Return of the Crimson Guard

CHAPTER IV

Possum maintained his veils of distraction and deflection summoned from Mockra, though that Warren was not his strength. He walked its twisted paths only in as much as they intersected and complemented the penchant in Meanas for trickery, illusion and misperception.

He remained hidden because his instincts told him it was not over. No, not yet. Though soldiers laughed and celebrated in nearby hastily dug trenches here in the centre of the field of battle; though Laseen now walked in the open, apparently completely unguarded. The soldiers paid her hardly any attention at all. They obviously thought her just another cadre mage, or Claw. She'd even approached a common Malazan sergeant for a cloth and been given a dirty rag with which she then wiped her sweaty face and blood-caked hands. For his part, Possum was troubled. What was she up to?

She walked the blasted and burnt field, untying her wrappings as she went, throwing its tattered remains aside. Beneath, she wore a silk short-sleeved shirt soaked to a dark green by sweat. Her muscular arms revealed the bruising and cuts of her night's hunt — having slain, what, five, six Avowed? The wraps at her legs came next, kicked off from silk trousers, tight at the ankle, likewise sweat-soaked. Her short brown hair glistened, pressed flat like an animal's pelt.

She came to the edge of the crater blasted from the plain and there she stopped. Smoke still threaded from the blackened bare dirt after its astounding explosion. She raised her face to peer up for a time into the clear, so deceptively peaceful, pale-blue sky and suddenly Possum understood. Ah, yes. The last. With Tayschrenn now gone. Choss dead, Toc reported dead, Amaron missing, and Urko reported fled before he could be arrested, or, perhaps, pardoned. Leaving Surly/Laseen. The last survivor; single remaining representative of that generation that had built so grandly. And victor. Now un-contested ruler. Empress.

Was she providing the final irresistible bait to end everything now for ever and for good… herself? Possum now knew he was not alone in his watching. She had told him who also watched. Another, even more carefully hidden presence waited. And had been waiting for some time now. He was poised for the appearance of one man and one only — such was the price of Laseen. The question was, would that man bite?

Of course he would.

Possum eased his blades in their wrist-sheaths. Now. It must be now. This would be his last opportunity before the army clasped Laseen to its bloody, battered but victorious breast.

And the man did bite. But not as Possum had assumed.

A sharp blow to his back was Possum's last sensation. He was flung forward stunned by the power and sudden violence of that strike. Vital seconds passed before his eyes fluttered open once more to view through kicked-up dust two figures enmeshed in a dance of exquisite choreography.

It was the one they wanted; the only one who remained a true threat and whom they would always be watching their backs for. Master assassin and High Mage of the Crimson Guard. Dancer's rival all those years ago — Cowl.

He was astonishing to watch. Blades bared, darting, feinting, and Laseen blocking with kicks that lashed out to punish chest and head. A gesture from Cowl and Warren magics wavered the air like heat ripples only to dissipate to nothing upon Laseen. Of course, the lingering Otataral dust. That useless effort from Cowl drew him a blow to his head that sent him spinning from his feet. Yet he was up again, unfazed, and closed, leaping. A blurred series of slashes from him, spinning, knives reversed; Laseen slipping each, hands jabbing, and the edge of a foot slamming Cowl back. But her shirt and trousers now hung slashed — blood bloomed upon her front, dripped from her hands.

Possum decided that perhaps he'd watched for long enough. He stood, shook himself. He had been delivered a terrible blow. Mortal had it struck true — deadly still should it not be treated, but he had the minutes he needed. For it had always been his habit when wreathed in Mockra to appear a good hand's width taller than his true height. He drew his wrist-knives and joined the fight.

A flash of surprise from Cowl's slitted dark eyes was Possum's reward as he closed, lead foot sliding up. Cowl stepped edgeways, a blade directed to each of them. But neither Possum nor Laseen pressed their advantage; each crouched, content to guard themselves. The master assassin's head tilted just a fraction as he considered this. Then his eyes widened.

