Orb Sceptre Throne (33 page)

Yusek tore her gaze from the pile of viscera and saw that the spokesman stranger was now regarding her through his painted mask. His eyes were hazel brown.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘You will guide us.’

‘Sure as the bony finger of the Taker, I will not.’

The spokesman turned away. ‘It is decided. We require food and water.’

Orbern exhaled his relief. ‘Shel-ken, find them some supplies.’

‘No! It is
not
decided!’ Yusek snarled. She glared at Orbern. ‘I won’t go with these murderers!’

‘Is this one also defying the hierarchy?’ the spokesman asked of Orbern.

Yusek backed up until her shoulder blades pressed against a wall. Orbern eyed her, one brow arched as if to ask:
well?

All eyes swung to her. A few of Orbern’s men licked their lips as if eager to see her sliced from throat to crotch. ‘No,’ she said.

Yusek confronted Orbern after the two visitors had left the hall to wait outside. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded while he watched, pulling on one fat lip, as the mess that had been Waynar was hauled away. Fresh sawdust was thrown over the stained dirt floor. He returned to picking at the greasy bird carcass. ‘Well?’

His tired gaze flicked to her. ‘You’re hardly really a member of this little community of ours, are you, Yusek? You take every excuse to range over the slopes for days on end. It’s as if you’ve just been waiting for an excuse to cut and run anyway.’

She couldn’t find it in herself to deny any of what he said. ‘But with these two murderers? You saw what they did to Waynar! You just want to get me killed.’

Orbern pushed aside the bones. ‘Yusek …’ He rubbed his brow, sighing. ‘Firstly, dear, Waynar asked for it. He challenged the Seguleh. So, lesson number one – do not challenge them! Now, secondly, contrary to what we all just saw, in their company you will be the safest you’ve been in years.’ He sat back, opening his hands. ‘Thirdly, almost everyone here is a murderer – since when has that been a problem for you? And lastly, frankly, it has been a royal pain in the arse keeping everyone off
your
arse this last year.’

‘If they can’t control themselves that’s their problem, not mine. They can go hump animals.’

‘Oh, don’t fool yourself – some do. Or each other. In any case, I agree, yes. Why women get blamed for men’s callousness and lack of respect for others is beyond me. But it becomes your problem when it’s you they’re attacking. Yes?’

‘I’ll kill anyone who tries that. They know that.’

‘So I’m down yet another man.’

‘It’s not
my
damn fault they’re arseholes!’

He pulled savagely on his beard. ‘Yusek! The reason they’ve been driven out of all other towns and villages and families – any community of cooperative people – is because they
are
murderous, selfish, short-sighted, impulsive, cruel arseholes!’ He pointed to the door. ‘I’m doing you a favour.’

She didn’t move. ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘The fact that you’re still alive proves that, Yusek. But the odds are stacking up. Eventually, you’ll disappear and Ezzen, or Dullet, will have a self-satisfied smirk on his face for a few days … and that would be the end of it.’

Yusek lowered her chin. ‘I’m not asking you to do me any favours.’ She hated how sullen that sounded, but it was the truth.

Orbern sighed again. ‘I know. But I am anyway. Osserc knows why. Must be my civilized conscience.’

She went to pack the rest of her meagre belongings.
Queen’s throw! I may as well just ditch ’em
. She spotted Short-tall, out of the south, and raised her chin to him. ‘So who are these Segulath anyway?’

‘It’s Seguleh,’ he corrected her, then drew a slashing line across the air. ‘Swords, sweetmeat. Walking swords is what they are. Watch yourself or they’ll do you as they did Waynar.’

She gave him a face, threw her tied bedroll over her shoulder.

She found them waiting in the muddy garbage-strewn grounds that Orbern called the ‘Marshalling field’. A pack of gathered stores sat with them.

The spokesman indicated it. ‘Carry this.’

‘I ain’t no one’s pack mule.’

‘None the less.’

‘No. You can fucking carry it.’

Something whipped past her face – a silvery blur. Her bedroll fell from her shoulder into the mud, its rope tie cut. The man straightened, his cloak falling back into place.

Yusek stared.
How in the name of Togg did he
do
that?
She raised her gaze to the painted mask and the eyes behind: these studied her, narrowed, as if gauging her reaction. It was not the swaggering superior look she was used to from all those who’d bested her in the past.

She spat to one side – ‘Fine!’ – yanked up the pack, which was damned heavy, adjusted it on her back. ‘You
do
have a name …?’

The spokesman motioned for her to walk with him. The silent partner followed, hood still raised. As they approached the palisade door she spotted fat Orbern up on the catwalk. He waved for the solid log cross-piece to be pulled aside and the door pushed open. They exited into the woods with almost the entire crew of Orbern-town at the palisade watching them go.

‘My name is Sall,’ the spokesman said. Now, in the silence of the woods, he sounded rather young.

Yusek jerked a thumb to the other. ‘And him?’

Sall was silent for a time, perhaps searching for the right words. ‘In the rankings of the Seguleh I am of the Three Hundredth—’

‘Three hundredth what?’ she cut in.

Again, he was silent for a while. The rain had let up and now the streams of run-off trickled across the track. Heavy drops pattered amid the woods. The morning’s mist was gone with the rain.

‘The Three Hundredth I refer to means among the Seguleh fighters,’ Sall said, his tone now quite icy. It seemed he wasn’t used to being interrupted.

She eyed him sidelong. He’d raised his hood again. ‘So … you mean that you’re among the top three hundred fighters of all you Seguleh?’

‘Among all those who choose to pursue the rankings, yes. Not all need do so.’

Among the three hundred best fighters of these Seguleh? Damn!
She jerked her thumb to the other. ‘And him?’

