Rawne spat. 'It's fine. A clean wound with a sharp instrument.' Truth was, his swollen tongue felt like a bedroll in his mouth, but he would not let the commissar have the satisfaction of knowing his discomfort. But he could not disguise the pain his leg gave him.
'Let me see to that,' Gaunt said.
Rawne shook his head.
'That was an order,' Gaunt sighed.
He moved over, pulling his own medi-pouch open. His clips were frozen too, but he warmed them over the chemical flame and then pinched the lips of Rawne's thigh wound shut. He sprayed the area with antiseptic from the one-use flask. Rawne felt his limb go dead.
Then Gaunt warmed his numb fingers and threaded surgical cord into a fresh needle. He handed Rawne his dagger. 'Bite the hilt.'
Rawne did so and stayed silent as Gaunt sewed the torn flesh together.
Gaunt bit off the cord and tied it, wrapping a dressing over the wound. Rawne spat the dagger out.
Gaunt packed the kit away and then settled a kettle pan over the flames, dropping a scoop of ice into it.
'Seems to me Typhon has levelled us, major,' he said after a while.
'How so?'
The high-born commissar, with all his airs and graces and rank, his schola training and his expertise; the low- life Tanith gangster with his wiles and tricks and diversions – it's put us on a level. Equals. Both fighting the same hostility with the same chances.'
Rawne didn't manage his retort. His tongue was too swollen and sore. He managed to spit again.
Gaunt smiled and watched the ice-water boil in the pan.
'Good. Maybe not. If you can still spit at me and hold me in contempt, we're not equal. I can lower myself down towards your level to help you… Feth, save you. But the day we're both on a level, your level, I'll kill myself.'
'Is that a promise?' Rawne asked.
Gaunt laughed. He dropped some dehydrated food cubes into the bubbling pan and stirred them. Dry- powdered bean soup puffed and formed. He was still laughing as he poured the soup into two tin cups.
The wind rose as night fell. It howled outside the mouth ot the cave, raising the volume and intensity of the screaming They sat together in the dark, watching the fire. There were only four fuel- blocks left to feed the blaze and Gaunt was being careful.
'You want to know some other differences between us, Rawne?'
Rawne wanted to say ''No'', but his tongue was now too swollen and useless. He spat at Gaunt again instead.
Gaunt smiled and nodded down at the spittle freezing on the ice.
There's one: this place might be a ball of frozen moisture, but you won't see me going around losing body moisture like that. The wind will freeze you dry in a few hours. Conserve your body water. Stop spitting at me and you might live.'
He held out a bowl of tepid water to Rawne and after a moment, the major took it and drank.
'Here's another. It's warm in here. Warmer than outside. But it's still close to zero. You're half-stripped and you're shivering.
Gaunt was still dressed in his full uniform and his cloak was pulled around him. Rawne realised how numb he had become and began to pull his vest and cloak around him again.
'Why?' the major asked thickly.
'Why? Because I know… I've fought through cold zones before.'
'Not that… why? Why would you want to keep me alive?' Gaunt was silent for a while.
'Good question…' he said at last. 'Given that you'd like noth ing better than to see me dead. But I'm a commissar of the Imperial Guard, charged by the Emperor to keep his fighting legions able and intact in the face of battle. I won't let you die. That's my job. That's why I saved you here, that's why I saved the Tanith from the destruction of their world.'
There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling chemical bricks of the fire.
'You know I'll never see it that way,' Rawne said, his voice cold and small. 'You left Tanith to die. You didn't let us stand and fight. I will never forgive you that.'
Gaunt nodded. 'I know.' Then, after a moment, 'I wish it wasn't so.'
Rawne rolled himself up into a cleft of the ice cave and pulled the cloak around him. He felt only one thing. Hate.
Somehow, somewhen, dawn had come up. Thin, frail light poked into the cave.
Gaunt was asleep, huddled down under his cloak, covered in frost. Rawne slowly got to his feet, fighting the ache in his bones and the almighty cold. The fire had long since gone out.
He edged around the cave, staring down at Gaunt. Pain ebbed through his sewn leg, his shoulders, his mouth. The pain cleared the fuzziness of his head and made him sharp. He picked up his Tanith knife, wiped the frost from it, and knelt to place its blade against Gaunt's throat.
No one would know. No one would ever find the body. And even if they did…
Gaunt shuddered in his sleep. He spoke the name of Tanith twice as his eyelids rolled and flicked. Then he spoke, curling up on himself: 'Won't let them die! No, not all of them! In the name of the Emperor, Sym!'
