* * *
Nait, followed by the two heavies of his squad, Tranter and Martin, and one of his regular infantry saboteurs, Kal, walked the lines of the defences. ‘You seen a soldier named Brill?’ he asked every picket he met. ‘A stupid-looking gawking awkward fella? Anyone? Out on the field?’ But no one had and the fellow hadn't reported back. How stupid could he be? Had he just fallen asleep somewhere without reporting? If so, he was gonna tear his head off!
A soldier caught up with them and tapped his arm. ‘You lookin’ for a man out on the field?’
‘Yeah. Brill.’
‘Brill. Brill? Maybe. I was with a healer detachment. He waved us over but wouldn't leave the field. Said he was ordered to stay with his man. Don't know why though – the fellow was dead.’
Nait stared, then shuddered with cold. He wiped the rain from his face, saw the soldier regarding him curiously. ‘Right! Ah, thanks, solider.’ The man saluted. Nait stared again until he realized that he ought to respond; he answered the salute and the soldier jogged away into the rain. He looked to Tranter, Martin and Kal. Their eyes slid aside to the darkness out beyond the crossed stakes. Poliel's Pustules! Hood's Kiss! Fucking dumbass anus-for-brains! Nait threw his helmet into the mud.
‘I haven't heard anything about no inspection,’ the guard at the gate said, frowning in his confusion. Nait shrugged under his cloak. ‘It's not like it's official or anything – we're just worried about the wall of the palisade collapsing – that's all.’
The guards exchanged alarmed looks. ‘Collapsin'?’
‘Yeah. In the rain.’ He pointed to the wall of sunken poles. ‘Look – they're tiltin’ out already.’
‘OK, OK. You wanna go out there, that's your worry.’ The guards lifted the barrier aside. Nait waved forward the five with him but out of the rain came four more, the young new recruits shuffling up beneath outsized capes that dragged in the mud. Nait glared, motioning them away, but they saluted.
‘Reportin’ for the inspection,’ the eldest, Kibb, said, winking.
His back to the guards, Nait raised a fist to them. The youth tapped something bulky with him under his cape. Nait's brows climbed his forehead; the youth gave a smirking, knowing assent.
‘You goin’ or what?’ the guard asked.
‘On our way, Cap'n.’ Nait waved the squad through impatiently.
Out of earshot, in the dark with the rain pelting down, he turned on the youths. ‘What'd you think you're doing! This ain't no pleasure hike!’
‘We know!’ Kibb said, annoyed. ‘We came armed for bear.’ And they pulled up their capes.
‘The Gods’ golden shit!’ The exclamation was torn from Nait as if he'd been poleaxed. Under their capes each carried one of the Moranth munition boxes. The rest of Nait's squad flinched back a step.
‘Will you put those away!’ Nait yanked down their capes, glared out at the darkness as if expecting to be arrested. ‘How did you get them?’
Kibb tapped a finger to the side of his nose. ‘We marked the tent they was hiding all the confiscated munitions. An’ in the rain an’ the dark an’ all it was easy.’ He shrugged.
‘Well, you're not comin’ with us. It's too dangerous. You're going to stay here and wait until we come back and then you're going to return those like nothing's ever happened! OK?’
‘Bullshit!’
‘Bullshit? Don't shit me, soldier!’
‘Well, you're talkin’ it.’
Nait set his fists on his hips. Why, the little runts! It's just like he was back home dealin with his swarm of younger brothers. ‘OK, fine. You wanna come then you have to follow my orders and … Abyss, I don't even know all your names – what in Fanderay are your names anyway?’
‘Kibb.’ Yes, Kibb. What a dumb name. What's it supposed to mean?
‘Poot,’ said one. Poot? Aw, you poor skinny pox-faced kid! What were your parents thinking? Maybe I'll start calling you ‘Pimple’-that'd be an improvement.
‘Jawl.’ Jawl? What kind of a name is that for a girl?
Blushing furiously, the smallest just shook his head. ‘No name at all?’ He squirmed.
‘Stubbin.’
Stubbin? Stubbin! You poor kid. Your parents really did a number on you. Gods, he couldn't have come up with a worse selection than their parents had managed spontaneously. ‘Okay. Let's go.’
