Return of the Crimson Guard (107 page)

May's thin lips crept upwards at the images that came to mind. She tilted her head in agreement. ‘Aye, Sarge.’

* * *

Silk had settled Storo in a better-class inn. That dawn Hurl paced the hall outside the door. She was leaving, nominally commanding a Hengan detachment of volunteers to join the Empress's forces to the east. It seemed probable to her that she'd never return so now was her only chance to say goodbye. Still, she could not bring herself to enter. It had been days and all this time she hadn't yet come to see the man. Now maybe it was just too late …

‘C'mon in, Hurl,’ he called through the door. She froze, cursed the noisy floorboards. She opened the door. He lay on the bed. An open window let in the early morning light and air. She stood in the entrance. He waved her in. ‘C'mon, I don't smell so bad now.’

She didn't want to and didn't mean to but she flushed, embarrassed. She came and sat at the end of his bed. The man's face was torn, a great ragged zig-zag that had taken an eye, cheek and edge of his mouth – he now spoke with a slur. That side's arm was gone as
well, amputated. An abdominal wound was covered by the sheets. ‘I hear you're headin’ out. Wish you wouldn't. The Seti will probably attack – it's their last chance.’

‘Rell's staying, and Silk and Liss. And the city's full behind us now. You have full cohorts and Captain Gurjan. More than enough men and women for the walls.’

‘Still don't like it.’

‘I'll be fine. Got a good sergeant in Banath.’

‘You won't be safe. You're safe here in the city. And you're takin’ those three. I don't trust them.’

‘Can't say I like them myself but they fought for the city and Silk agrees Laseen's short on mages – these three could make a real difference.’

He took a laboured breath – was this tiring him? He was weaker than she thought. ‘Still don't trust ‘em. Why go? Why're they all so eager to go?’

‘I don't know. But they are. So we're going. Now take care – heal up.’ She stood.

He struggled to straighten himself higher. She came and gently eased him back. ‘What…
V

‘Come back. Y'hear? Come back. I don't want … this fight to take you.’

‘All right. I'll keep my head down. Now, we'll see you later.’

His hand on the sheet rose to her, opened, fell away. ‘Yeah. Be careful out there. Real careful.’

‘I will.’ She backed away, closed the door. Pressing her back to it, she considered the very real possibility that they were both of them damned cowards.

Outside, her escort of twenty waited; she was, after all, second in command of the city. They rode to the Gate of the Dawn where six hundred cavalry were assembling in a double column. The call had gone out some time ago and, with Rell's very vocal support, six hundred viable mounts had been selected from the city's remaining horses. Many were on their last legs, hardly better than swaybacked nags. But they would do for a day's ride on a good road. At the gate, a sliver of dawn's light still slanting through, Hurl pulled up short. There waited the three brothers, but also Rell and Liss, both mounted. Near them stood Silk, his arms crossed over his still unmended tattered shirt, and Sunny, his glower even more sour than usual.

‘What's this?’ Hurl asked of Rell.

‘We're coming,’ said Liss.

‘I asked them not to,’ Silk cut in.

‘You shouldn't. The city—’

‘He won't come here this night,’ Rell said from behind his visor, his voice still harsh and distorted from his scarring. ‘We know where he's going to be.’

Hurl nodded. True, from all she'd heard there was no way the monster could resist all the blood about to be spilled. Obviously Rell and Liss wanted to be there when he came. So be it. At this point, with so few, she wouldn't turn anyone away. She raised her shoulders to Silk who hugged himself tighter, frowning his helpless disapproval.

Sunny came to her side. ‘I ought to be the one goin‘,’ he growled.

One of us has to stay and I seem to be the field commander.’

‘You weren't such a week ago.’

‘No, but somehow suddenly I am. Keep any eye on the north wall.’

His sneer told her not to tell him his job. She signed to Sergeant Banath who raised himself in his stirrups, waving. The banner-men dipped their colours forward and the column slowly made its way out of the east-facing Gate of the Dawn. Hurl raised a hand in farewell. The mage bowed, arms tight about himself, a strained smile of encouragement at his lips. Sunny raised a fist.

* * *

Lieutenant-commander Ullen's brigades had already marched, but he rode with his aides to the battlefield where a detail was piling corpses for burning. The bonfire nearest the compound contained wounded who had succumbed since the engagement. And among these was the body of Commander Choss, once High Fist under Laseen.

Ullen reined in, crossed his mail-backed hands before him on the pommel of his saddle. Such a damned waste. So much knowledge, cunning and experience gone now just when it was needed so vitally. The Empire was marching to face its oldest – possibly its most dangerous – foe and it had lost one of its most gifted commanders of men in what now seemed to him useless internal squabbling.
Nothing like an external foe to put things into perspective, hey, Choss?
He'd probably appreciate the irony.

An aide's mount nickered in what Ullen hoped was inadvertent impatience. To these youths just beginning their officer training this man was nothing more than a name, a last remnant of legendary times as distant to them as the T'lan Imass. What did they know of campaigns more than twenty years old – before some were even born? But Ullen had been there. He'd been younger than they on his
first posting, just a messenger attached to Choss's staff during the final conquests.

To one side two soldiers stood up from where they'd been sitting in the grass and pulled on their helmets. Come to offer their own respects no doubt – old-looking veterans – men whose memories go back even further with Choss, perhaps back to the earliest campaigns. The urge to speak with them washed over Ullen, to share memories of the man they'd come to see off, but they didn't seemed eager for company and so he had to respect that. Still, watching them go, there was something familiar about seeing the two of them together. Perhaps they'd crossed paths more than once over the years.