He threw himself sideways but not quickly enough as a new figure appeared, leaping from a Warren to lash out, kicking him in his side, sending him tumbling down into the blast crater. This new figure launched himself after, scarecrow thin, tattered clothes flapping, his long white hair a dirty tangle. He leapt upon Cowl and the two slashed at each other, dirt and dust billowing in a blur of shifting feet, rolls, sweeps, grips attempted and broken, and throws.

A kick from Cowl sent the other flying backwards, but in the air an arm snapped forward and a thin blade slammed into the Guard assassin. He gestured, disappeared into a Warren and the other, landing cat-like on his feet, white hair flying, waved to disappear as well.

And so they are off chasing each other across Realms and Warrens. Cowl and Topper, hated enemies and rivals from their first meeting. Will Topper finally succeed where Dancer failed and ascend to the peak of his calling? Will it always be Dancer and Cowl — never him? Will we ever see either of them again? Myself, I hope not! Possum fell to his knees and a hand, his chest cramped. Gods! He couldn't breathe! Punctured a lung, he was sure of it.

‘Bring a healer,’ Laseen called to the soldiers who'd run up. She actually sounded winded — a first. Possum smiled, meaning to make a joke of that, but he saw behind Laseen's dirty blood-smeared feet two others: two small girl's feet snug in fine leather slippers.

Oh no! No! Others can wait just as patiently!

He straightened though his chest flamed and his vision blurred. Laseen was staring ahead, a puzzled look in eyes that had otherwise always guarded all expression, all hints. The girl-woman who'd bested Possum twice before backed away, long stilettos bloodied, a wicked sharp-toothed smile, eyes bright with savage glee.

‘Done!’ she gloated, then jumped, blades flashing to parry thrown heavy knives that hissed past Possum. Warren magics blew her backwards in waves of power and she writhed, snarling and flailing amid the blackened dirt of the crater. A Warren opened and she fell within, her form melting, transforming into some thing else.

Soldiers and mages ran up. Possum knelt before Laseen, who had eased forward on to her knees. ‘Laseen,’ he breathed, hardly able to form words. ‘Laseen…’

Her eyes held no recognition, no awareness. The face softened. The hard, so long held lines of watchfulness and calculation melted away to reveal a seemingly younger woman — one whom Possum would call far from plain. She fell forward to the burnt, trampled ground. Mages pushed Possum aside, knelt, turned her over. Hands eased him down as well.

I failed. One job to do — just the one. And I failed. What am I to do? What could there possibly be for me now? He felt Denul healing magics stealing upon him, dulling his pain and his senses.

Do not, dear healers, bother to wake me.

Shimmer watched the ranks upon ranks of Kanese cavalry as they came swelling up out of the south to encircle their position and unease tightened its grip on her chest. Not far behind marched their thousands of infantry. Simple precautions? Once the mar had been sealed the last Malazan officer remaining, Urko, had tilted his head to K'azz in ironic salute and walked off down the hillside all alone — to the west. Another disappearance now that Laseen had overcome all? Very possibly. She glanced to K'azz. ‘Shall we too strike out, head west?’

He shook his head, hands clasped at his back. ‘No. Not yet. No orders seem to have been given yet regarding us. So long as we do not move, they won't.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Sometimes acting in fear of a course of action brings that very course about. Since they are the sea right now — we shall be the mountain.’

Pure K'azz. But she still could not get used to hearing his voice, his words, coming from the mouth of what appeared no more than an elder with thinning hair, grey stubble at his thin cheeks.

A Brethren wavered into presence before Shimmer and she was still unnerved and saddened to see that it was Smoky. He inclined his head to her and K'azz. ‘She's dead,’ he announced.

‘Who?’

‘Laseen.’

Both she and K'azz gave a shocked ‘What?’

‘Assassinated.’

‘Cowl!’ K'azz snarled. ‘We'll have to flee.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘He failed. Topper ambushed him from the Imperial Warren. Intervened. The two are off. Probably still duelling. Gods know where.’

‘Who then?’ Shimmer asked.

‘An unknown talent. New. But inhuman.’

‘Inhuman?’

‘Of mixed blood descent would be my guess. Human and demon.’

‘From where?’