As far as Nait was concerned, he was the only person he knew entirely free of any self-delusions. He knew he wasn't brave or a particularly good fighter. He knew sure as Beru that he wasn't exactly an inspiring figure. He also knew that he wasn't leading his squad out on to a gruesome battlefield at night haunted by the worst curse ever to afflict Quon because he was some kind of glory-drunk fool. No, he was just gonna collect his man then get the Abyss off the field all real quiet and as fast as his little pitter-pattering feet could carry him.
The rain let up though it was still as dark as the inside of a cave and for that he was thankful. He misstepped a few times, slipped on things all slithery and occasionally stuck his hand into something wet and soft that sucked when he yanked it free but he didn't look, didn't want to know what that thing was. His squad was real quiet and for that he was thankful as well. No talkers. Some men or women get all talky when they're scared or nervous; that was something he couldn't abide.
The stink wasn't quite so bad yet – not so bad as you'd lose your meal. The flies, though, they were vile. Assaulting his nose, eyes and ears as if they preferred live meat over the endless banquet prepared for them. He had a fair idea where they'd found the Falaran commander and he led his squad as quickly as he could to that spot, without detour or bothering to keep to low-lying ground. Growling and snarling warned them off the skulking carrion-eaters and he figured they wouldn't attack – not when their stomachs were full and there was plenty left for everyone.
They found the man's big horse and him still beneath it – unmarred by the sharp beaks of any birds. But no sign of Brill. The image flashed into Nait's mind of the man asleep in the compound and he almost fainted in a gasping white fury. Then Martin hissed, pointed to his feet. There the man lay, blissfully asleep amidst all the gory horror. What could allow such a thing? A clean conscience? An utter lack of any imagination? It was one of the Queen's own mysteries to Nait. They kicked him awake and he sat up, yawning and rubbing his face.
He peered at them, completely unsurprised. ‘Yeah?’
Nait waved everyone down. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.
‘Waitin’ for you.’
‘Waitin’—’ Nait stopped himself from reaching out to throttle the ape. But he had to do something – he pulled off his helmet and hit him with it. ‘You damned fool! Don't you ever do anything like that again!’
‘But you ordered me to—’
‘I don't care what I said – you use your blasted empty head! Now, c'mon. Let's go.’ He started up but Stubbin waved everyone down. ‘What?’
Stubbin made a motion for quiet.
‘What is it?’ Nait whispered.
The boy waved furiously for silence.
Oh, right. He listened. He didn't hear a damned thing. That is, except for the wings of night feeders, the growls and snapping of fighting jackals and plains wolves, the moaning of one or two wounded still alive somewhere out there in the dark. ‘I don't hear—!’ A hand grasped him and another covered his mouth, stifling his yell of surprise. He was yanked around to face the sweaty, dark, scarred features of Master Sergeant Temp. He relaxed and was released. ‘It's you!’
‘Yeah. Damned unfortunate.’
‘They said you were blown up.’
‘That's the story. ‘Predate you keeping to it.’
‘Uh, OK. Why?’
‘Let's say I first left Imperial service under sharp circumstances.’
Nait's squad gathered around. ‘What's up? Kibb asked.
The man was a gruesome sight, hacked and slashed, the front of his layered iron hauberk and scale gauntlets dark with the remains of blood and gore. His shield was gone, but from his short time in the phalanx Nait knew it was common to go through two or three or four shields in any one engagement. ‘What're you doing out here?’
‘Same as you, I expect.’ He flicked the cloth tied around Nait's arm. ‘What's this?’
Nait thought maybe he blushed and was thankful for the dark. ‘Made sergeant.’
‘Handin’ them out to anyone these days.’
‘Listen – we're headin’ back. You coming or not?’
‘No, you're coming with me.’
‘Coming with you? What in Fanderay's ass for?’
‘There's Seti poking around out there and I want to know who and why.’
‘What? Who cares? Ryllandaras is out here. We gotta get back!’
The master sergeant dragged Nait up. ‘Ryllandaras ain't gonna bother with little ol’ us so don't bother with your cover story.’ He motioned to the squad. ‘Fall in, double-column.’
