‘Good. Can’t eat and talk at the same time. Come over here, Adjunct, else me and the priest will have to hold you and force this stew down your throat. Won’t do anyone any good if you go and collapse at the wrong moment, will it?’
‘You – you should not have done that, Fiddler.’
‘Relax,’ the man replied, tapping his satchel. ‘Saved one House – the only one that means anything to us now.’
‘Ours is a house still divided, Captain.’
‘The King in Chains? Never mind him – the fool’s too busy undermining the throne he happens to be sitting on. And the Knight is with us.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘I am. Be at ease on that count.’
‘When that god manifests, Fiddler, it will be upon a battlefield – thousands of souls will feed its shaping. We are speaking of a god of war – when it comes, it could well fill half the sky.’
Fiddler glanced across at Banaschar, and then he shrugged. ‘Beware the vow of a Toblakai.’ And then, with a half-smile, he filled a tin bowl with stew and handed it up to the Adjunct. ‘Eat, dear Consort. The rest are with us. Reaver, Fool, the Seven … Leper …’ and his gaze fell for a moment with that title, before he looked back up, grinned over at Banaschar. ‘Cripple.’
Cripple. Oh. Well, yes. Been staring me in the face all this time, I suppose. Been thinking it was terror, that old mirror reflection. And surprise, it was.
While they ate, Banaschar’s memories wandered back, to the moment in her tent, and her words with Lostara, and all that followed.
Children, gather close. Your mother’s days are fraught now. She needs you. She needs us all .
Glancing up, he saw Tavore studying him. ‘Banaschar, was it you who removed my helm? Wiped down my face and combed through my hair?’
His gaze dropped. ‘Yes, Adjunct.’
She made an odd sound, and then said, ‘I am sorry … I must have looked a mess.’
Oh, Tavore .
Fiddler rose suddenly and said in a gruff voice, ‘I’ll saddle your horse, Adjunct.’
Hedge watched as the three riders rode back into the camp. ‘Bavedict, distribute the munitions.’