‘Don't know. Not from Quon Tali. Someone must have brought her in.’

K'azz raised a hand. ‘Thank you, Smoky. And… I am sorry.’

An insubstantial shrug. ‘Had to happen eventually. At least it was quick.’ He faded away.

K'azz squeezed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, sighing. ‘Good thing it was an outsider. Things could've gone very badly for us otherwise. As it is, they may still want blood.’

‘And Tayschrenn is gone.’

‘Yes.’ He shook his head in genuine regret. ‘His presence kept so many in line. Now, I truly fear what may be unleashed. Still…’ and he gave her a speculative look, ‘I would not count that man gone yet.’

While they watched, yet more cavalry came riding on to the field, this time from the east, up the trader road from Cawn: the provincial Cawnese cavalry. These forces too ranged themselves facing the Guard from the north and east. So many.

‘And where were these armies just two days ago?’ she murmured, unintentionally giving voice to her thoughts.

‘Elsewhere, thankfully,’ K'azz grinned, but then he nodded his understanding. ‘We are being granted a rare sight, Shimmer. The gathering might of a far-flung Empire in truth. Seems in our absence the Malazans have pulled together a true political and logistical whole…’ He paused, the crow's-feet at his eyes deepening as he squinted, his mouth drawing down. ‘We are the invaders now, Shimmer. Quon does not want us.’

And Shimmer exhaled. Some long-held breath clenched deep within her stomach relaxed after so long. Thank all the Gods he sees this. There is hope for us yet.

She glanced around the retreat: yes, all that were left now were Guardsmen and the Untan noble who accompanied the Wickans. The Bael recruits came walking up, Stalker, Badlands and Coots. They joined Kyle. From what K'azz had told her of them she hoped they would ease themselves back into the Guard, but something told her this would probably not happen. The scout, Stalker, raised his chin to the field. ‘Damn lot of them. We heard the news. Any idea who's in charge down there now — if anyone?’

‘It had better not end up the Sword,’ a voice said from nearby. Shimmer turned. It was the Untan nobleman. Rillish?

‘Why?’ K'azz asked.

The man drew a long breath as if searching for where to start. ‘The Wickans told me of his actions up north in Seven Cities. The man's bloodthirsty. Has no mercy. He'll order you all wiped out — the Wickans as well, probably. He has a hatred of them.’

K'azz appeared doubtful. ‘Surely enough blood's been spilled…’

Shimmer recounted her meeting with the man — only one day ago? Seemed like years, another world. Yes, the Untan's evaluation struck her as true. A man to whom lives meant nothing. ‘I met the man with Skinner,’ she said. ‘At the parley. From what I saw of him I agree with Rillish.’

‘I see.’ K'azz pursed his thin lips. ‘Of course from a military point of view I can understand it… I had just hoped we'd moved on to a political solution. But, if not…’ He motioned to her. ‘Have the Brethren summon all mages.’

She nodded.

A Wickan elder came walking up, his thick, greying, unkempt hair blowing in the wind, a hand on his long-knife pommel, his walk bow-legged. He raised a clawed hand to Rillish. ‘You're wanted on the field.’

The Untan noble bowed to K'azz. ‘Until later, Commander.’

K'azz gave a brief tilt of his head in assent. ‘Yes, I hope to hear later on how you came to join the Wickan command — I'm sure it must be quite a story.’

The man's smile was solemn. ‘Yours, I think, would interest most here far more. May Burn guard your way.’

Shimmer watched him jog down the hillside. Only the Guard now remained on the hilltop retreat. ‘What do you have in mind?’ she asked.

A mischievous half-smile pulled at his lips. ‘I think we should have a look at the Imperial Warren.’

Ho remained while Imperial regulars, Malazan, Falaran and Moranth, saw to the treatment of Laseen's corpse. They formed an unofficial guard, held back the gathering crowd, wrapped the body in clean cloth, then appropriated a supply wagon brought down to collect wounded, and carefully placed the body on its empty bed. The woman he'd found on the field, Tayschrenn's bodyguard, they sat up front. She'd given her name as Kiska and seemed shattered — not by her wounds, but by the trauma of having lost Tayschrenn. The other remaining Claw operative, once his wounds had been stabilized, had got up and simply wandered off to become lost among those many milling about the battlefield.