‘Yusek’ – he spoke much more quietly now – ‘I can give you his name … but it will be of no use to you. You might address him but he will never speak to you. He is Lo. And he is Eighth.’

Eighth? Like in eighth best of all of ’em? Burn’s embrace! And they’re out here in the middle of nowhere?
‘What’re you two doing here?’

‘As I said, we are looking for a monastery that is supposed to be somewhere here in these mountains.’

Yusek snorted. Damned foolishness. Here she was guiding a couple of fanatics off to some temple so they could bow to some dusty piece of bone, or a sacred statue on a wall, or have a senile old man wave his hand over their heads. What a fucking waste of her time!

She decided to ditch them right away.

She simply didn’t stop walking. So far that tactic had never failed her. She’d lost everyone she’d ever walked away from. As the day progressed, sure enough they fell back just as everyone always did. Once they were far enough behind on the trail she shucked the pack from her shoulders, took the best of the dried staples and a skin of water, and just kept right on going without looking back. In fact, she decided to run.

She made for an overhang she knew of, a kind of unofficial way-station along the trail. It was much further than an average day’s travel but she’d push on into the night.

For all the rest of the day, into the long twilight of evening, until the light failed entirely and she couldn’t make out the track ahead, she saw no more sign of them. The combined light of the mottled moon and the ill-omened green night sky visitor allowed her to find the narrow path up the rocks to the overhang and here she crouched down on her hams, in the dirt and rotting leaves, and chewed on a strip of dried venison. Her legs were trembling and numb, her chest aflame, but she’d made it. And she was rid of them. She was rid of them all! Fat Orbern, leering Ezzen, slow-witted Henst with his clumsy paws. She’d done it again! Shaken the useless dust from her heels. Just like her ma and pa that day in the worst stretch of the Dwelling Plain when it was them or her and damned if it was gonna be her!

I’ll head for Mengal just as I’ve always wanted. Make a name for myself there. Must be plenty of opportunities for a girl like me … I’ll be
—

She stiffened, listening. Rocks were falling down on the trail. She slowly straightened, a hand going to the fighting knife at her hip, her heart thudding.

The hooded and cloaked figure of Sall climbed up into the overhang. He brushed dirt from himself. He dropped the pack to the dry dust and leaves. She lowered her hand.
I don’t fucking believe it!

‘A fair first day’s travel, Yusek.’ The hood rose as he peered about. ‘I approve. You may rest. I will take first watch.’

Lo joined them, rising as silently as a ghost from the murk. He crossed to the rear of the overhang and sat without a word.

‘Who are you people …?’ she breathed, awed despite herself.

‘We are the Seguleh, Yusek. And all these lands will soon come to know us again.’

Spindle sat on a stone bench in the Circle of Faiths. It was a paved plaza in the Daru district that through the years, building by building and yard by yard, had been invaded then annexed by the worshippers of foreign, emerging, or even discredited religions. A sort of unofficial bazaar to any god, spirit or ascendant you’d care to name. Tall prayer sticks burned next to him as votive offerings to some obscure northern deity, possibly Barghast ancestor spirits. He waved the thick smoke from his face. Across the plaza a tiny stone building looking unnervingly like a sepulchre housed a priest of the new cult of the Shattered God. The man sat gabbling on to all who passed but was rather hard to understand, speaking as he was through broken teeth and a swollen jaw from the many beatings the local toughs meted out. Spindle had to hand it to the fellow, though. The man was undeterred. He even seemed to relish the extra challenge to his devotion and perseverance.

Some people just want to be persecuted … it proves they’re right
.

But then, he knew all about persecution. He and his ma together had watched the world succeed in its persecution of his father, uncles, brothers, aunts, sisters and uncounted cousins. ‘Ain’t gonna lose you, little ’un,’ she’d always told him. She repeated it yet again when word came of the loss of his last brother, fallen overboard in rough seas off the coast of Delanss. ‘That’s my sworn vow, that is.’ And he’d looked up from where he sat next to her chair to watch her brushing her hair – hair so long it would drag along the ground behind her should she ever let it down. ‘Hold you in my arms, I will. Bind you up in protection. Keep you safe. Your mama’s gonna keep you safe. You’ll see.’

He rubbed his shirt over his chest. She was close now. He could feel her next to him the way he could when trouble was coming.

Been three days and no contact yet from any of the cadre mages. Should’ve been contact by now. Ain’t right
.

‘You look like a brother,’ someone addressed him in Daru.

Spindle shaded his eyes to blink up at a young swell-sword all done up in mock Malazan officer gear complete with torcs and Quonstyle longsword. On his silk surcoat the lad bore the sword symbol of the cult of Dessembrae. ‘Whazzat? Brother?’

‘One of the initiate. The Elite. Recognized by Dessembrae.’

‘What in Osserc’s smothering warmth are you going on about?’

The young man’s ingratiating smile slipped into a stung haughtiness as he looked Spindle up and down. ‘My apology. Clearly I am mistaken. Obviously you do not possess the requisite dignity.’

Spindle hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat. ‘Dignity, my arse. If he saw you now he wouldn’t know whether to laugh or cry.’

‘So those found unworthy may grumble.’

Spindle considered rousing himself to teach the pup a lesson, but he was feeling at ease on the bench and decided not to let the ignorant fool ruin his day. He waved the lad away. ‘Take your rubbish elsewhere.’

The aristocratic youth actually tossed his head as he walked off. Spindle snorted at the absurdity of it all, then realized he was no longer alone on the bench. He eyed the fellow sidelong: tall and rangy, wrapped in an old travelling cloak. Long black wavy hair. Looked Talian in profile.