‘Cover story? What d'you mean cover story?’
‘I know why you came out here with your saboteur squad.’ He shook Nait by the arm. ‘Got yourself some munitions, don't cha? Gonna bag yourself the big one, ain't ya?’
‘What? No!’
‘The old fart's got a point,’ Kibb said aside.
The veteran waved a gauntleted hand. ‘It's all right. You'll get your chance for everlastin’ fame and glory. I just want a quick parley with these Seti here, then we'll hustle back to camp and I'll help you ambush Whitey.’
‘For the last time, I don't—’
‘Shhh.’
The master sergeant led them west past the killing fields out on to horse-trampled prairie. Farther west Nait could just make out a party of Seti horsemen, dismounted and gathered together. They seemed to be just waiting, watching the east, towards the Imperial encampment.
The master sergeant whispered into Nait's ear:
‘Call for the Boar.’ ‘What? Nait hissed. ‘No, you call!’
The veteran nudged him none too lightly. ‘G'wan.’
Eyes on the master sergeant, who winked his encouragement, Nait cleared his throat. The Seti all dropped from sight as if felled. ‘Ah – is the Boar there?’ he called in a strained whisper.
After a time the answer came in Talian: ‘Who is asking?’
‘Tell him,’ whispered the master sergeant, ‘his sword-brother.’
Nait cleared his throat once more. ‘Ah – his sword-brother.’
A man stood, short and very stocky, long arms akimbo. ‘Sword-brother? Stand up then, damn you!’
The master sergeant stood. ‘I know that voice!’ ‘And I know that silhouette.’
The two men started forward towards one another through the grass, slowly though, warily, until close they threw themselves into each other's arms, pounding each other on the back.
‘Am I seein’ things,’ Kibb asked. ‘Or are those two guys hugging?’
The Seti chief, or warleader, Nait wasn't sure what he was, gave instructions to his band. They mounted and rode off to the north-east without him. ‘Gonna ambush Whitey on his way back if they can,’ the master sergeant explained. The man then came east with them. Turns out he was some kind of Malazan veteran who'd served with the master sergeant. The two led the way back, talking in low gravelly tones.
‘I thought the Seti was all for the jackal,’ Jawl whispered to Nait.
‘Seems this Boar fella's against him.’ He studied the faces of his squad as they pushed their way through the cold wet grass. Here he was asking them to pick through the killing fields for the second time. If they hadn't yet had all their delusions about warfare squeezed from them by now, they would have before this night was done. Tranter and Martin humped their broad shields on their backs, their eyes scanning the dark, never resting in any one place. His infantry saboteurs, Kal, Trapper, Brill and the woman, May, walked more or less together while the Untan kids kept together. He was proud of them, the way they'd handled the horror of seein’ all this. But then, they'd been here when it was delivered. Gone was the fear – you can only sustain a terror-pitch for so long – but gone also were the grimaces of pale nausea and flinches of disgust. It looked to Nait as if walking through the field of the fallen was pushing them down into the worst mood for any soldier, flat sadness. He crossed to them.
‘Hey – when we get back maybe I'll see about getting you lot kitted out proper. How ‘bout that?’
Looking up, Poot brightened. ‘Really? Like with real armour ‘n’ such?’
‘Yeah, could be.’
Kibb and Jawl started taking about what kind of weapons and armour they'd want. Poot just smiled dreamily at the thought of it. But little Stubbin wouldn't be drawn in – nothing could pull his eyes from scanning the fields.
Ahead, the master sergeant and the Seti had stopped to let them catch up. Temp signed for everyone to stay low. ‘What is it?’ Nait asked. Both veterans signed angrily for silence. Kneeling, everyone listened. At first Nait couldn't hear anything unusual over the same noises of snarling of the sated jackals and the moans of wounded suffering out there among the many, and now tormented by thirst. Then came a distant roaring, as of countless throats shouting – a riot far away, or battle. And a louder echoing bellow and snarl. Everyone's eyes brightened in the dark. The master sergeant and the Seti leapt to their feet. ‘C'mon! Forward!’