The Crippled God

‘Yes sir.’



‘Please read it back to me.’



Himble cleared his throat, squinted at the tablet. ‘“Pores to Kindly meet in secret when?”’



‘Excellent. Dispatch that at once, Himble.’



‘Before or after the one to the Adjunct?’



‘Hmm, before, I think. Did I not say “a crisis of the highest order”?’



Himble squinted again at the tablet and nodded. ‘So you did, sir.’



‘Right, then. Be off with you, Corporal.’



Himble packed up his kit, humming under his breath.



Pores observed him. ‘Happy to be drummed out of the heavies, Himble?’



The man paused, cocked his head and considered. ‘Happy, sir? No, not happy, but then, get your fingers chopped off an’ what can y’do?’



‘I have heard of one of your companions getting a special leather harness made—’



‘Only one hand was done with ’im, sir. I lost the shield side in the first stand, and then the sword one in the fourth push.’



‘And now you’re a clerk.’



‘Aye, sir.’



Pores studied him for a moment, and then said, ‘On your way, Himble.’



Once he’d left, Pores continued pacing. ‘Note to self,’ he muttered, ‘talk to the armourer and weaponsmith. See if we can rig up something. Something tells me Himble’s old talents will become necessary before too long. With respect to the well-being and continued existence of one Pores, humble, most obedient officer of the Bonehunters.’ He frowned. Eight at the stretch. Ten in pain. May the gods above help us all .



Fist Kindly ran a hand over his head as if smoothing down hair. For a brief instant Lostara Yil found the gesture endearing. The moment passed when she reminded herself of his reputation. In any case, the man’s worried expression was troubling, and she could see quiet dismay in his eyes.



Faradan Sort set down her gauntlets. ‘Adjunct, that was a difficult march. This broken ground is pounding the wagons, and then there’re the oxen and horses. Seven draught animals have come up lame and need slaughtering. Two horses among the Khundryl and another from the command herd.’



‘It’s only going to get worse,’ muttered Kindly. ‘This Glass Desert is well named. Adjunct,’ and he glanced at Faradan Sort and then Ruthan Gudd, ‘we would speak to you of our misgivings. This course of action could well shatter us. Even should we manage to cross this wretched land, our effectiveness as a fighting force will be severely compromised.’



Faradan Sort added, ‘The mages are united in their opinion that no water is available, unless we were to halt for a few days and try sinking some deep wells. Very deep wells, Adjunct. And even then, well, the problem is that the mages have nothing to draw on. They’re powerless. Not a single warren is available to them, meaning they don’t know if there’s water far down under us, or not.’ She paused, and then sighed. ‘I wish I had some good news – we could do with it.’



The Adjunct stood over her map table. She seemed to be studying the lands of Kolanse, as marked on oiled hide by some Bolkando merchant fifty years ago, the notes etched in a language none here could read. ‘We shall have to cross a range of hills, or buttes, here’ – she pointed – ‘before we can enter the valley province of Estobanse. It’s my suspicion, however, that the enemy will reach us before then. Either from the passes or from the east. Or both. Obviously, I’d rather we did not have to fight on two fronts. The passes will be key to all this. The threat from Estobanse is the greater of the two. Fist Kindly, kill all the command horses but one. Request the Khundryl to cull their herd down to one mount per warrior with ten to spare. Fist Sort, begin selecting crew to pull the supply wagons – those oxen won’t last many more nights.’



Kindly ran a hand over his scalp again. ‘Adjunct, it seems that time is against us. In this crossing, I mean. I wonder, could we push the duration of each night’s march? Up past two bells after dawn, and a bell or more before the sun sets. It’ll wear on us, to be certain, but then we are facing that anyway.’



‘Those wagons that empty of provisions,’ Faradan Sort added, ‘could take the soldiers’ armour and melee weapons, relieving some of their burden. We could also begin divesting the train of extraneous materiel. Reduce the armourers and weaponsmiths. All of that is more or less in decent repair – the soldiers didn’t waste much time getting stuff mended or replaced. If we dropped seventy per cent of the raw iron, most of the forges, and the coal, we could redistribute the food and water on to more wagons, at least to start, which will relieve the oxen and the crews, not to mention reducing the damage to the wagons, since they’ll ride lighter.’