The surrounding treetops now stirred and groaned in a rising wind and Saeng knew that what was on its way was far more than a strong wind. She took hold of the man’s tattered shirt front. ‘What does this mean? Platitudes? I asked you to help me, damn you!’
‘Saeng?’ Hanu asked again. ‘What is going on?’
The man’s gaze was fixed far beyond her. ‘Yea,’ he murmured, ‘those who reach for fire shall be destroyed by fire. For she is the Destroyer and the Creator and in her dance are we revealed.’
‘What? Babbling …’ Saeng’s attention shifted to the west where a moaning now climbed to a roar as of continuous thunder. Around her parents held children, faces pressed to faces; loved ones hugged, crying and rocking. Then a wall of churning and billowing darkness hammered through the jungle verge, obliterating it, and Saeng screamed.
* * *
Mara fell into thin ochre-red muddy soil and rotting leaf matter. Convulsing, she dry-heaved, her body attempting to rid itself of any possible ingested toxins, yet her stomach was empty and so only sticky acid bile burned on her tongue. She spat and gagged.
Birdsong assaulted her ears, along with the whirring and buzzing of countless insects, including the startlingly loud cicadas, which she found particularly maddening. Lurching to her feet she staggered, hands mimicking strangulation. ‘Where is he!’ she slurred and spat, wiping her mouth. ‘I’ll fucking kill him.’ In the distance, through the fronds and tree trunks, she glimpsed Thaumaturg soldiery marching single file. Labourers passed, bent almost horizontal beneath the tump-lines of enormous loads.
‘He’s run off,’ Petal groaned from nearby.
She searched for and found the man lying like a beached whale. For a moment she entertained the idea of attempting to help him up, reconsidered. There was no way she could budge that great bulk.
Skinner arrived then, and clasping the man by the robes at his shoulder, hauled him to his feet. ‘We are returned,’ Petal announced, peering about.
‘Indeed,’ Mara murmured, but only half scathingly. She’d learned more of the man during this mission than she’d ever known before — or in truth had bothered to know before. While he might be awkward, plodding and pedantic in his mannerisms, he was also no fool. She might have been wrong to be so dismissive of him all these years. He was loyal, and conveniently apolitical. Perhaps she should dedicate some time to finding the lever that would bind him to her. If she could then cajole Red to her side … then … then she would have real clout and could consider intervening in command decisions. If necessary. For Skinner’s own good, of course.
A Thaumaturg officer approached, pushing aside the ferns and hanging vines. He saluted Skinner. ‘Master Golan has a standing order that you report at once, sir.’
Skinner did not answer the salute. ‘Fine,’ he growled. The officer inclined his head and marched stiffly away. Skinner indicated the column. ‘They are making even less time than I’d imagined.’
‘None will see daylight again,’ Petal affirmed.
‘Well then,’ Mara said, and she invited Skinner onward. ‘Things are proceeding nicely.’
Master Golan’s covered palanquin was now no more than a sagging chair on poles. He sat in it glowering down at them and slapping a horsehair switch about his head and shoulders to ward off the hanging clouds of insects. ‘And where have you been?’ he demanded. ‘Perhaps it is an amusing idiosyncrasy of mine, but I prefer my allies to be present at my battles.’
Skinner gave a vague gesture. ‘We were pursuing leads. There have been many attacks, then?’
The Thaumaturg’s wide frog mouth clamped shut and he frowned, seemingly uncomfortable.
A scrawny clerk nearby cleared his throat. ‘Attacks from the Witch-Queen’s creatures have in fact fallen off sharply.’
Master Golan glared at the man.
Skinner gave a slow nod of agreement. ‘Excellent. Our approach is working, then. Anything else?’
‘No,’ the Thaumaturg allowed, almost choking on the word. ‘That is all. You will notify me when you next plan on wandering off pursuing these, ah, leads. Yes?’
Skinner half bowed. ‘Yes.’
‘Very good.’ Master Golan waved the switch. ‘You may go.’
Walking away, Skinner ordered Mara, ‘Find me Jacinth and Shijel.’
They met together in conclave around a fire that, like all those kindled here in Himatan, generated far more smoke than any appreciable heat or flame. Skinner stood, helm under an arm, his thick dirty-blond hair flattened with sweat. He was growing a full ruddy-blond beard as well. No scabbard hung from his weapon belt; he’d thrown it away as useless. While everyone else’s armour and fittings betrayed the green, black and ochre-rust of corrosion from the constant damp, the glittering black mail that swept down to his ankles revealed no such deterioration. It occurred to Mara that perhaps it was enamelled, or consisted of some sort of non-metal layering. A hardened resin, perhaps.
Shijel had discarded any pretence to armour and wore now only a hauberk of banded layers of leather, and a scarlet silk sash over wide black trousers pulled tight at the ankles by tall sandals. His twinned Untan duelling swords were thrust through the sash. The man had always dressed his black hair straight and long. But now because of the lack of water for washing and the crabs and lice that infested everyone, he had hacked it all off and now stood with a stubbled scalp, scraped raw and clotted by dried scabs of blood. His lean wolfish features held a barely suppressed impatience.
Red, the company’s third surviving mage, stood wrapped in his tattered old camp blanket. The grey stubble of a beard, as no one was shaving any more, lined his sunken aged cheeks. The patches of iron-grey hair on his mostly bald pate stood unkempt in all directions. His rheumy eyes, however, still held their usual humour. As if this were all one big joke — on them. Petal stood next to him, appearing even greater in bulk for it. He nibbled on a yellow star-shaped fruit taken from the jungle.
Jacinth came to stand next to Mara and she nodded her greeting. The lieutenant’s thick auburn hair was piled up high off her neck and held there by long metal pins. Her armour of leather scales, enamelled bright crimson and engraved in intaglio swirls, appeared no worse for wear. She must oil the damned suit every night. So far Mara had always got along with her, or at least Jacinth was no more dismissive and scornful of her than of anyone else. Everyone knew there was only one reason why she stood now with Skinner — because Shimmer had not.
‘Casualties?’ Skinner asked her.
She frowned a negative, to which Skinner grunted his acceptance. This was as much cooperation as the swordswoman ever allowed; she’d probably tell the god of death to piss off.
‘We’re wasting our time here,’ Shijel growled.
Skinner scratched his chin beneath his beard. His gaze remained on the smouldering fire, thoughtful.
Petal cleared his throat, cautiously. ‘I am of a mind with our weaponmaster,’ he put in.
Shijel appeared quite surprised. ‘You are?’
‘How so?’ Skinner asked, not looking up.
All other eyes turned to the big man and his cheeks flushed. He picked at the fruit. ‘Well, clearly Ardata’s attention is not here — yes?’
Jacinth rolled her eyes to the branches of the jungle canopy arching above. Mara took it upon herself to prompt, ‘Yes?’
‘Just so.’ Petal nodded, his fat neck wobbling. ‘So. The question implied by this is — just what is commanding her attention?’
Skinner’s gaze rose, slit now almost closed. ‘I see your point, Petal.’
The fat man was nodding even more vigorously, his chin doubling and tripling. ‘Yes. We were perhaps wrong to so casually allow a certain thing to wander willy-nilly through the jungle. What if it should fall into her hands? Would this not complicate things?’
Mara started, surprised. Ye gods! Why didn’t I think of that?