Of the other mages who had come together to attempt to counter Yath, all save one had gone their separate ways. The surviving Crimson Guardsmen, Blues, Treat, Sept, Gwynn and Fingers, had discreetly slipped away to join their brothers and sisters on their hilltop position. Blues and Gwynn had carried Fingers on a stretcher as just another of the wounded, and, Hood knew, there were more than enough of those. The Wickan twins, witch and warlock, had ridden off with a troop of horsemen who'd come leading extra mounts for them. They'd left with Su, who, from what he'd overheard, was in truth the elder cousin of the twin's grandmother, and very possibly the eldest Wickan alive today.

‘It's not over,’ Su had called to him from where she sat gently cradled by a rider astride a mount, enigmatic and true to form. He'd just waved goodbye.

The saboteurs, including sergeants Jumpy and Urfa, seemed content to sit sprawled in the shade of their trenches, helmets and armour shed, re-dressing wounds and cadging water and food from the many Kanese and Cawn cavalry wandering the battlefield, collecting wounded and souvenirs.

This left him and the priest-mage, Heuk. The impromptu honour guard forming up surrounding the wagon had set out north. Ho invited Heuk to join the wake. ‘I'm curious to have a look at this Mallick creature the Cawn officers are so puffed up about.’

Heuk walked with him. He gestured to the wagon. ‘I still can't believe it.’ He wiped a dirty sleeve across his equally dirty face, winced at the glaring sun.

‘Neither can I. It seems impossible.’

Ho saw his feelings echoed in the stunned, numb faces of the regular soldiers all assembling without fanfare, without orders, all gathering together to follow the wagon as it made its slow way north to the trader road. Only now, it seemed to Ho, were they becoming aware of what they had had in their Empress. Unflinching. A presence so solid they need not even have considered it. For all her faults it may be that it was she who held them all together. Now, with her gone, the break with the past was complete. Who was left to take the throne? Who could possibly fill that cold, hard, perilous seat — or would possibly dare? No one that he could think of. But then, he'd been away for a very long time, and even a day can be a lifetime in Imperial politics.

Heuk had been eyeing him edgewise, an unwelcome calculating look in his eyes. ‘The Empire has a need of a High Mage…’

‘I'd rather have my skin flayed from my body. What about you?’

‘Me? I'm just a squad mage.’

Certainly. A squad mage who terrifies all other mages. But he let it lie — they each had their secrets and preferred anonymity.

The cortege eventually reached the encampment of the Cawn command near the crossroads. Here it stopped and the Cawnese provincial nobles gathered to pay their respects. Also present were many assembled Imperial officers. Beneath his breath Heuk pointed out each to Ho: ‘The tall pale one is High Fist Anand. Next to him is Fist D'Ebbin. Don't know the names of the Kanese and Cawn officers and mages here.’ A palanquin pushed its way among the gathered officers, a bald, armoured, giant Dal Hon at its head. Ho exchanged knowing glances with Heuk. Bala. Quick to sidle up, she was.

Searching among everyone Ho saw no one dominating figure. Rather, it was the way they all stood in an uneasy semicircle slightly apart from one particular figure that directed his gaze to the man: the seemingly harmless short, rotund, figure who must be this Mallick Rel. The man's pale moon face held an expression of deep remorse and sadness, but beneath this Ho read rigidly contained triumph.

‘A poignant day for the Empire’, Mallick said softly to High Fist Anand next to him. Though in pain from his wounds, Anand looked down at the man with obvious disgust. ‘A day to be remembered.’ He clasped his hands across his stomach. ‘Yes. And for more than this one compelling reason. For while we mourn the loss of our Empress we must also rejoice in the surmounting of this misguided secessionist movement. And for the crushing of our old enemies, the mercenary Crimson Guard.’ The man glanced to the ground as if in humility. ‘Such is Laseen's legacy of peace and security to us.’

