****
Gesler, Strings, Cuttle, Truth and Pella sat around the dying coals of a hearth, drinking tea.
'They're all losing their minds with this waiting,' Gesler said.
'I get just as bad before every battle,' Strings admitted. 'Cold and loose inside, if you know what I mean. It never goes away.'
'But you settle once it's begun,' Cuttle said. 'We all do, 'cause we' ve done this before. We settled, and we know we settle. Most of these soldiers, they don't know nothing of the sort. They don't know how they'll be once the fighting starts. So they're all terrified they'll curl up into cringing cowards.'
'Most of them probably will,' Gesler said.
'I don't know about that, Sergeant,' Pella said. 'Saw plenty of soldiers just like these ones at Skullcup. When the rebellion hit, well, they fought and they fought well, all things considered.'
'Outnumbered.'
'Yes.'
'So they died.'
'Most of them.'
'That's the thing with war,' Gesler said. 'Ain't nearly as many surprises, when all's said and done, as you might think. Or hope.
Heroic stands usually end up with not a single hero left standing.
Held out longer than expected, but the end was the same anyway. The end's always the same.'
'Abyss below, Gesler,' Strings said, 'ain't you a cheery one.'
'Just being realistic, Fid. Damn, I wish Stormy was here, now it's up to me to keep an eye on my squad.'
'Yes,' Cuttle said, 'that's what sergeants do.'
'You suggesting Stormy should've been sergeant and me corporal?'
'Now why would I do that?' the sapper asked. 'You're both just as bad as each other. Now Pella here…'
'No thanks,' Pella said.
Strings sipped his tea. 'Just make sure everybody sticks together.
Captain wants us on the tip of the spear, as fast and as far in as we can get – the rest will just have to catch up. Cuttle?'
'Once the wall's blown I'll pull our sappers together and we meet you inside the breach. Where's Borduke right now?'
'Went for a walk. Seems his squad got into some kind of sympathetic heaves. Borduke got disgusted and stormed off.'
'So long as everybody's belly is empty by the time we get the call,'
Cuttle said. 'Especially Maybe.'
'Especially maybe,' Gesler said, with a low laugh. 'That's a good one.
You've made my day, Cuttle.'
'Believe me, it wasn't intentional.'
****
Seated nearby, hidden from the others in a brush-bordered hollow, Bottle smiled. So that's how the veterans get ready for a fight. Same as everyone else. That did indeed comfort him. Mostly. Well, maybe not. Better had they been confident, brash and swaggering. This – what was coming – sounded all too uncertain.
He had just returned from the mage gathering. Magical probes had revealed a muted presence in Y'Ghatan, the priestly kind, for the most part, and what there was of that was confused, panicked. Or strangely quiescent. For the sappers' advance, Bottle would be drawing upon Meanas, rolling banks of mist, tumbling darkness on all sides. Easily dispelled, if a mage of any skill was on the wall, but there didn't seem to be any. Most troubling of all, Bottle would need all his concentration to work Meanas, thus preventing him from using spirit magic. Leaving him as blind as those few enemy soldiers on the wall.
He admitted to a bad run of nerves – he hadn't been nearly so shaky at Raraku. And with Leoman's ambush in the sandstorm, well, it was an ambush, wasn't it – there'd been no time for terror. In any case, he didn't like this feeling.
Rising into a crouch, he moved away, up and out of the hollow, straightening and walking casually into the squad's camp. It seemed Strings didn't mind leaving his soldiers alone for a while before things heated up, letting them chew on their own thoughts, then – hopefully – reining everyone in at the last moment.
Koryk was tying yet more fetishes onto the various rings and loops in his armour, strips of coloured cloth, bird bones and chain-links to add to the ubiquitous finger bones that now signified the Fourteenth Army. Smiles was flipping her throwing-knives, the blades slapping softly on the leather of her gloves. Tarr stood nearby, shield already strapped on his left arm, short sword in his gauntleted right hand, most of his face hidden by his helm's cheek-guards.
Turning, Bottle studied the distant city. Dark – there seemed not a single lantern glowing from that squat, squalid heap. He already hated Y'Ghatan.
