He looked to the others, but not one of them had moved. They were a tattered-looking set, like a dark-skinned version of the weakest kind of Thralls. Hardly the ruthless bastards hed expected from the way that Ferro had always talked about the Gurkish. They huddled together, spears sticking out this way and that. A couple even had bows with arrows nocked, probably could have stuck him like a hedgehog, but they didnt. Still, charging right at them might well have been the very thing to wake them up. Logen had taken an arrow or two in his time and he didnt fancy another.
So instead of coming forward, he stood up tall, and he gave a roar. A fighting roar, like the one hed given when he charged down the hill at Carleon, all those years ago, when he still had all his fingers and all his hopes intact. He felt the Dogman come up beside him, and lift his sword, and give a scream of his own. Then Shivers was up with them, bellowing like a bull and smashing the head of his axe against his shield. Then Red Hat, with his bloody face, and Grim, and all the rest, yelling their war cries.
They stood in a long line, shaking their weapons, beating them crashing together, roaring and screaming and whooping at the tops of their voices, making a sound as if hell itself had opened up and a crowd of devils was singing welcome. The brown men watched them, staring and trembling, their mouths and their eyes wide open. Logen didnt reckon theyd ever seen anything like this before.
One of them dropped his spear. Didnt mean to, maybe, just so struck with the noise and the sight of all these crazy hairy bastards his fingers came open. It fell anyway, whether he meant it or not, and that was it, they all started dropping their gear. Fast as they could, it clattered down in the grass. Seemed stupid to keep shouting, and the war cries died out, left the two groups of men staring at each other in silence across that stretch of mud, planted with bent stakes and twisted corpses.
Strange kind o battle, that, muttered Shivers.
The Dogman leaned towards Logen. What do we do with em now weve got em?
We cant just sit hear minding em.
Uh, said Grim.
Logen chewed at his lip, spun his sword round and round in his hand, trying to think of some clever way to come at this. He couldnt see one. Might as well just let em go. He jerked his head away north. None of them moved, so he tried it again, and pointed with his sword. They cringed and muttered to each other when he lifted it, one of them falling over in the mud. Just piss off that way, he said, and weve got no argument. Just piss off that way! He stabbed with the sword again.
One of them got the idea now, took a cautious step away from the group. When no one struck him dead, he started running. Soon enough the others followed him. Dogman watched the last of them shamble off. Then he shrugged his shoulders. Good luck to em, then, I guess.
Aye, muttered Logen. Good luck. Then, so quiet that no one could hear, Still alive, still alive, still alive
Glokta limped through the reeking gloom, down a fetid walkway half a stride across, his tongue squirming into his empty gums with the effort of staying upright, wincing all the way as the pain in his leg grew worse and worse, doing his best not to breathe through his nose. I thought when I lay crippled in bed after I came back from Gurkhul I could sink no lower. When I presided over the brutality of a stinking prison in Angland I thought the same again. When I had a clerk slaughtered in an abattoir I imagined I had reached the bottom. How wrong I was.
Cosca and his mercenaries formed a single file with Glokta in their midst, their cursing, grumbling, slapping footfalls echoing up and down the vaulted tunnel, the light from their swinging lamps casting swaying shadows over the glistening stone. Rotten black water dripped from above, trickled down the mossy walls, gurgled in slimy gutters, rushed and churned down the reeking channel beside him. Ardee shuffled along behind with his instruments clasped under one arm. She had abandoned any attempt to hold up the hem of her dress and the fabric was well stained with black slurry. She looked up at him, damp hair hanging across her face, and made a weak effort at a smile. You certainly do take a girl to the very best places.
Oh, indeed. My knack for finding romantic settings no doubt explains my continuing popularity with the fairer sex. Glokta winced at a painful twinge. Despite being a crippled monstrosity. Which way are we heading, now?
Longfoot hobbled along in front, tethered by a rope to one of the mercenaries. North! Due north, give or take. We are just beside the Middleway.
Huh. Above us, not ten strides distant, are some of the most fashionable addresses in the city. The shimmering palaces and a river of shit, so much closer together than most would ever like to believe. Everything beautiful has a dark side, and some of us must dwell there, so that others can laugh in the light. His snort of laughter turned to a squeak of panic as his toeless foot slid on the sticky walkway. He flailed at the wall with his free hand, fumbled his cane and it clattered to the slimy stones. Ardee caught his elbow before he fell and pulled him upright. He could not stop a girlish whimper of pain hissing out from the gaps in his teeth.
Youre really not enjoying yourself, are you?
Ive had better days. He smacked the back of his head against the stone as Ardee leaned down to retrieve his cane. To be betrayed by both, he found himself muttering. That hurts. Even me. One I expected. One I could have taken. But both? Why?
Because youre a ruthless, plotting, bitter, twisted, self-pitying villain? Glokta stared at her, and she shrugged. You asked. They set off once again through the nauseating darkness.
The question was meant to be rhetorical.
Rhetoric? In a sewer?
Wait up, there! Cosca held up his hand and the grumbling procession shuffled to a halt again. A sound filtered down from above, softly at first, then louderthe rhythmic boom of tramping feet, seeming to come, disconcertingly, from everywhere at once. Cosca pressed himself to the sticky wall, stripes of daylight falling across his face from a grate above, the long feather on his cap drooping with slime. Voices settled through the murk. Kantic voices. Cosca grinned, and jabbed one finger up towards the roof. Our old friends the Gurkish. Those bastards dont give up, eh?
Theyve moved quickly, grunted Glokta as he tried to catch his breath.
No one much fighting in the streets any more, I imagine. All pulled back to the Agriont, or surrendered.
Surrendering to the Gurkish. Glokta winced as he stretched out his leg. Rarely a good idea, and not one a man I would ever consider twice. We must hurry, then. Move along there, Brother Longfoot!
The Navigator hobbled on. Not much further, now! I have not led you wrong, oh no, not I! That would not have been my way. We are close now, to the moat, very close. If there is a way inside the walls, I will find it, on that you may depend. I will have you inside the walls in a
Shut your mouth and get on with it, growled Glokta.
One of the workmen shook the last of the wood shavings from his barrel, another raked the heap of pale powder smooth, and they were done. The whole Square of Marshals, from the towering white walls of the Halls Martial on Ferros right to the gilded gates of the Lords Round on her left, was entirely covered in sawdust. It was as if snow had come suddenly, only here, and left a thin blanket across the smooth flags. Across the dark stone, and across the bright metal.
Good. Bayaz nodded with rare satisfaction. Very good!