Orb Sceptre Throne

‘Your clothes and armour, man! Clean them up.’

Leff saluted. ‘Yessir. Right away, sir.’

The captain just shook his head, jerked a thumb to another of his guards. ‘Willa here will kit you out. Come back when you’re presentable.’

‘Yes, sir! With pleasure, sir!’

Soen answered with a gesture that was half salute, half dismissive wave. ‘Whatever. Get out of here — now.’

They travelled at night once they entered the desolate hills of the Dwelling Plain. Despite this, and all Fist Steppen’s many precautions in water conservation, they still lost irreplaceable mounts and dray animals. Even a few men and women collapsed under the unrelenting pace. Some died; others recuperated in the wagons trailing the column.

That pace was nightmare for Bendan. Never having had cause to walk for longer than one bell — what in Fanderay’s name for? There was never any need — he couldn’t believe what was being demanded of them. What in all the Lost Lands could be so important? He managed to keep up, but barely. He walked in a daze and knew he’d be no use in a fight. Not that there’d been any raids. But still, he felt defenceless, hardly able to stand.

This day their scout, a Rhivi exile named Tarat — word was the young woman had killed a relative — raised her hand and crouched, studying the dry dusty ground. Sergeant Hektar joined her, and, bored, Bendan staggered over.

‘What is it?’ the giant Dal Hon rumbled.

‘The column has crossed this trail,’ she answered, a hand indicating a line northward.

‘So?’

‘It’s like nothing I have ever seen before.’

‘So?’

The girl blew out a breath and pushed the unruly kinked hair from her freckled face. ‘Malazan. I know every spoor on the face of these lands. If I see something new it is a strange matter. Still … this trail reminds me of something. Something from an old story …’

Bendan simply took the opportunity for a breather; and he didn’t mind standing looking down at the tribal girl, either. Fine haunches she had. Too bad she also had a knife for anyone who got too close. He pulled out his skin of water and took a pull. He was about to take another when Hektar pushed the skin down.

‘That’s enough, trooper. You know the water rules.’

‘I know I’m damned thirsty.’

‘You’ll be even more thirsty two days from now when you run out.’

Both of them jumped when the Rhivi girl let out a shout of alarm and scrambled back from the trail as if it was a snake that had reared at her. ‘What is it?’ Hektar demanded.

Tarat’s gaze swung to them, her eyes huge with wonder. ‘I have to speak to the commander.’

Almost the entire column had passed now. Hektar drew off his helmet to wipe his dark sweaty face. ‘She’s with the van …’ he began.

‘I must. Immediately.’

Hektar sighed his disgust. He wiped the leather liner inside the helmet then pulled it on again. ‘All right. Let’s go.’

‘I’ll tell Little,’ Bendan said.

‘No — you’re comin’ with us. Let’s go.’

‘What for? You got her. You don’t need me.’

‘You seen it too. Now c’mon.’

‘Aw, for Hood’s sake …’ But the big sergeant crooked a finger and started after the scout. Bendan dragged himself along behind.

The van was a damned long way ahead. First, they were all mounted, something which irked Bendan no end. Why should they be mounted when the rest of them had to plod along? And second, they were all so much cleaner and better accoutred than he. Something that also never failed to stir his resentment. Why should they wear such superior armour — cuirasses of hammered iron and banded hauberks — when all he wore was a hauberk of boiled leather faced with ring mail, with mailed sleeves? It was his general view that anyone with better equipment than his, or with greater wealth, just didn’t deserve it.

In response to a signal from the sergeant a messenger rode over, spoke to him briefly, then wheeled off to take his request to the Fist. Shortly thereafter a small mounted body broke off from the van to return to them. It was Fist Steppen, accompanied by a small guard and her inner staff. They parted around the three waiting troopers. Sergeant Hektar saluted the dumpy sunburned woman in her sweat-stained riding trousers and loose shirting. The skin of her forehead was angry-red and peeling.

‘Fist Steppen.’

‘You have a report?’

Hektar gestured to Tarat. ‘Our Rhivi scout has news.’

Tarat saluted, quite smartly. Steppen nodded to her. ‘The trail the column passed just back-’ the girl began, but was interrupted.

‘We all saw it,’ an officer put in. ‘A band marching double-file, north. Bandits, perhaps.’

Tarat’s hand snapped closed on the bone-handled knife at her side and she glared at the man.

Steppen raised a hand for silence. ‘Continue,’ she said to Tarat.

The girl did so, but still glared murder at the officer. ‘No bandits — or even soldiers — have the discipline to maintain such a straight trail. Look to our own meandering track if you don’t believe me. Men and women pause to adjust gear, to relieve themselves, to remove stones from their sandals. Only one people are capable of moving across the land in this manner. It is said they can march for four days and nights without a single pause.’

‘It is said?’ Steppen asked, cocking her head.

Tarat lost her glare, removed her hand from her blade. ‘In our stories, Fist. Among us Rhivi are told stories of these people. Most speak darkly of them.’

‘And they are?’

Tarat was clearly unwilling to say just who she was talking about, but asked directly she hunched slightly, as if expecting scorn, and said, ‘The Seguleh.’

Bendan laughed out loud. Hektar glared for him to shut up but he couldn’t help it. The Fist arched a brow. ‘You have something to add, trooper? I see you too are a local. What is your opinion?’

He waved a hand in apology. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s just … the Seguleh? Scary stories for children only, ma’am.’

‘I assure you they are quite real.’

‘Oh yes. Real enough. Down south. I’d say they’re damned good all right — damned good at puffing up their reputation, if you follow me, ma’am.’

Leather creaked as the Fist leaned forward on to her pommel. ‘You are from Darujhistan, yes?’

‘Yes, m’am.’

‘And the opinion you express regarding these people … this would be typical of the city, would it?’

‘Oh, yes. Just a lot of tall tales.’

‘I see. Thank you. Very informative.’ She turned to Tarat. ‘Thank you for your report. That is all.’

The troop edged their mounts aside and cantered off to return to the van. Tarat whirled to face Bendan. ‘Laugh at me again and I’ll slit you open like a weasel. Yes?’

Bendan held out his arms. ‘Yeah. Fine. Whatever.’

The tribal girl stalked away on those fine haunches.

Gods! So damned prickly!

CHAPTER XI