Gods, he really slathers it on. Ho looked to Heuk, who rolled his eyes to the sky. Yet what can one do hut stand in awe of such breathtaking, hare-faced audaciousness?

‘Mallick!’ a great deep voice bellowed. Heads turned. Puffing, battered and limping, Korbolo Dom, Sword of the Empire, pushed his way forward supported by two of his officers. ‘What is this, Mallick?’ The Sword glared about the assembly. ‘What is this delay? Why are we not marshalling for attack? Now is the time!’ Panting, he glanced about from face to face. ‘We have them surrounded. Outnumbered. We must strike! Behead every last one of them! I will take overall command-’

‘Sword,’ Mallick interrupted softly, ‘we rejoice that you are still with us, but we are pained by reports that have come to us from the engagement with the Talian League.’

Korbolo stared, mouth gaping his utter consternation. ‘What?’

‘It has been reported from many sources that when your phalanx broke you withdrew to the rear. Do you deny these reports?’

‘To take command of another unit to lead it into battle — yes. Mallick, what is this foolishness? We are losing time-’

But the Falaran native was shaking his head, his thick lips down-turned as if forced into an unwilling duty. ‘I am sorry, Korbolo, but the Sword — once committed to the field — does not retreat. To do so is to announce capitulation to the entire Imperial force.’ Mallick raised his gaze to study the assembled officers. ‘And I take it as a powerful testimony to the resilience and temper of these forces that they did not break then and there.

‘Therefore, as Imperial Councillor, Spokesman of the Assembly, it is my regretful duty to order you imprisoned until a court of inquiry into these events may be convened.’

‘What!’ The Sword stared, his mouth working, then suddenly he lunged at Mallick. The officers who had formerly been supporting him now restrained him. ‘You… creature! You cannot do this to me! I am the Sword! Victorious! I won this battle!’ The man struggled, arms wrenching. He glared with bulging eyes at the assembled officers, his Napan face darkening, foam at his lips. ‘I am your commander! I led you to victory!’

‘The prisoner will be silenced,’ Mallick ordered.

A rag was jammed into Korbolo's mouth. He was led away kicking, fighting, gurgling and screaming behind the rag.

Mallick shook his head in sad regret.

‘Your wisdom and forbearance are an inspiration to us all, Councillor,’ an old woman called out.

Mallick's gaze sharpened, searched the crowd, settled on one face and narrowed to glittering slits. ‘Let that one come forth,’ he called.

The Wickan twins advanced, supporting Su between them. Ho tensed to advance but Heuk held him back.

‘So, you Wickans. Before me once again. Yet I hear accounts from all sides that your charge smashed the Guard and opened the way to Imperial victory. For that we are all in your debt. And we thank you…’

Su bowed shallowly. ‘We ask only for what is by rights ours.’

‘Ah, yes… of course.’ Mallick reclasped his hands across his stomach. ‘This most recent distressing policy regarding your lands. Ill-conceived and inhumane. I was always against it, of course.’

Now the twins lurched forward, faces twisting, but Su's clawed hands clutching at their shoulders held them back. ‘Perhaps these new Imperial holdings could be granted twenty-year leases from us,’ Su suggested, ‘thereby avoiding further violence and upheaval.’

Mallick's lips pursed. His fingertips tapped one another across his stomach. ‘Details to be negotiated in treaty, of course.’

Su inclined her head. ‘Of course.’

Mallick waved negligently. ‘Very well. We are done. You may withdraw.’

‘Your honesty and compassion are a lesson to us all,’ Su crooned, bowing. Ho sent the old witch a wink as the twins helped her away.

‘M'Lord Councillor,’ Bala called from her palanquin.

‘Yes, High Mage?’

High Mage. Ho shot Heuk a sharp glance — the old mage looked skyward once more.

‘Multiple Warrens have been accessed on the hilltop.’

Nodding thoughtfully, Mallick faced the assembled officers. ‘Send word to the Guard that it is our belief that enough of our good honest soldiers have died today. Enough blood has been shed in this useless vendetta. Speaking — unofficially — for the Empire, our leave is given them to withdraw.’

