'So I gather,' Duiker said. They'd been sitting in the small rowboat for over an hour, during which time Stormy and Truth had managed to pull them a little over a hundred and fifty paces upriver through the thick sludge of drowned butterflies. The north bank had quickly risen to a steep cliff, festooned with creepers, vines covering its pitted face. They were approaching a sharp bend in the gorge created by a recent collapse on that side.
Stormy had spun his tale, allowing for his poor narrative skills, and it was his painfully obvious lack of imagination that lent it the greatest credence. Duiker was left with the bleak task of attempting to comprehend the significance of the events these soldiers had witnessed. That the warren of fire they had survived had changed the three men was obvious, and went beyond the strange hue of their skin. Stormy and Truth were tireless at the oars, and pulled with a strength to match twice their number. Duiker both longed to board the Silanda and dreaded it. Even without Nether's mage-heightened sensitivity, the aura of horror emanating from that craft preyed on the historian's senses.
'Will you look at that, sir,' Gesler said.
They had edged into the river's awkward crook. The collapsed cliffside had narrowed the channel, creating a churning, white-frothed torrent through the gap. A dozen taut ropes spanned the banks at a height of over ten arm-spans. A dozen Ubari archers in harnesses were making their way across the gulf.
'Easy pickings,' Gesler said from the tiller, 'and Stormy's the man for the task. Can you hold us in place, Truth?'
'I can try,' the young man said.
'Wait,' Duiker said. 'This is one hornet's nest we're better off not stirring up, Corporal. Our advance force is seriously outnumbered. Besides, look to the other side — at least a hundred soldiers have already gone over.' He fell silent, thinking.
'If they was chopping down trees, it wasn't to build a bridge,' the corporal muttered, squinting at the north cliff edge, where figures appeared every now and then. 'Someone in charge's just come for a look at us, sir.'
Duiker's gaze narrowed on the figure. 'Likely the mage. Well, if we won't bite, hopefully neither will he.'
'Makes a nice target, though,' Gesler mused.
The historian shook his head. 'Let's head back, Corporal.'
'Aye, sir. Ease up there, lads.'
The mass of Korbolo Dom's forces had arrived, taking position to either side of the ford. The sparse forest was fast disappearing as every tree in sight was felled, the branches stripped and the trunks carried deeper into the encampment. A no-man's zone of less than seventy paces separated the two forces. The trader track had been left open.
Duiker found Nether seated cross-legged beneath the awning, her eyes closed. The historian waited, suspecting that she was in sorcerous communication with Sormo. After a few minutes she sighed. 'What news?' she asked, eyes still shut.
'They've strung lines across the gorge and are sending archers to the other side. What is happening, Nether? Why hasn't Korbolo Dom attacked? He could crush us and not break into a sweat.'
'Coltaine is less than two hours away. It seems the enemy commander would wait.'
'He should have heeded the lesson of Kamist Reloe's arrogance.'
'A new Fist and a renegade Fist — does it surprise you that Korbolo Dom would choose to make this contest personal?'
'No, but it certainly justifies Empress Laseen's dismissal of Dom.'
'Fist Coltaine was chosen over him. Indeed, the Empress had made it clear that Korbolo would never advance further in the Imperial Command. The renegade feels he has something to prove. With Kamist Reloe, we faced battles of brute strength. But now,' we shall see battles of wits.'
'If Coltaine comes to us, he will be stepping into the jaws of a dragon, and that's hardly disguised.'
'He comes.'
'Then perhaps arrogance has cursed both commands.'
Nether opened her eyes. 'Where is the corporal?'
Duiker shrugged. 'Somewhere. Not far.'
'The Silanda shall take as many wounded soldiers as it can carry — those who will eventually mend, that is. To Aren. Coltaine enquires if you wish to accompany them, Historian.'
Not arrogance at all, then, but fatal acceptance. He knew he should have hesitated, given the suggestion sober thought, but heard his own voice reply, 'No.'
She nodded. 'He knew you would answer thus, and say it quickly as well.' Frowning, she searched Duiker's face. 'How does Coltaine know such things?'
Duiker was startled. 'You are asking me? Hood's breath, lass, the man's a Wickan!'
'And no less a cipher to us, Historian. The clans do as he commands and say nothing. It is not shared certainty or mutual understanding that breeds our silence. It is awe.'
Duiker could say nothing to that. He found himself turning away, eyes caught and gathered into the sky's sweeping blurs of pale yellow. They migrate. Creatures of instinct. A mindless plunge into fatal currents. A beautiful, horrifying dance to Hood, every step mapped out. Every step. .
The Fist arrived in darkness, the warriors of the Crow slipping forward to establish a corridor down which the vanguard rode, followed by the wagons burdened with those wounded that had been selected for the Silanda.
Coltaine, his face gaunt and lined with exhaustion, strode down to where Duiker, Nether and Gesler waited near the awning. Behind the Fist came Bult, captains Lull and Sulmar, Corporal List and the warlocks Sormo and Nil.
Lull strode up to Gesler.
The marine corporal scowled. 'You ain't as pretty as I remembered, sir.'
'I know you by reputation, Gesler. Once a captain, then a sergeant, now a corporal. You've got your boots to the sky on the ladder-'
'And head in the horseshit, aye, sir.'
'Two left in your squad?'
'Well, one officially, sir. The lad's sort of a recruit, though not properly inducted, like. So, just me and Stormy, sir.'
'Stormy? Not Cartheron Fist's Adjutant Stormy-'
'Once upon a time.'
'Hood's breath!' Lull swung to Coltaine. 'Fist, we've got two of the Emperor's Old Guard here … as Coastal Marines.'
'It was a quiet posting, sir, until the uprising, anyway.'
Lull loosed his helm strap, pulled the helm from his head and ran a hand through sparse, sweat-plastered hair. He faced Gesler again. 'Call your lad forward, Corporal.'
Gesler beckoned and Truth stepped into view.
Lull scowled. 'You're now officially in the Marines, lad.'
Truth saluted, thumb pulled in and pinning the little finger.
Bult snorted. Captain Lull's scowl deepened. 'Where — oh, don't bother.' He addressed Gesler again. 'As for you and Stormy-'
'If you promote us, sir, I will punch you in what's left of your face. And Stormy will likely kick you while you're down. Sir.' Gesler then smiled.
Bult pushed past Lull and stood face to face with the corporal, their noses almost touching. 'And, Corporal,' the commander hissed, 'would you punch me as well?'
Gesler's smile did not waver. 'Yes, sir. And Hood take me, I'll give the Fist's crack-thong a yank too, if you ask sweetly.'
There was a moment of dead silence.
Coltaine burst out laughing. The shock of it brought Duiker and the others around to stare at the Wickan.
Muttering his disbelief, Bult stepped back from Gesler, met the historian's eyes and simply shook his head.
Coltaine's laughter set the dogs to wild howling, the animals suddenly close and swarming about like pallid ghosts.
Animated for the first time and still laughing, Coltaine spun to the corporal. 'And what would Cartheron Crust have said to that, soldier?'
'He'd have punched me in the-'
Gesler got no further as Coltaine's fist lashed out and caught the corporal flush on the nose. The marine's head snapped back, his feet leaving the ground. He fell on his back with a heavy thud. Coltaine wheeled around, clutching his hand as if he'd just connected with a stone wall.