Coral, someone who had been part of that devastating battle.
Four soldiers stood guard outside Dujek's command tent. A fifth figure was nearby, holding the reins of a mud- spattered horse.
Paran walked closer, eyes on the horseman. Familiar – he'd found what he had been looking for. An outrider – but one who'd belonged to Caladan Brood's army, he believed – though I might be wrong in that.
Now, what was his name?
The man's pale brown eyes fixed on him as Paran approached. From within the shadow of the hood, there came the flicker of recognition, then confusion. The outrider straightened, then saluted.
Paran shook his head, but it was too late for that. The four guards all stood to attention as well. Paran answered the salute with a vague, sloppy gesture, then stepped close to the outrider. 'Soldier,' he murmured, 'do you know me? Make your answer quiet, if you please.'
A nod. 'Captain Ganoes Paran. I don't forget faces or names, sir, but we'd heard you were-'
'Aye, and that's how it stays. Your name?'
'Hurlochel.'
'Now I remember. You acted as chronicler on occasion, didn't you?'
A shrug. 'I keep an account of things, yes, sir. What are you doing here?'
'I need to speak with Dujek.'
Hurlochel glanced over at the guards, then scowled. 'Walk with me, sir. Don't mind them, they're new enough not to know all the officers.'
Leading the horse, Hurlochel guided Paran away, down a side alley nearby, where he halted.
'Hurlochel,' Paran said, 'why is Dujek's tent guarded by green soldiers? That doesn't make sense at all. What's happened and why are you camped outside G'danisban?'
'Yes, sir, we've had a hard time of it. It's the plague, you see – the legion healers were keeping it from us, but what it's done to Seven Cities… gods, Captain, there's bodies in the tens of thousands.
Maybe hundreds of thousands. Every city. Every village. Caravan camps – everywhere, sir. We had a Gold Moranth accompanying us, you see, a renegade of sorts. Anyway, there's a temple, in G'danisban. The Grand Temple of Poliel, and it's where this foul wind is coming from, and it's getting stronger.' Hurlochel paused to wipe rain from his eyes.
'So Dujek decided to strike at the heart, didn't he?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Go on, Hurlochel.'
'We arrived, a month back, and the High Fist formed up companies of his veterans, along with the Gold Moranth. They planned an assault on that damned temple. Well, they expected at least a High Priestess or some other sort, but they were ready for it. What nobody planned on, though, was the Grey Goddess herself.'
Paran's eyes widened. 'Who made it back out?'
'Most of them, sir, except the Gold Moranth. But… they're all sick, sir. The plague's got hold of them and they're only still alive because of the healers… only the healers are losing the battle. So, here we are. Stuck, and nobody skank enough to take real command and make some real decisions.' Hurlochel hesitated, then said, 'Unless that's why you're here, Captain. I sure hope so.'
Paran looked away. 'I'm officially dead, Outrider. Dujek threw us out of the army, myself and a few others-'
'Bridgeburners.'
'Yes.'
'Well, sir, if anybody earned their days in the sweet sun…'
Paran grimaced. 'Aye, I'm sure that sun's around somewhere. Anyway, I can hardly take command – besides, I'm just a captain-'
'With absolute seniority, sir. Dujek took his officers with him – they were the veterans, after all. So, we got nearly ten thousand soldiers camped here, and the nearest thing to a commander is Captain Sweetcreek, who's a Falari princess, if you can believe that.'
'Red hair?'
'Wild red, aye, and a pretty face-'
'With a swollen jaw. We've met.'
'A swollen jaw?'
'It wasn't a pleasant meeting.' Still Paran hesitated, then he swore and nodded. 'All right. I'll keep the rank of captain… with seniority. But I need a new name-'
'Captain Kindly, sir.'
'Kindly?'
'Old soldiers talk about him like grandmothers talk monsters to the brats, to keep them in line, sir. Nobody here's met him – at least nobody who's not fevered and half out of their minds.'
'Well, where was Kindly last posted?'
'Fourteenth, sir. The Adjunct's army out west of Raraku. Which direction did you come in from?'
'West.'
'That'll do, sir, I think. I'll make it so's I recognize you. Nobody knows a thing about me, only that the High Fist used me to run messages.'
'So why would I let two soldiers arrest me if I'm supposed to take over command?'
'You did? Well, maybe you wanted to see how we were running things here.'
'All right. One more question, Hurlochel. Why aren't you still with Caladan Brood on Genabackis?'
'The alliance broke up, sir, not long after the Tiste Andii settled in Black Coral. Rhivi back to the plains, the Barghast back to their hills. The Crimson Guard, who were up north, just vanished – no-one knows where they went. When Onearm shipped out, well, seemed like they were headed somewhere interesting.'
'Regrets?'
'With every heartbeat, sir.' Hurlochel then frowned. 'Captain Sweetcreek's got a swollen jaw, you said?'
'I punched her. Along with some soldier named Futhgar. They're bound and gagged in the captain's tent. They might have come round by now.'
The man grinned, but it was not a pleasant grin. 'Captain, you knocked out cold a Falari princess – that's perfect. It fits with what people have heard about Kindly. That's brilliant.'
Paran winced, then rubbed at his face. Gods below, what is it with me and royalty?
She had slowly emerged from the hidden temple to see a straggling line of battered figures walking the road below. Making her way down the dusty, stony slope, she was within fifteen paces before anyone noticed her. There was a strangeness in that moment of meeting, survivors eye to eye, both recognition and disbelief. Acceptance, a sense of something shared, and beneath it the ineffable flow of sorrow. Few words were exchanged.
Joining the soldiers in their march, Lostara Yil found herself alongside Captain Faradan Sort, who told her something of Y'Ghatan's aftermath. 'Your Fist, Tene Baralta, was hovering on the edge of death, if not of the flesh, then of the spirit. He has lost an arm – it was burned beyond repair – and there was other damage… to his face. I believe he was a vain man.'
Lostara grunted. 'That damned beard of his, slick with oil.' She thought about Tene Baralta for a time. She'd never liked him much.
More than just vain. Perhaps, truth be told, something of a coward, despite all his belligerence and posturing. She remembered the way he had led the retreat following her assassination of the elder Sha'ik, and his eagerness to take credit for every success whilst dancing from the path of disaster. There had been a sadistic streak in the man, and Lostara now feared that it would burgeon, as Tene Baralta sought means to feed all that was wounded within him. 'Why did the army leave all of you behind?'
Faradan Sort shrugged. 'They assumed no-one who had been trapped within the city could have survived the firestorm.' She paused, then added, 'It was a reasonable assumption. Only Sinn knew otherwise, and something told me to trust the girl. So we kept looking.'
'They're all wearing rags… and they're unarmed.'
