House of Chains
Tarr frowned beneath the rim of his helm. ‘All right, I suppose. As soon as I figure out what kind of training it needs, I’ll get right on it.’
‘Good, the situation sounds ideal. Spread the word. First battle’s tonight, one bell after we set camp.’
Both soldiers swung their heads round at this.
‘Tonight?’ Bottle asked. ‘After what just-’
‘You heard me. Gesler and Borduke are getting their beauties primed, same as us. We’re ready, lads.’
‘It’s going to draw quite a crowd,’ Corporal Tarr said, shaking his head. ‘The lieutenant won’t help but wonder-’
‘Not just the lieutenant, I’d imagine,’ Strings replied. ‘But there won’t be much of a crowd. We’ll use the old word-line system. Run the commentary back through the whole camp.’
‘Joyful’s going to get skewered,’ Bottle muttered, his expression growing sorrowful. ‘And here I been feeding her, every night. Big juicy capemoths… she’d just pounce real pretty, then start eating until there wasn’t nothing left but a couple wings and a crunched-up ball. Then she’d spend half the night cleaning her pincers and licking her lips-’
‘Lips?’ Smiles asked from behind the three men. ‘What lips? Scorpions don’t have lips-’
‘When I get close to a scorpion I kill it. Which is what any sane person would do.’
‘Sane?’ the mage retorted. ‘You pick them up and start pulling things off! Tail, pincers, legs-I ain’t seen nothing so cruel in my life!’
‘Well, ain’t that close enough to see if it’s got lips?’
‘Where’s it all go, I wonder?’ Tarr muttered.
Bottle nodded. ‘I know, it’s amazing. She’s so tiny…’
‘That’s our secret,’ Strings said quietly.
‘The reason why I picked a Birdshit, soldiers.’
At the suspicious silence that followed, Strings simply smiled. Then he shrugged. ‘Hunting’s one thing. An easy thing. Birdshits don’t need to get… elaborate, killing a maimed capemoth. It’s when they have to fight. Protecting territory, or their young. That’s when the surprise comes. You think Joyful’s going to lose tonight, Bottle? Think your heart’s going to get broken? Relax, lad, old Strings here has always got your tender feelings in mind…’
‘You can drop that “Strings” bit, Sergeant,’ Bottle said after a moment. ‘We all know who you are. We all know your real name.’
‘Well, that’s damned unfortunate. If it gets out to the command-’
‘Oh, it won’t, Fiddler.’
‘Maybe not on purpose, but in the heat of battle?’
‘Who’s going to listen to our screams of panic in a battle, Sergeant?’
Fiddler shot the young man a look, gauging, then he grinned. ‘Good point. Still, be careful what you say and when you say it.’
‘Aye, Sergeant. Now, could you explain that surprise you were talking about?’
Strings fell silent then, noting a small party of riders approaching down the line of march. ‘Straighten up, soldiers. Officers coming.’
Fist Gamet, the sergeant saw, was looking old, worn out. Getting dragged out of retirement was never a good thing, he knew, since the first thing that an old soldier put away was his nerve, and that was hard, if not impossible, to get back. That stepping away, of course, marked a particular kind of retirement-and one a cautious soldier usually avoided. Abandoning the lifestyle was one thing, but surrendering the deadly edge was another. Studying the Fist as the man rode up, Fiddler felt a tremor of unease.
Accompanying Gamet were Captain Keneb and the lieutenant, the latter so grim-faced as to be near comical. His officer mask, with which he tries to look older and thus more professional. Instead, it’s the scowl of a constipated man. Someone should tell him …
The threesome reined in to walk their horses alongside Fiddler’s own squad-somewhat unnerving to the sergeant, though he offered them a nod. Keneb’s eyes, he noted, were on Cuttle.
But it was Ranal who spoke first. ‘Sergeant Strings.’
‘Aye, sir?’
‘You and Cuttle, please, off to one side for a private conversation.’ Then he raised his voice to the squad marching ahead. ‘Sergeant Gesler and Corporal Stormy, back with us on the double.’