House of Chains

‘None-’



‘Three,’ Strings interrupted, ignoring Gesler’s glare. ‘All minor, as would be expected. Tell the captain we’ll be good for covert actions.’



‘Keep your opinions to yourself, Strings. Three, you said. Very well.’ He wheeled about and marched off.



Gesler rounded on Strings. ‘We could lose those mages-’



‘We won’t. Go easy on the lieutenant, Gesler, at least for now. The lad knows nothing of being an officer in the field. Imagine, telling sergeants to keep their opinions quiet. With Oponn’s luck, Keneb will explain a few things to the lieutenant, eventually.’



‘Assuming Keneb’s any better,’ Borduke muttered. He combed his beard. ‘Rumour has it he was the only one of his company to survive. And you know what that likely means.’



‘Let’s wait and see,’ Strings advised. ‘It’s a bit early to start honing the knives-’



‘Honing the knives,’ Gesler said, ‘now you’re talking a language I understand. I’m prepared to wait and see, as you suggest, Fid. For now. All right, let’s gather the mages tonight, and if they can actually get along without killing each other, then we might find ourselves a step or two ahead.’



Horns sounded to announce the resumption of the march. Soldiers groaned and swore as they clambered upright once more.



The first day of travel was done, and to Gamet it seemed they had travelled a paltry, pathetic distance from Aren. To be expected, of course. The army was a long way from finding its feet.



As am I . Saddle sore and light-headed from the heat, the Fist watched from a slight rise alongside the line of march as the camp slowly took shape. Pockets of order amidst a chaotic sea of motion. Seti and Wickan horse warriors continued to range well beyond the outlying pickets, far too few in number, however, to give him much comfort. And those Wickans-grandfathers and grandmothers one and all. Hood knows, I might well have crossed blades with some of those old warriors. Those ancient ones, they were never settled with the idea of being in the Empire . They were here for another reason entirely. For the memory of Coltaine. And the children-well, they were being fed the singular poison of bitter old fighters filled with tales of past glory. And so, ones who’ve never known the terror of war and ones who’ve forgotten. A dreadful pairing…



He stretched to ease the kinks in his spine, then forced himself into motion. Down from the ridge, along the edge of the rubble-filled ditch, to where the Adjunct’s command tent sat, its canvas pristine, Temul’s Wickans standing guard around it.



Temul was not in sight. Gamet pitied the lad. He was already fighting a half-dozen skirmishes, without a blade drawn, and he was losing. And there’s not a damned thing any of us can do about it .



He approached the tent’s entrance, scratched at the flap and waited.



‘Come in, Gamet,’ the Adjunct’s voice called from within.



She was kneeling in the fore-chamber before a long, stone box, and was just settling the lid into place when he stepped through the entrance. A momentary glimpse-her otataral sword-then the lid was in place. ‘There is some softened wax-there in that pot over the brazier. Bring it over, Gamet.’



He did so, and watched as she brushed the inset join between lid and base, until the container was entirely sealed. Then she rose and swept the windblown sand from her knees. ‘I am already weary of this pernicious sand,’ she muttered.



She studied him for a moment, then said, ‘There is watered wine behind you, Gamet. Pour yourself some.’



‘Do I look in need, Adjunct?’



‘You do. Ah, I well know, you sought out a quiet life when you joined our household. And here I have dragged you into a war.’



He felt himself bridling and stood straighten ‘I am equal to this, Adjunct.’



‘I believe you. None the less, pour yourself some wine. We await news.’



He swung about in search of the clay jug, found it and strode over. ‘News, Adjunct?’



She nodded, and he saw the concern on her plain features, a momentary revelation that he turned away from as he poured out a cup of wine. Show me no seams, lass. I need to hold on to my certainty .



‘Come stand beside me,’ she instructed, a sudden urgency in her tone.



He joined her. They faced the clear space in the centre of the chamber.



Where a portal flowered, spreading outward like liquid staining a sheet of gauze, murky grey, sighing out a breath of stale, dead air. A tall, green-clad figure emerged. Strange, angular features, skin the shade of coal-dust marble; the man’s broad mouth had the look of displaying a perpetual half-smile, but he was not smiling now.