And Quick Ben means to stand in his path.
Errant’s mangled nuts, I only joined because I’m lusting after Brys Beddict. Me and a thousand other women.
Quick Ben said, ‘Atri-Ceda, your commander, Brys-’
She started guiltily. Had he read her thoughts?
‘He died once, didn’t he?’
‘What? Yes, so it is said. I mean, yes, he did.’
The High Mage nodded. ‘Best go see him, then-he may have need of you right now.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Because Hood is gone,’ said Bottle.
‘What does that mean to Commander Beddict?’ she asked.
She saw Bottle meet Quick Ben’s eyes, and then the soldier nodded and said, ‘The dead never quite come back all the way, Aranict. Not while there was a god of death. It may be that Brys is now… awakened. To everything he once was. He will have things to say to his Atri-Ceda.’
‘We’ll see you again,’ Quick Ben added. ‘Or not.’
They dismiss me. Oh well. She turned and exited the tent. Paused in the sultry darkness of the camp. Drew deep on her smoker, and then set out for the distant Letherii encampment.
Brys wants me. What a lovely thought.
Smiles threw herself down by the fire. ‘Stupid patrols,’ she said. ‘There’s no one out there. Those Akryn traders-all creaking old or snot-nosed runts.’ She glanced at the others sitting round the hearth. ‘See that village we passed yesterday? Looked half empty.’
‘No warriors,’ said Cuttle. ‘All off fighting the White Faces. The Akryn can’t maintain control of this Kryn Free Trade right now, which also explains all those D’ras traders coming up from the south.’
Tarr grunted. ‘Heard from some outriders about a Barghast camp they came on-site of a big battle, and looks like the White Faces got bloodied. Might be they’re on the run just like the Akryn are saying.’
‘Hard to believe that,’ Cuttle countered. ‘I’ve fought Barghast and it’s no fun at all, and the White Faces are said to be the toughest of the lot.’
Smiles unstrapped her helm and pulled it off. ‘Where’s Koryk then?’ she asked.
‘Wandered off,’ Tarr answered, tossing another dung chip on to the fire. ‘Again,’ he added.
Smiles hissed. ‘That fever, it marked him. In the head.’
‘Just needs a good scrap,’ Cuttle ventured. ‘That’ll settle him right enough.’
‘Could be a long wait,’ Tarr said. ‘We’ve got weeks and weeks of travel ahead of us, through mostly empty territory. Aye, we’re covering ground awfully fast, but once we’re done with the territories of these plains tribes, it’ll be the Wastelands. No one can even agree how far across it is, or what’s on the other end.’ He shrugged. ‘An army’s deadliest enemy is boredom, and we’re under siege these days.’
‘Corabb not back yet?’ Smiles shook her head. ‘He had two heavies with him on the round. They might’ve got lost.’
‘Someone will find ’em,’ Cuttle said, climbing to his feet. ‘I’ll check in on the sergeant again.’
Smiles watched him step out of the firelight. She sighed. ‘Ain’t had me a knife fight in months. That stay in Letheras made us soft, and them barges was even worse.’ She stretched her boots closer to the fire. ‘I don’t mind the marching, now the blisters are gone. At least we’re squads again.’
‘We need us a new scam,’ Tarr said. ‘You see any scorpions?’
‘Sure, plenty,’ Smile replied, ‘but only two kinds. The little nasty ones and the big black ones. Besides, we try that again and people will get suspicious-even if we could find a good cheat.’ She mulled on the notion for a time, and then shook her head. ‘It’s no good, Tarr. The mood’s all wrong.’
He squinted across at her. ‘Sharp. You’re right. It’s like we’re past all that, and it’ll never come again. Amazing, that I should feel nostalgic about Seven Cities and that miserable, useless march. We were raw, aye, but what we were trying to do, it made sense. That’s the difference. It made sense.’
Smiles snorted. ‘Hood’s breath, Tarr.’
‘What?’
‘Cuttle’s right. None of it made sense. Never did, never will. Look at us. We march around and cut up other people, and they do the same to us-if they can. Look at Lether-aye, it’s now got a decent King and people can breathe easy and go about their lives-but what’s in those lives? Scraping for the next bag of coins, the next meal. Scrubbing bowls, praying to the damned gods for the next catch and calm seas. It ain’t for nothing, Tarr, and that’s the truth. It ain’t for nothing.’
