* * *
‘What're they waiting for?’ Brill asked, an arm over his shovel, gazing off at the Guard lines to the south.
Nait didn't stop hacking furiously at the dry earth. ‘How in the Abyss should I know? Now stop your shirking and get to work!’ Grinning, Brill set once more to deepening their trench. Just hold up a while longer, Nait pleaded, an we'll have us a nice defensive perimeter. Just a mite longer … He swung a leg up and crouched in the grass, peering left and right. Not much movement. Pot-shots from the skirmishers, nothing serious. What's everyone waiting for? It's damned unnerving is what it was. No one eager to get killed, I guess. May had chosen a good hill – not high enough to attract unwanted attention, but not too shallow neither. Not close to the centre, but not too far to the side. Once he'd snuck his squad down Nait had set everyone to digging a long semicircle of trench – their hidey-hole when the mages and Veils came hunting. May and the regulars were setting up the stone arbalest. This engagement, instead of stones, it will be throwing something far more deadly at any Avowed or mage who's fool enough to reveal his or her position.
Speaking of mages, Heuk was with them. A number of saboteur squads had been assigned cadre mages, though what use the old soak was going to be was beyond Nait. He pulled at his iron and leather brigantine – liberated from the quarter-master wagons by his light-fingered recruits. They too now sported better armour, as well: padded and layered leathers set with rings and studs, iron helmets, greaves and boiled leather vambraces. Too much armour, in truth. But they were young; if they lived long enough they'd come to find the proper balance between protection and weight.
Mixed League and Malazan cavalry patrolled the outlying edges of the field – too few to do anything more. Most of the field commanders had dismounted to stand with their battalions. At centre front the Sword standard threatened advance but never quite committed; waiting word from Laseen. Nait wondered how long that would last. What was the woman waiting for? Why not unleash the skirmishers, sound the advance? Mid-afternoon now and still no one had exchanged blows in anger.
A brown grasshopper landed on Nait's mailed sleeve and he blew to send it flying. Get along, little fellow – things are about to get far too hot for the likes of you. Untan militia fire, he noted, was thickening to the west flank. Some Guard Blade or line had pushed forward or done something and the irregulars responded. Now, seeing their brothers and sisters firing, more and more of the crossbowmen and women were popping up to fire. The flights of bolts became a constant pattering, then a darkening rain, thickened to a punishing storm. This was how it would start: some inconsequential move would invite retaliation, would spur a countermove, would become an escalation in resources and before either side knew it they were committed. Being utterly without personal delusions Nait knew he was a neophyte, but such a scenario of chaos, of blind forces groping at one another in the dark and reacting without thought, made sense when compared to what he'd seen so far. And it would be dark soon enough – shit! As if things couldn't get any worse! The dark! There's no way they'd be off this field before night.
Nait cast about for the cadre mage. ‘Heuk! Get up here!’ The old man appeared, greasy-haired, squinting. ‘What good you gonna do us anyway?’
Heuk shaded his eyes from the afternoon sun. ‘You pray you don't need me—’
‘Yeah, yeah. That's all we ever hear from you. Well, you know what I say? I say bullshit! We're gonna need everyone!’
The mage scanned the field from under his palm, bobbed his sour agreement. ‘I think you're right.’
‘So?’
‘So …’ he ducked back down into the thin trench, ‘wait for night.’
Nait restrained himself from tossing a shovelful of dirt on to the man. He kept one eye on the gathering firefight. From the unit absorbing the storm of bolts on the flank came twin arcs of flame that shot skyward then came crashing down, bursting into billowing orange-red infernos. In their wake arose swaths of flames as the sun-browned grasses took up the fires like the rarest of tinder. Skirmishers ran like ants from a kicked nest.
Nait squeezed himself down into the shoulder-width trench. Lady save them, it's started. And things were not looking good. ‘Water!’ he bellowed. ‘Douse yourselves!’ He fought with shaking hands to unstop a bulging skin.
The popping of distant sharpers sounded: his cohorts punishing whichever mage that was – as if he or she was still there! Yet the pattern was now set. Mages would reveal themselves to smash any point of strength and the saboteurs would seek to stalk and hammer them. The hammering part Nait loved … but he wasn't too keen on that stalking part. Gonna get hammered ourselves draggin’ our asses across this field. No – won't do. ‘Heuk!’
Jawl showed up, crouched above Nait, her long hauberk touching the ground down past her knees. ‘Do we have to keep diggin’? We've been diggin’ all the damned day. I mean, the fighting's startin’.’
‘Will you get down! Fire's comin’!’
‘Naw – it was snuffed out.’
Nait straightened. ‘What do you mean, “snuffed out”?’ He squinted out over the field. Plenty of smoke hanging in the still air but very little fire. Heuk had dragged himself over, hugging his tall brown earthenware jug. ‘What happened to the fire?’ Nait asked.
‘Put out by one of ours.’
‘We got one c'n do that?’
A shrug. ‘Sure. Sere Warren. Maybe Bala.’
‘Bala? Who's that?’
A rotten-toothed grin: Oh you'll know her when you see her.’
Jawl was still squatting next to the trench. Nait gave her a glare. ‘What in the name of Rotting Poliel are you doin’ there? Get to work! Keep diggin’ – it's what saboteurs do.’ The youth pulled a long face, sulked away. Nait studied Heuk. ‘Listen, I don't want to be run all over Hood's playground out there …’
‘Sound policy.’
‘But we need a way to spot the targets ‘n’ such. Can't you do anything to help us out?’
The mage lowered his greasy seamed face to the open top of his jug as if studying its depths. He looked up, winking. ‘I think I can maybe do that.’
Nait's brows rose. Damn – we're gonna actually see some action out of this broken-down old fart? ‘So? Do it.’
‘Wait for night.’ And he ducked down.
Smartarse. Nait studied the lines. The Sword standard kept edging forward yet not quite committing. The Guard lines remained immobile. Why'd they put their backs to a cliff? True, they gotta hold the road to the bridge, but still … Neither side wants to get bloodied. We know there's Avowed waiting for us; and they're outnumbered more than four to one.