‘Convenient, that,’ Heuk muttered aside, ‘since they're already withdrawing.’

Ho bent down to answer, ‘It'll look good in the histories.’

Heuk motioned aside. ‘C'mon. I've had a bellyful of this. One more pronouncement from him and I'll puke. Let's have a drink with those good honest soldiers.’

‘I can just see those history books, too,’ Ho said as they walked along. ‘Kellanved the Terrible. Laseen the Bloody. And Mallick the Benevolent.’

‘Mallick the Just,’ Heuk offered.

A voice bellowed after them. ‘Cadre mage!’

They turned. Bala's palanquin was following, led by the bald, sweating, giant Dal Hon. ‘The High Mage requires your attendance,’ he commanded.

‘This is enough to drive me to an early retirement,’ Heuk murmured.

They waited while the palanquin closed. ‘Groten,’ Bala called through the flimsy white cloth hangings, ‘allow them to approach.’

The guard, Groten, bowed. ‘Yes, mistress.’ He curtly waved them closer.

Sighing, Heuk stepped up, followed by Ho. ‘Yes, Bala.’

‘That's High Mage — please remember henceforth.’ The High Mage, Bala, lay reclined upon pillows, sheer silks arranged decorously. She was a voluptuous Dal Hon woman; Ho noted her six sturdy bearers were sweating furiously. She slowly fanned her face. ‘Since I am now High Mage to all the Empire, I cannot deal with the trivialities of the mage cadre in any one army. Therefore you are now in charge of the cadre for the Fourth. You report to me. And you…’ the fan pointed to Ho. ‘You are not welcome in the cadre. We do not want the likes of you.’

Ho bit down on laughter. He waved his assent.

‘Too much a threat, hey, Bala?’ Heuk said.

‘Do not bore me with your meaningless talk, Heuk. Good day. Our audience is over. Groten!’

The bodyguard loomed over them. ‘Out of the way!’

Ho allowed himself to be edged aside. He watched the palanquin lumber away.

‘I know a soldier,’ Heuk said musingly, ‘who, if he'd seen her just now, would've fainted dead away.’ Gesturing, he invited Ho on.

‘What of Laseen?’ Ho asked.

‘Mallick will probably spare no expense on her mausoleum in Unta. How it would gall her.’

‘All the more reason from his point of view, I suppose.’

‘And what of you?’ Heuk asked.

‘Retirement in Heng. I have a lot of catching up to do there. A lot.’

Heuk eyed him sidelong, scratched at his scraggly stained beard. ‘Really…’

‘Yes, really… Yes!’

Heuk straightened the earthenware jug he held under one arm. ‘Un-huh.’

Kyle and the Lost brothers had waited while the Guard filed through the opened gates to march away through the Imperial Warren. The last to leave were K'azz, Shimmer, Shell and two very battered and bruised Avowed mages named Blues and Fingers.

Throughout the withdrawal, the lines of Malazan infantry and assembled cavalry from Kan and Cawn had watched, shields readied but swords sheathed and lances raised. K'azz approached Kyle who motioned to the surrounding ranks of Imperial soldiery. ‘They let you go.’

The old man nodded. ‘Yes. This Mallick no doubt intends to blame all this bloodshed on Laseen's policies, so he could hardly add to it. But what of you? You're sure you won't come along? You are very welcome.’

‘No, thank you. But if you could move us a touch, though, we'd appreciate it.’

‘I see. Where will you go?’

Kyle shrugged. ‘Not sure. We have to talk it over.’

‘Very well. I'll leave things to Shell here. In any case,’ he held Kyle's shoulders, ‘I owe you more than I can say. You can always call on the Guard. Yes?’

Embarrassed, Kyle just waved all that aside, but nodded his thanks.

K'azz went to the portal, turned and waved. Kyle and the Lost brothers raised their hands in farewell. Shimmer waved then also, bowing, and stepped through. Blues and Fingers followed and that gate snapped shut with a whoosh of displaced air. Shell waited next to hers. She waved them over. ‘I have instructions on where to take you.’

