‘Yes, Fist. Plan on dressing ‘em down, sir?’
Keneb’s brows lifted. ‘Not at all, Faradan. No. I might end up kissing every damned one of them, though.’
So once more Beak walked alongside Captain Faradan Sort, and that felt good and proper now, as if he’d always belonged with her, always being useful when that was what she needed. False dawn was just beginning and the air smelled wonderfully fresh-at least until they came to the pits where the Edur bodies had been dumped. That didn’t smell good at all.
‘Gods below,’ the captain muttered as they skirted one of the shallow pits.
Beak nodded. ‘Moranth munitions do that. Just… parts of people, and everything chewed up.’
‘Not in this pit,’ she said, pointing as they passed another mass grave. ‘These ones were cut down. Swords, quarrels…’
‘Aye, Captain, we’re good at that, too, aren’t we? But that’s not why the Edur left-there was almost a thousand of them gathered here, planning on one more push. But then orders came to withdraw and so they did. They’re now a league behind us, joining up with still more Edur.’
‘The hammer,’ Faradan Sort said, ‘and somewhere ahead, the anvil’
He nodded again.
She paused to search his face in the gloom. ‘And the Adjunct and the fleet? Beak?’
‘Don’t know, sir. If you’re wondering if they’ll get to us in time to relieve us, then no. Not a chance. We’re going to have to hold out, Captain, for so long it’s impossible.’
She scowled at that. ‘And if we just squat here? Right in this village?’
‘They’ll start pushing. There’ll be four or five thousand Edur by then. That many can push us, sir, whether we want them to or not. Besides, didn’t the Fist say he wanted to engage and hold down as many of the enemy as possible? To keep them from going anywhere else, like back behind the city walls which would mean the Adjunct’s got to deal with another siege and nobody wants that.’
She glared at him for a moment longer, then set out again. Beak fell in step behind her.
From just behind a black heap of tailings at the edge of the village a voice called out, ‘Nice seeing you again, Captain.’
Faradan Sort went on.
Beak saw Corporal Tarr rise from behind the tailings, slinging his crossbow back over a shoulder then dusting himself off before approaching on an intercept course.
‘Fist wants to knock before coming in, does he?’
The captain halted in front of the stolid corporal. ‘We’ve been fast-marching for a while now,’ she said. ‘We’re damned tired, but if we’re going to march into this village, we’re not going to drag our boots. So the Fist called a short halt. That’s all.’
Tarr scratched at his beard, making the various depending bones and such rustle and click. ‘Fair enough,’ he said.
‘I am so relieved that you approve, Corporal. Now, the Fist wants the squads here all out in the main street.’
‘We can do that,’ Tarr replied, grinning. ‘Been fighting for a while now and we’re damned tired, Captain. So the sergeants got most of us resting up in the, uh, the tavern. But when the Fist sees us, well, we’ll be looking smart as can be, I’m sure.’
‘Get your arse into that tavern, Corporal, and wake the bastards up. We’ll wait right here-but not for long, understood?’
A quick, unobtrusive salute and Tarr headed off.
‘See what happens when an officer’s not around enough? They get damned full of themselves, that’s what happens, Beak.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Well, when they hear all the bad news they won’t be anywhere near as arrogant.’
‘Oh, they know, sir. Better than we do.’ But that’s not com.’ pletely true. They don’t know what I know, and neither, Captain my love, do you.
They both turned at the sound of the column, coming up fast. Faster than it should be, in fact.
The captain’s comment was succinct. ‘Shit.’ Then she added, ‘Go on ahead, Beak-get ‘em ready to move!’
‘Yes sir!’
The problem with owls was that, even as far as birds went, they were profoundly stupid. Getting them to even so much as turn their damned heads was a struggle, no matter how tightly Bottle gripped their tiny squirming souls.
He was locked in such a battle at the moment, so far past the notion of sleep that it seemed it belonged exclusively to other people and would for ever remain beyond his reach.
But all at once it did not matter where the owl was looking, nor even where it wanted to look. Because there were figures moving across the land, through the copses, the tilled grounds, swarming the slopes of the old quarry pits and on the road and all its converging tracks. Hundreds, thousands. Moving quiet, weapons readied. And less than half a league behind Keneb’s column.
Bottle shook himself, eyes blinking rapidly as he refocused-the pitted wall of the tavern, plaster chipped where daggers had been thrown against it, the yellow runnels of leakage from the thatched roof above the common room. Around him, marines pulling on their gear. Someone, probably Hellian, spitting and gagging somewhere behind the bar.
One of the newly arrived marines appeared in front of him, pulling up a chair and sitting down. The Dal Honese mage, the one with the jungle still in his eyes.
‘Nep Furrow,’ he now growled. ‘Mimber me?’
‘Mimber what?’
‘Me!’
‘Yes. Nep Furrow. Like you just said. Listen, I’ve got no time to talk-’
A fluttering wave of one gnarled hand. ‘We’en know! Bit the Edur! We’en know all’at.’ A bent finger stabbed at Bottle. ‘Issn this. You. Used dup! An’thas be-ad! Be-ad! We all die! Cuzzin you!’
‘Oh, thanks for that, you chewed-up root! We weren’t taking the scenic leg like you bastards, you know. In fact, we only got this far because of me!’
‘Vlah! Iss th’feedle! The feedle orn your sergeant! Issn the song, yeseen-it ain’t done-done yeet. Ain’t yeet done-done! Hah!’
Bottle stared at the mage. ‘So this is what happens when you pick your nose but never put anything back, right?’
‘Pick’n back! Hee hee! Een so, Bauble, yeen the cause alia us dyin, s’long as yeen know.’
And what about the unfinished song?’
An elaborate shrug. ‘Oonoes when, eh? Oonoes?’
Then Fiddler was at the table. ‘Bottle, now’s not the time for a Hood-damned conversation. Out into the street and look awake, damn you-we’re all about to charge out of this village like a herd of bhederin.’
Yeah, and right over a cliff we go. ‘Wasn’t me started this ‘ conversation, Sergeant-’
‘Grab your gear, soldier.’
Koryk stood with the others of the squad, barring Bottle who clearly thought he was unique or something, and watched as the leading elements of the column appeared at I the end of the main street, a darker mass amidst night’s last, stubborn grip. No-one on horses, he saw, which wasn’t too surprising. Food for Keneb and his tail-end company must have been hard to find, so horses went into the stew-there, a few left, but loaded down with gear. Soon there’d j be stringy, lean meat to add flavour to the local grain that tasted the way goat shit smelled.
He could feel his heart thumping strong in his chest. Oh, there would be fighting today. The Edur to the west were rolling them up all right. And ahead, on this side of the great capital city, there’d be an army or two. Waiting just for us and isn’t that nice of ‘em.
Fiddler loomed directly in front of Koryk and slapped the half-blood on the side of his helm. ‘Wake up, damn you!’
‘I was awake, Sergeant!’
But that was all right. Understandable, even, as Fiddler went down the line snapping at everyone. Aye, there’d been way too much drinking in this village and wits were anything but sharp. Of course, Koryk felt fine enough. He’d
