‘Aranict, I assure you, after a day’s fast march as we’ve been experiencing since the landing, my socks could stun a horse. None of us are any different in such matters.’
‘Because you choose to march alongside your soldiers, Brys. When you could ride or even sit in one of the grand carriages, and no one would think ill of you-’
‘You would be wrong in that, Aranict. Oh, they might not seem any different, outwardly, saluting as smartly as ever and all the rest. Certain to follow every order I give, yes. But somewhere deep inside every one of them, there’s a stone of loyalty-when it comes to most of those giving them orders, that stone stays smooth and nothing sticks, it all washes off. And so it would be with me as well, were I to take any other path than the one they happen to be on. But, you see, there may come a time when I must demand of my soldiers something… impossible. If the stone was still smooth-if it did not have my name carved deep into it-I could lose them.’
‘Sir, they would never mutiny-’
‘Not as such. But in asking for the impossible, I would intend that they succeed in achieving it. The impossible is not the same as sending them to their deaths. That I would never do. But if I am to ask more of them than any commander has even the right to ask of his or her soldiers, then I must be with them, and be seen to be with them.
‘Tonight,’ he continued, ‘you must become my Atri-Ceda again for a time, and I your commander. When we speak with our soldiers. When we ask them how they fared on this day. When we endeavour to answer their questions and concerns, as best we can.’ He paused, his steps slowing. They were in a gap of relative darkness between two cookfires. ‘Especially on this night,’ he said, his tone low. ‘They are shaken-word’s come of the affliction striking the Malazan mages.’
‘Yes, Commander. I understand. In fact, High Mage Delat wondered, er, rather, he asked me. About you. Said that you may seem… different now… sir.’
‘And what will you tell him, when next you two meet?’
‘I-I am not sure, sir. I think so. Maybe…’
‘He is a clever man,’ Brys said. ‘This evening, Aranict, I felt as if… well, as if I had awakened, stepped out from a dark, cold place. A place I’d thought was the real world, the honest world-the coldness, I’d thought, was simply what I had never before noticed-before my death and resurrection, I mean. But I understand, now, that the cold and darkness were within me, death’s own touch upon my soul.’
She stared at him, adoring, eyes bright. ‘And it is gone now, sir?’
His returning smile was all the answer she needed.
‘Now, Atri-Ceda, let us speak with our soldiers.’
‘Carving the stone, sir.’
‘Just that.’
No need to worry about mine. I am yours. That stone, it’s all melted, reshaped-Errant save me, it’s got your face now. Oh, and about that biting-
As they stepped into the firelight, Brys chanced to glance across at his Atri-Ceda, and what he saw in her expression-quickly veiled but not quickly enough-almost took his breath away.
Lascivious hunger, a half-smile upon her lips, a fancy snared in the reflecting flames in her eyes. For an instant, he was at a loss for words, and could only smile his greeting as the soldiers turned and voiced their heartfelt welcome.
Aranict. I truly was half-dead inside, to have so thoroughly missed what is now so obvious. The question now is, what am I to do about it? About you?
That look, there was a darkness upon it-not cold as I found in myself-but hot as a burning ember. Is it any wonder I so often see you standing inside swirls of smoke?
Atri-Ceda, what am I to do?
But he knew he would have no answer to that question, not until he knew his own feelings. It all seemed so new, so peculiar, so unfamiliar. All at once-and he felt the shift with a grinding lurch-she was the one standing so self-possessed and content inside her own inner world’s visions-whatever they happened to be-while he stood awkwardly at her side, flustered, dumbstruck.
Ridiculous. Set it aside for later, Brys.
This soldiering business was getting easier, Sunrise decided. Plenty of marching, and marching fast at that, but the soles of his feet had toughened, he’d got his wind back, and even carrying his armour, shield and weapons wasn’t proving so hard any more. They’d even found time for some sword practice. Duck and stab, duck and stab-hold the shield up, soldier! Hold the line-no one breaks in the Bridgeburners. You stand and take the shock and then you step forward. Stand, take, step-it’s like felling a forest, soldiers, tree by tree. Duck and stab!
Couldn’t help but be a bit of a challenge, of course, living up to the legend that was the Bridgeburners, but then they had themselves a real one looking on, all sharp-eyed and stern, and that kept everyone trying and trying hard. High standards, aye, the highest.
The Bridgeburners had singlehandedly won the Blackdog Campaign. Sent the Crimson Guard and the Mott and Genabarii legions reeling in retreat. Kicked in the front gates of a dozen cities from Nathilog to One Eye Cat. And before that, they’d conquered all of Seven Cities. He’d never heard of any of these places but he liked the names. Seven Cities sounded simple and obvious. Place got seven cities? Call it Seven Cities. Straight thinking, that was. And all that Genabackan stuff, well, those names were amazing and exotic. Cities called Pale and Greydog, Tulips and Bulge. And then there were the wonderful beasts in those distant lands. Dragonflies big enough to ride-imagine whizzing through the clouds, looking down on everything! Seeing how beautiful it all was, and then dropping hundreds of bombs on it.
And the Bridgeburners had done all that and, more importantly, they weren’t done yet. More adventures were coming. Glories and heroic defences, monsters in the sky and flooded deserts and ghosts with sharp swords and warriors made of dust. Moranth and Barghast and Tiste Andii and Jaghut tyrants and all the rest.
Sunrise couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait to get to the legendary stuff. It’s what he was meant for, what his whole life was heading towards-as if he’d only been waiting for these foreign soldiers to arrive. To sweep him up and carry him along and now he was one of them. And he knew the others felt the same. We’re Bridgeburners now. They’ll look to us when things get desperate, too desperate for the others to handle. We’ll march forward, shields locked, faces cold and with hearts of iron. We’ll prove we’re worthy of the legend.
Wait and see, just wait and see.
Two women stood well away from the fires, waiting for a third.
There was nothing sure in this. In fact, Sinter reminded herself, it was almost guaranteeing trouble. There wasn’t much sisterhood among the Dal Honese. Scarce any brotherhood either, come to that. Tribes get left behind, and with them ties of the blood, feuds and all the rest. That was how it should be and mostly they held to it, since to do otherwise could rip a company apart. Squad’s the new kin, company’s the tribe, army’s the people-the kingdom, the damned empire. What are you, soldier?
Marine, Fourth Squad, Third Company, Bonehunters, sir.
Not Dal Honese?
No, sir.
Malazan?
No, sir. Bonehunters, sir.
Now, if only she believed all that-there, in that gnarled hard thing at the centre of her being. Step up, aye, and mark it out with all the right attitudes. Diligence, discipline, loyalty. Don’t blink at any damned order given, no matter how stupid or pointless. The tribe lived to keep itself alive, and keeping itself alive meant making sure everything was in order and working the way it should. Made sense to her. And it was worthy enough to believe in, especially when there was nothing else in sight looking any better.