One of his staff cleared his throat and Ullen tightened his lips, exhaling. The smoke from all the burning was thick and he had to fight his own urge to cough.
Goodbye, old friend and mentor. You deserved better. But then, so may we all.
He clicked his tongue to urge his mount onward and pulled the reins aside.

They rode alongside the main line of march south, passing first the laden wagons of the train and the camp-followers on foot, a ragged mob of the combined Talian and Malazan noncombatants. Wives with children in tow waved, as did girlfriends and prostitutes, even husbands of some female officers who held down a trade, smithing or leatherworking, or cooking. Then came the rear guard and the Empress's personal train surrounded by its own guard of Malazan heavies and troops of noble cavalry. Securely ensconced within rolled the Imperial carriage, pulled by a team of eight oxen. Idly, Ullen wondered whether Laseen was even in the damned thing and whether it was all just for show. What little he knew of her made him suspect such to be the case. After this they came to the columns of the reserve elements; here was to be Ullen's assignment, coordinating with High Fist Anand. But he was curious to see the grounds ahead and so continued on. Crossing the east-west trader road they next came upon elements of the main body, spreading out, forming up. Ahead, the ground sloped gently downward. Here awaited the Guard, straddling the south pilgrim road. Beyond, the slope continued on to meet the cliffs of the Idryn River valley.

The mercenaries had deployed themselves in a broad arc, widely spread, with large phalanxes holding their extreme flanks. Clearly they were inviting a thrust down the middle. The Avowed appeared supremely confident in their capability to blunt and pin down any advance. Ullen was inclined not to doubt them. He cast a glance to the sun – close to noon and the day was humid, fast heating up. Not
a good day for any long-drawn-out struggle. To the east rose the enormous eroded butte upon which the ruins of the Great Sanctuary of Burn could just be made out. Idly, he wondered whether the Guard intended it as a retreat and rallying point – but they did not seem the type to set contingencies for defeat.

The Imperial skirmishers, the Untan Militia, call them what you like – the murderous midges, his own heavies named them – had already spread out over the hillsides of tall sun-browned grass. Ground-nesting birds took flight, disturbed by their movement. Stooping down, many of the crossbowmen disappeared entirely from sight and Ullen had to smile:
yes, good cover, but it won't last. The Guard's mages will burn it away.
He'd seen it before. Unlike most here he'd witnessed full-scale mage clashes where Warren battled Warren and swaths of ground and men were churned under. He'd been there when the Falaran island capitals fell and his stomach clenched in dread of what was to come. Still, he consoled himself with the knowledge that such a full-on field engagement was not to the Guard's style; they never were a stand-alone force. More an attachment to any main army, a special service good for narrow, specific objectives or duties. He hoped this less than ideal position would help even the odds.

Lead elements of Malazan, Talian and Falaran infantry spread themselves out. They had already broken down into units of just one or two or three companies. They pushed their way through the irregulars like ships through a heaving sea. Many of the units had organized themselves with hollow centres – a good strategy when facing battle-mages. Urko was down there somewhere on the west flank with his Talians, V'thell on the east with the Gold. He studied the distant Crimson Guard formations: they too followed such dispersal, mixed with lines. Yet the Guard must know that Laseen was weak in mages.
The Claws remain! Don't forget them! Simply because she elected to spare the League officers such culling doesn't mean that her forbearance would extend to the Guard. No, on the contrary, the Avowed will no doubt find themselves swamped.
And thinking of that Ullen suddenly knew why not one Claw had assaulted him or any other League officer.
She needed them for this! All this time! She'd been planning even for this!

He almost fell from his horse, so great was the anger that clamped his chest.
Had they no chance all along then? All useless? For nothing?
Stopping, he pulled off his helmet, wiped the sweat starting from his brow. His staff pulled up as well, to cast him curious glances.
But no – she could not have known for certain.
Just plain
prudence. A husbanding of resources. He and Urko and others of the League had been spared. Laseen had intended all the time to win over their men and assassinating beloved leaders such as an Urko or a Dujek was no way to manage that. No such considerations, however, applied to the Guard. All the Claw shall be unleashed upon them.

While he watched, the standard of the Sword reached the centre field, this time dismounted. This new Sword, Korbolo Dom, had elected to fight on foot backed by a legion of heavies. Ullen knew little of the man except what he'd heard before and seen just recently. The man's ferocity and fighting ability were certainly not to be doubted; but he appeared to lack that certain aura or elan that had so bonded the men to Dassem. With the old Sword, the soldiers had known that should they come to a tight spot Dassem would be there to defend them no matter what. Ullen knew this. He'd seen Dassem trailed by his Sword bodyguard repeatedly cut a swath across battlefields to come to the aid of hard-pressed formations and positions. One could not confidently expect the same from this Sword.

‘Sir?’ one of his staff ventured, rousing him from his reverie.

‘Yes?’

‘Should we not be returning?’

Ullen squeezed his eyes. Already he was tired. ‘Yes. No doubt High Fist Anand is wondering where we've got to …’ He gently urged his mount around.

* * *

Harbour-Assessor Jenoso Al'Sule of Cawn, newly appointed, gauged with something akin to horror the wallowing, limping progress of this current entrant to their busy docks.
God of a Thousand Moods, please do not sink in a berth! His superiors would note the loss of income! Still, if it did sink, it would technically be occupying the berth and its owners would then be legally obliged
… Jenoso smoothed his crisp new uniform, Imperial black trimmed with burgundy, and waited while harbour launches towed the vessel in. Once lines were firmly secured to bollards he started forward, fully expecting a gangway to come out to meet him, yet none came. He stopped abruptly at the edge of the dock, scanned the railing. Gods! What a wreck! Had it been in a storm?