As they hurried off, the Fist turned to Banaschar, studied him critically. ‘You look worse than usual, Priest. Find some shade—’
‘Oh, the sun is my friend, Fist.’
‘Only a man with no friends would say that,’ she replied, eyes narrowed. ‘You’re scorched. There will be pain – I suggest you seek out a healer.’
‘I appreciate your advice, Fist. Do I anticipate pain today? I do. In fact, I think I welcome it.’
He saw a flash of disgust. ‘Gods below, you’re better than that.’
‘Am I? Nice of you to say so.’
Faradan Sort hesitated, as if about to say something more, but then she turned away.
He watched her making her way deeper into the camp of the regulars, where soldiers now hurried about, dislodging rocks with knives and short swords in hand. Blades flashed and curses sounded.
The exhaustion of this place left him appalled. Shards of crystal born in screams of pressure, somewhere far below, perhaps, and then driven upward, slicing through the skin of the earth. Looking round, he imagined the pain of all that, the unyielding will behind such forces. He lifted his gaze, stared into the east where the sun edged open like a lizard’s eye. ‘Something,’ he whispered, ‘died here. Someone …’ The shock had torn through this land. And the power unleashed, in that wild death, had delivered such a wound upon the Sleeping Goddess that she must have cried out in her sleep. They killed her flesh. We walk upon her dead flesh. Crystals like cancer growing on all sides .
He resumed his wandering, the itch biting at his heels.
Fist Blistig pushed his way past the crowd and entered the tent. Gods below . ‘Everyone out. Except for the quartermaster.’ The mob besieging Pores, where he sat behind a folding table, quickly departed, with more than one venomous look cast at the clean-shaven man now leaning back on his stool. Brows lifting, he regarded Blistig.
The Fist turned and dropped the tent flap. He faced Pores. ‘Lieutenant. Master-Sergeant. Quartermaster. Just how many ranks and titles do you need?’
‘Why, Fist Blistig, I go where necessity finds me. Now, what can I do for you, sir?’
‘How much water did we go through last night?’
‘Too much, sir. The oxen and horses alone—’
‘By your reckoning, how many days can we go without resupply?’