'Command does not come from consensus,' the Adjunct said, her tone suddenly hard as she faced Keneb. 'I deliver the orders, and my officers are to obey them. They should be relieved that is the case, for all responsibility lies with me and me alone. No-one else shall have to answer to the Empress.'
Keneb nodded, 'As you say, Adjunct. However, your officers do feel responsible – for their soldiers-'
'Many of whom will die, sooner or later, on some field of battle.
Perhaps even here in Y'Ghatan. This is a siege, and sieges are messy.
I do not have the luxury of starving them out. The longer Leoman resists, the greater the risk of flare-ups all over Seven Cities. High Fist Dujek and I are fully agreed on this.'
'Then why, Adjunct, did we not accept his offer of more troops?'
She was silent for a half-dozen heartbeats, then, 'I am aware of the sentiments among the squads of this army, none of whom, it seems, are aware of the true condition of Onearm's Host.'
'The true condition?'
She stepped closer. 'There's almost nothing left, Keneb. The core – the very heart – of Onearm's Host – it's gone.'
'But – Adjunct, he has received replacements, has he not?'
'What was lost cannot be replaced. Recruits: Genabarii, Nathii, half the Pale Garrison, oh, count the boots and they look to be intact, up to full complement, but Keneb, know this – Dujek is broken. And so is the Host.'
Shaken, Keneb turned away. He unstrapped his helm and drew the battered iron from his head, then ran a hand through his matted, sweaty hair. 'Hood take us, the last great imperial army…'
'Is now the Fourteenth, Fist.'
He stared at her.
She began pacing. 'Of course Dujek offered, for he is, well, he is Dujek. Besides, the ranking High Fist could do no less. But he – they – have suffered enough. Their task now is to make the imperial presence felt – and we should all pray to our gods that they do not find their mettle tested, by anyone.'
'That is why you are in such a hurry.'
'Leoman must be taken down. Y'Ghatan must fall. Tonight.'
Keneb said nothing for a long moment, then he asked, 'Why, Adjunct, are you telling me this?'
'Because Gamet is dead.'
Gamet? Oh, I see.
'And T'amber is not respected by any of you. Whereas,' she glanced at him, with an odd expression, 'you are.'
'You wish for me to inform the other Fists, Adjunct?'
'Regarding Dujek? Decide that for yourself, but I advise you, Fist, to think very carefully before reaching that decision.'
'But they should be told! At least then they will understand…'
'Me? Understand me? Perhaps. But that is not the most important issue here.'
He did not comprehend. Not at once. Then, a growing realization. '
Their faith, beyond you, beyond the Fourteenth, lies with Dujek Onearm. So long as they believe he is there, poised behind us and ready to march to our aid, they will do as you command. You do not want to take that away from them, yet by your silence you sacrifice yourself, you sacrifice the respect they would accord you-'
'Assuming such respect would be granted, Fist, and of that I am not convinced.' She returned to the map-table. 'The decision is yours, Fist.'
He watched her studying the map, then, concluding he had been dismissed, Keneb left the tent. He felt sick inside. The Host – broken? Was that simply her assessment? Maybe Dujek was just tired… yet, who might know better? Quick Ben, but he wasn't here. Nor that assassin, Kalam Mekhar. Leaving… well, one man. He paused outside the tent, studied the sun's position. There might be time, before Sort spoke to them all, if he hurried.
Keneb set out towards the camps of the marines.
'What do you want me to say, Fist?' The sergeant had laid out a halfdozen heavy quarrels. He had already tied sharpers to two of them and was working on a third.
Keneb stared at the clay-ball grenado in Strings's hands. 'I don't know, but make it honest.'
Strings paused and looked over at his squad, eyes narrowing. 'Adjunct' s hoping for reinforcements if things go bad?' He was speaking in a low voice.
'That's just it, Sergeant. She isn't.'
'So, Fist,' Strings said, 'she thinks Dujek's finished. And so's the Host. Is that what she thinks?'
'Yes. You know Quick Ben, and the High Mage was there, after all. At Coral. He's not here for me to ask him, so I'm asking you. Is the Adjunct right?'
He resumed affixing the grenado to the quarrel head.
Keneb waited.
'Seems,' the sergeant muttered, 'I misjudged the Adjunct.'
'In what way?'
'She's better at reading signs than I thought.'
Hood's balls, I really did not want to hear that.
'You are looking well, Ganoes Paran.'
His answering smile was wry. 'My new life of ease, Apsalar.'
Shouts from the sailors on the deck as the carrack swung towards the harbour of Kansu, the sound of gulls a muted accompaniment to the creak of cordage and timber. A cool breeze rode the salty air coming through the cabin's round window portside, smelling of the shore.
Apsalar studied the man seated across from her a moment longer, then returned to her task of roughing with a pumice stone the grip of one of her in-fighting knives. Polished wood was pretty, but far too slick in a sweaty hand. Normally she used leather gloves, but it never hurt to consider less perfect circumstances. For an assassin, the ideal situation was choosing when and where to fight, but such luxuries were not guaranteed.
Paran said, 'I see that you're as methodical as ever. Although at least now, there's more animation in your face. Your eyes…'
'You've been at sea too long, Captain.'
'Probably. Anyway, I'm not a captain any more. My days as a soldier are done.'
'Regrets?'
He shrugged. 'Some. I was never where I wanted to be with them. Until the very end, and then,' he paused, 'well, it was too late.'
'That might have been for the better,' Apsalar said. 'Less… sullied.'
'Odd, how the Bridgeburners mean different things for us. Memories, and perspectives. I was treated well enough among the survivors-'
'Survivors. Yes, there's always survivors.'
'Picker, Antsy, Blend, Mallet, a few others. Proprietors of K'rul's Bar, now, in Darujhistan.'
'K'rul's Bar?'
'The old temple once sanctified to that Elder God, aye. It's haunted, of course.'
'More than you realize, Paran.'
'I doubt that. I've learned a lot, Apsalar, about a lot of things.'
A heavy thud to starboard, as the harbour patrol arrived to collect the mooring fees. The slap of lines. More voices.
'K'rul played a very active role against the Pannion Domin,' Paran went on. 'Since that time, I've grown less easy with his presence – the Elder Gods are back in the game-'
'Yes, you've already said something to that effect. They are opposing the Crippled God, and one cannot find fault in that.'
