‘Is Fiddler—’
‘He lives.’
‘Good.’ He squinted at her. ‘You’ve a way of gathering allies, haven’t you, Adjunct?’
‘It is not me, Stormy, it is the cause itself.’
‘I’d agree if I could figure out what that cause is all about.’
‘You mentioned a Destriant—’
‘Aye, I did.’
‘Then ask that one.’
‘We did, but she knows even less than we do.’
Tavore cocked her head. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, she gets little sleep. Nightmares every night.’ He clawed fingers through his beard, ‘Aw, Hood take me …’
‘She sees the fate awaiting us all should we fail, Shield Anvil.’
He was silent, thinking back, crossing a thousand leagues of memory and time. Days in Aren, ranks milling, recalcitrant faces, a desperate need for cohesion. Armies are unruly beasts. You took ’us, you made ’us into something, but none of us knows what, or even what for . And now here she stood, a thin, plain woman. Not tall. Not imposing in any way at all. Except for the cold iron in her bones . ‘Why did you take this on, Adjunct?’
She settled the helm back on her head and fixed the clasps. ‘That’s my business.’
‘This path of yours,’ he asked, resisting her dismissal, ‘where did it start? That first step, when was it? You can answer me that one, at least.’
She regarded him. ‘Can I?’
‘I’m about to ride back to Gesler, Adjunct. And I got to make a report. I got to tell him what I think about all this. So … give me something.’
She looked away, studied the formed-up ranks of her army. ‘My first step? Very well.’
He waited.
She stood as if carved from flawed marble, a thing in profile weeping dust – but no, that sense was emerging from deep inside his own soul, as if he’d found a mirror’s reflection of the nondescript woman standing before him, and in that reflection a thousand hidden truths.
She faced him again, her eyes swallowed by the shadow of the helm’s rim. ‘The day, Adjunct, the Paran family lost its only son.’
The answer was so unexpected, so jarring, that Stormy could say nothing. Gods below, Tavore . He struggled to find words, any words. ‘I – I did not know your brother had died, Adjunct—’
‘He hasn’t,’ she snapped, turning away.
Stormy silently cursed. He’d said the wrong thing. He’d shown his own stupidity, his own lack of understanding. Fine! Maybe I’m not Gesler! Maybe I don’t get it — A gelid breath seemed to flow through him then. ‘Adjunct!’ His shout drew her round.
‘What is it?’
He drew a deep breath, and then said, ‘When we join up with the Perish and the others, who’s in overall command?’
She studied him briefly before replying, ‘There will be a Prince of Lether. A Mortal Sword of the Grey Helms, and the queen of Bolkando.’
‘Hood’s breath! I don’t—’
‘Who will be in command, Shield Anvil? You and Gesler.’
He stared at her, aghast, and then bellowed, ‘Don’t you think his head’s swelled big enough yet? You ain’t had to live with him!’
Her tone was hard and cold. ‘Bear in mind what I said about vulnerability, Shield Anvil, and be sure to guard your own back.’
‘Guard – what?’
‘One last thing, Stormy. Extend my condolences to Grub. Inform him, if you think it will help, that Fist Keneb’s death was one of … singular heroism.’
He thought he heard a careful choosing of words in that statement. No matter. Might help, as much as such shit can, with that stuff. Worth a try, I suppose . ‘Adjunct?’
She had gathered the reins of her horse and had one foot in the stirrup. ‘Yes?’
‘Shall we meet again?’
Tavore Paran hesitated, and what might have been a faint smile curved her thin lips. She swung astride her horse. ‘Fare you well, Shield Anvil.’ A pause, and then, ‘Stormy, should you one day meet my brother … no, never mind.’ With that she drew her horse round and set off for the head of the column.
Blistig wheeled in behind her, as did Ruthan Gudd and then the ex-priest – although perhaps with him it was more a matter of a mount content to follow the others. Leaving only Lostara Yil.
‘Stormy.’
‘Lostara.’
‘Quick Ben was sure you and Gesler lived.’
