he asked. ‘What about him?’
Goss’ gaze slid to him and lay there for some time, flat and hard. ‘We don’t talk about him.’
Well… some progress, at any rate.
Everyone was silent for a time, rocking as the wagon trundled over the rough road. Suth was grateful to Goss for opening up. He felt privileged. Part of a special brotherhood. Looking back, he could hardly remember the brash youth who’d joined up so many months ago. Then his goal had been to challenge everyone he met; to test himself against all comers. Now the last thing he wanted was to draw his sword in anger. He’d be happy if he saw no more action till the end of the campaign. And frankly, the way things were shaping up, it looked as though that may be the case. The Roolian forces were scattered over the countryside. Rumours of counter-offensives swept through the column occasionally, but nothing ever came of them. It seemed the Roolians were on the run, retreating north.
‘Where are we headed, anyway?’ Lard asked after a time, dreamily, as if half asleep.
‘The capital, of course!’ said Pyke, sneering.
Len appeared about to say something but he pursed his lips, deciding against it. Idly, Suth wondered why the man would keep his opinion to himself.
‘Right. The capital, Paliss,’ Goss said, his eyes closed.
‘Of course,’ Pyke said again, glancing round. ‘Where else?’
No one spoke and Pyke just snorted, waving his dismissal of Lard. Uncertain of the silences surrounding him, Suth cast a look to Yana, who gave the slightest head shake. Suth took the sign and eased back, closing his eyes.
Towards noon a mounted junior officer came up alongside the wagon; he looked them up and down, making no effort to hide his distaste. ‘You 2nd Division, 4th Company, the 17th?’
Goss straightened, saluting. ‘Yes, sir!’
‘New orders. You’ve been transferred to a cohort attached to Fist Rillish. Report to his banner.’
Goss saluted again. ‘Yes, sir.’
The officer answered the salute. ‘That’s all.’ He kneed his mount on.
Lard groaned, ‘Just when I was enjoying myself.’
‘Rillish!’ Pyke spat. ‘A useless eunuch. What’re we doing with him?’
‘What you got against him?’ Yana demanded, taking the opposite corner as she always did.
‘Everyone knows Greymane has no time for the man. Why do we need him when we have the High Fist?’
‘Muzzle it,’ Goss said, his tone conveying his utter boredom with their bickering.
Stretching and grumbling, they collected their gear and went in search of the Fist’s banner. They found it standing south of the trader road that the united Fourth and Eighth Armies travelled westward. Assembled around it were four other squads from the Fourth: the 20th, the 11th, the 6th, and the 9th. Suth spotted the Barghast girl, Tolat, among the crowd. She blew him a kiss and he, turning away, ran into Keri.
‘So who’s the big gal?’ she asked, a brow arched.
‘We were scouting together.’
‘Is that what you call it now?’
He had no idea what to say but Goss saved him by bellowing, ‘Stake out some ground and set up camp!’ Then he and the other sergeants reported to the Fist.
While they ordered their bivouac Suth hunched down next to Len. ‘What’s with you ’n’ Pyke?’
The man said, low, ‘I’m pretty damn sure he crossed the river.’
‘So?’
The old saboteur grimaced his disappointment. ‘So… was he caught? Did he cut a deal?’
‘What d’you mean, a deal?’
Len glanced about to make doubly sure they weren’t being overheard. He needn’t have worried: as usual when there was work to be done Pyke was nowhere around. ‘Handing over intelligence.’
Suth found that incredibly hard to credit. ‘C’mon. On us? Who’s got foot-rot or the clap? Who cares?’
Len nodded thoughtfully while hammering pegs. ‘General health — good point. But no, what I mean is deployments, strategic goals, all the rumours that run through the ranks.’
‘All that talk is nothing but horseshit.’
‘Not at all. Some is pretty damned shrewd.’
‘But who would he talk to? There’s no one around.’
Len frowned. ‘Well, where’s the bastard off to right now?’
Startled, Suth looked round. It was true: Pyke was nowhere in sight. Just what was the prick doing all the time? ‘I’ll fucking kill the bastard.’
‘No you won’t. We’ll just watch and wait. It’s Goss’ call.’
Suth knelt back down. ‘Hood-spawned bastard. I can’t believe we have to put up with him.’
‘It’s like family,’ Len told him, smiling lopsidedly. ‘You can’t pick your squadmates. Goss has his eye on him.’
The next morning, while the very tail of the expeditionary force rumbled past, they assembled for orders. Pyke was once again in line and Suth glared; when had he come sneaking back? Then he remembered Len’s warning and forced himself to look away.
The Fist was talking to the sergeants and Suth was pleased to see the Adjunct, Kyle, with the man. He looked as good as new, if a little more battered. Aha! This could be interesting. Then he thought of the last special mission and decided that maybe that wasn’t what he wanted after all.
Orders were given and, accompanied by a few wagons, they headed off south, down nothing more than a rutted mud cart track across open country while the rest of the army carried on west.
No, Suth decided. This was not what he really wanted at all.
They marched the full day south, following a farmers’ trail. Mixed snow and rain soaked Suth all the way through his layered aketon down to his linen. Only the marching kept him warm. From what he’d heard it was maybe another day’s march to the Mare border. He wondered if they were off to check that frontier. Yet with only fifty or so soldiers?
They pushed on into dusk. The Fist’s escort led, the Adjunct accompanying him. Twilight swiftly deepened beneath the cloud cover. Scouts appeared from the shadows, Tolat among them. They conferred with the Fist’s party. Orders came back for heightened readiness. Goss signed for shields to be unslung.
A further march through dusk into night proper brought their party to the smooth grassy crest of a dry valley and there, across the way along the far crest, torches flickered. In the valley a single tent glowed, lit from within. Dark pennants hung limp before it. There was too little light to tell, but those pennants might be the brown of Rool.
Wess spat a mouthful of brown spittle and set his heavy shield on the ground to lean over it. ‘Parley,’ he said, nodding his certainty.
Parley? Suth thought, studying the far torches. Whatever for? They had the Roolian forces on the run. Why would they waste time talking to them? Unless, unlikely as it seemed, this was surrender? No. It couldn’t be this easy. Could it? Suth was surprised to find part of him hoping such was the case, while another part was offended by the idea. He wondered which half would be rewarded come tomorrow.
Goss’ voice cut through the night. ‘Stand down! Bivouac here!’
Suth shared an unenthusiastic look with Wess. Setting up after dark. Gods, how he hated it.
*
Rillish sipped hot tea while he eyed the waiting tent in the golden light of dawn. Figures moved about it; only about five of them that he could see. The rest of the party remained on the distant crest. Some commander of the Roolian forces has asked for a meeting, Greymane had said. See what they want and if it’s of any interest to us.
And I agreed — then Greymane sent the Adjunct as well and again I said nothing though there was no need for both. One or the other. Kyle could negotiate for the High Fist; indeed, that was almost what the role of Adjunct was designed for. Why both of us is now painfully obvious even to the men: Greymane has no confidence in his Fist.
Kyle joined him, head bare, wearing just his padded and stained gambeson and soft leather trousers. Rillish