Kyle exchanged looks with Stalker, Badlands and Coots, cocked a brow. Coots stepped up, rubbing his hands together. ‘Where're we off to, lass? Darujhistan? Korel? Aren?’

She just smiled, the lines around her mouth tight. ‘After you.’

Kyle had only the briefest sensation of disorientation then his moccasins touched down on a dusty dirt floor in an empty, long-abandoned room. He spun, taking in the dusty quarters — what was this? Stalker and the brothers joined him, stepping out of nowhere, to flinch as well, hands going to weapons.

‘Where are we?’ Stalker breathed the question aloud for all of them.

Badlands crouched at a gaping window. ‘Eternal Ice take it! We're still here!’

‘What?’ Everyone joined him.

There's the battlefield!’

‘I see Cawn pennants.’

Stalker stepped away from the window. ‘What is this…’

‘The Sanctuary…’ Kyle murmured, peering around. ‘In the east — the butte. What did Shimmer call it?’

‘The Sanctuary of Burn,’ Coots supplied.

‘So why here?’ Stalker asked.

‘’Cause someone else is here,’ said a new voice.

They spun, weapons hissing from sheaths, to see one of the Crimson Guard Brethren. ‘Stoop!’ Kyle exclaimed.

‘Aye, lad.’

‘What in the Wind King's name are you doing here?’

The shade walked up, grinning, dressed in his vest, ragged hanging shirt and tattered trousers as he had been in life. ‘I'm with you, lad.’

Everyone shoved their weapons away. ‘With me?’

‘I'll be taggin’ along with you for a time. K'azz's dispensation.’

‘Really? Just as those other Brethren come to K'azz?’

‘Yeah — for a while. Till the Vow pulls me back, I s'pose.’

‘Just like back home,’ Badlands said aside to Coots, who glared for silence.

‘So, why can we see and hear you then?’ Stalker demanded, ever sceptical.

A translucent shrug. ‘I guess because you was Guardsmen for a time.’

‘So no one else would see or hear you?’ Badlands asked.

‘I dunno. I ain't no mage. Unless they're priests o’ Hood or mages, I s'pose.’

‘Too much like back home,’ Badlands commented behind a raised hand.

‘Shut it Coots answered, and he shook himself, brushing dust from his thick mane of hair.

Kyle went to the window, leaned against the ledge. Out on the plain fires glowed in the gathering twilight. So many. Where had they all come from? ‘Are we here because you are here?’

Stoop scratched his temple with his shortened arm just as he used to in life. ‘Naw. I go wherever you go. There's someone else here. C'mon, I'll take you to him.’

Kyle and the Lost brothers exchanged looks as the shade walked out of the room through one of the open portals. A moment later he reappeared, waved them on. ‘C'mon. This way.’ Stalker motioned Kyle to lead. Kyle opened his hands as if to deny any part in this but he went out first.

Stoop led them through a jumbled labyrinth of tumbled, fallen-down rooms and halls. Some were no more than canted walls open to the sky, others as dark as collapsed mines. The dust and litter of years lay thick upon everything.

After a time Kyle smelled wood smoke and cooking animal fat. Pausing, he turned back to the brothers and touched the side of his nose. They nodded, carefully eased weapons from sheaths. Crouched, he slowly advanced through the thick shadows of a nest of small chambers. The crackling and snapping of a wood fire led him on until he saw the glow ahead. He paused, waited for the brothers to catch up. The shade of Stoop had gone on ahead. Once they were all together Stalker signed for Kyle and himself to take the right and the left while Coots and Badlands would cover the centre. Everyone nodded.

On a silent count, they crashed into the room, weapons raised. A big man sat against the wall of a littered chamber, a small cookfire burning.

‘Is that you, Kyle?’ the man exclaimed, surprised. ‘What're you doing here?’

Kyle straightened, his weapon falling. ‘Greymane!’

One of his eyes was swollen shut. His upper lip split and swollen. The entire side of his face was blossoming dark purple while his hair was clotted with dried blood. His armour lay piled in a corner. He gestured to Stoop's grinning shade. ‘I knew it would be a Guardsman, but I wasn't expecting you.’

