‘Then why didn’t Sha’ik send this warleader against us as soon as we crossed the Vathar River? We’re a week or less away from the Whirlwind Wall. She could have purchased another month or more, and we’d be in far worse shape when we finally arrived.’
‘You are correct, Fist. And I have no answer for you. Temul has gauged this raiding party’s strength at just under two thousand-he was fairly certain that the midday contact on the flank revealed the enemy’s full force, since he sighted supply horses as well as those taken from the Seti. Thus, a rather large raiding army.’
Gamet ruminated on this for a time, then he grunted. ‘It’s almost as if we’re facing a confused opposition, one at odds with itself.’
‘The same thought had occurred to me. For the moment, however, we must concern ourselves with this warleader, else he bleed us to death.’
Gamet swung his horse around. ‘More words with Gall, then,’ he said, grimacing. ‘If we can get them out of their great-grandfathers’ armour, they might actually manage a ride up a hill without leaving their horses blown.’
‘I want the marines out tonight, Fist.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘The marines, Adjunct? On foot? You wish the pickets bolstered?’
She drew a deep breath. ‘In the year 1147, Dassem Ultor was faced with a similar situation, with a much smaller army and three entire tribal nations mauling him virtually every night.’
After a moment Gamet nodded. ‘I know the scenario, Adjunct, and I recall his answer. The marines will be sent out tonight.’
‘Be sure they understand what is expected of them, Fist Gamet.’
‘There’s some veterans among them,’ he replied. ‘And in any case, I plan to command the operation myself.’
‘That will not be-’
‘Yes, it will, Adjunct. My apologies. But… yes, it will.’
‘So be it.’
It was one thing to doubt his commander’s measure, but another entirely to doubt his own.
There were three types of scorpion common in the odhan, none of which displayed any toleration for either of the others. Early in the second week Strings had drawn his two fellow sergeants aside to unveil his scheme. Both Gesler and Borduke had proved agreeable, particularly at the offer of splitting the profits three ways. Borduke was first to draw the odd-coloured stone and was quick to choose the Red-backed Bastard-outwardly the meanest of the three scorpion types. Gesler had followed, choosing the amber In Out-so named for its transparent exoskeleton through which, if one was inclined to look carefully, various poisons could be seen racing beneath its carapace.
The two sergeants had then looked with pity upon their hapless companion. The Lord’s luck that the man with the idea in the first place should be left with the Birdshit scorpion-puny and flat and black and looking like its namesake. Of course, when it came to the three-way split of the main profits, none of that really mattered. Only in the private wagers between the three sergeants would Strings come out wanting.
But Strings had affected only mild disappointment at being left with the Birdshit, answering with naught but a slight shrug as he collected the handful of pebbles they had used in choosing the order of selection. And neither Gesler nor Borduke caught the old sapper’s twitch of a smile as he turned away, nor his seemingly casual glance to where Cuttle sat in the shade of a boulder-a glance answered with the slightest of nods.
The squads were then set to the task of finding their respective champions whilst on the march, and, when that failed, at dusk when the horrid little creatures were wont to scuttle out from their hiding places in search of something to kill.
Word quickly spread, and soon the wagers started pouring in. Borduke’s soldier, Maybe, was chosen for the task of bet-holder, given his extraordinary ability to retain facts. And one Holder was selected from each squad, who then in turn selected a Trainer.
The afternoon following the raid and the slaughter of the Seti, Strings slowed his pace during the march, until he fell in step with Bottle and Tarr. Despite his casual expression, the truth was, the bile roiled sour in his stomach. The Fourteenth had found its own scorpion, out there in the wastes beyond, and it had just delivered its first sting. The mood of the soldiers was low, and uncertainty gnawed at their confidence. None had believed, it was clear, that the first blood they tasted would be their own. Got to get their minds off it .
‘How’s little Joyful, Bottle?’
The mage shrugged. ‘As hungry and nasty as ever, Sergeant.’
Strings nodded. ‘And how’s the training coming along, Corporal?’