Kyle crouched at the fire. ‘What're you doing hiding here?’

The man looked uncomfortable, lowered his gaze. ‘Well… the Imperials still have a price on my head, you know.’

And Kyle remembered. Head worth a barrel of black pearls. He waved to the brothers. ‘Well, we'll help get you out — won't we, Stalker?’

The eldest of the Lost brothers pressed a hand to his brow, sighed. ‘Sure. Of course. Seems that's all we do.’

Badlands crouched at the fire. ‘What's that you got roasting there?’

‘Rabbit.’

‘Looks done. C'n I?’

Greymane gestured for the man to help himself.

‘We should go south,’ Badlands said, pulling off a tear of flesh and licking his fingers. He rested his great hairy arms on his knees.

‘North,’ Coots immediately said.

‘I was kinda thinking west,’ Greymane offered, somewhat bewildered.

‘I like north,’ Stalker said, nodding to himself.

Chewing, Badlands raised a hand for silence. ‘But you know — south would really be better.’

Kyle just grinned, sat down next to the fire and started untying his leggings. This could take all night.

‘You're shittin’ me, aren't you?’ Nait told Heuk.

‘No — it's true. I've heard it from all kinds of people.’

‘People like who?’

‘Like all kinds.’

‘Damn.’ Nait sat back into the cool of the trench. ‘Dammit!’

A cavalry officer bearing Cawn colours rode up next to the trench. He squinted down into the dark of the deepening afternoon shadows. ‘I'm looking for a Sergeant Jumpy.’

Urfa stood, goggled up at the man and smiled her uneven teeth. ‘Nice horse.’

Jawl, Stubbin and Kibb came walking up carrying broken timbers and slats that they dropped next to a pile. The officer eyed what looked like a large bonfire in the making. ‘You're not going to sit out here tonight, are you?’

‘Yes, we are,’ Nait said, standing. ‘What of it?’

‘I understand orders are to marshal east along the trader road. This is one broad killing field. It's unhealthy. And dangerous. There'll be jackals.’

‘Jackals don't like fire,’ Nait said, deadly serious.

The cavalry officer blinked, uncertain. ‘So… there's no Sergeant Jumpy then?’

‘No, sir,’ Nait answered. He waved to Least who, passing, raised a hand in salute. ‘Lim?’ Nait called. Least gave a thumbs-up.

‘Try third company,’ Urfa suggested.

‘What company is this?’

Urfa's eyes crossed as she frowned. ‘Don't know, sir.’ She turned to the trench. ‘Hey, you useless lot! What company are we?’

Voices muttered from the shadows. ‘I thought we was first.’

‘Fourth.’

‘Naw, I think it was first.’

Smiling raggedly, Urfa winked. ‘There you are, sir. We're either first or fourth. Sure you won't stay? Got a fire. Got a big ol’ fish to fry. We're gonna get drunk and say goodbye to all our friends.’

‘Sounds enchanting,’ the Cawn officer observed drily. He gave his reins a gentle pull. ‘I'll leave you to it then.’

Urfa fell back down into the trench. ‘Damn. He was cute. I like cavalry officers.’

‘He'll find the cap'n,’ May warned from where she lay in the last of the sun next to the trench.

‘Eventually,’ Nait said. He crouched again next to Heuk, who sat hugging his jug to his chest. ‘So — they can't take it off? Really?’

Eyes shut, Heuk gave an exaggerated nod. ‘Never. Doesn't come off.’

‘Shit.’ Nait stood, examined the wood pile. ‘Call this fuel for a bonfire? I want twice this! C'mon, another trip to the wreck. Let's go!’

Groaning, his squad slowly climbed to their feet, ambled off.

‘I thought that, from what she said… that maybe, y'know — it was possible.’

Heuk mouthed a silent ‘No.’

‘Then how do they do it?

A lift and drop of the shoulders from Heuk. Cursing, Nait threw down a handful of dirt and stalked off. Heuk cracked open an eye to watch him go and smiled. Good. Tourmaline — you owe me three kegs of Moranth distilled spirits. And you better come through else ol’ Nait will discover that armour does come off after all.