The warchief wasted no time with words. He unslung the spiked mace at his hip and raised it skyward, slowly turning full circle. All eyes held on him, the elite warriors from all the tribes ringing the clearing, the rest massed behind them, all the way to the valley's slopes.
Humbrall Taur paused as a witless dog trotted across the expanse. A well-flung stone sent it scampering with a yelp. The warchief growled something under his breath, then gestured with his weapon.
Paran watched Trotts emerge from the crowd. The tattooed Barghast wore the standard issue Malazan armour for marines: studded boiled leather with iron bands over the shoulders and hips. His half-helm had been collected from a dead officer among the soldiers of Aren, in Seven Cities. Bridge-guard and cheek-plates bore a filigreed design of inlaid silver. A chain camail protected the sides and back of his neck. A round shield was strapped to his left forearm, the hand protected by a spiked, iron-banded cestus. A straight, blunt-tipped broadsword was in his right hand.
His arrival elicited low growls from the gathered Barghast, which Trotts answered with a hard grin, revealing blue-stained, filed teeth.
Humbrall Taur eyed him for a moment, as if disapproving of Trotts's choice of Malazan weapons over those of the Barghast, then he swung in the opposite direction and gestured once more with the mace.
His youngest son emerged from the circle.
Paran had not known what to expect, but the sight of this scrawny, grinning youth — wearing only leathers, with a single short hook-knife in his right hand — did not match any of the images he had fashioned. What is this? Some kind of twisted insult? Does Taur want to ensure his own defeat? At the cost of his youngest son's life?
The warriors on all sides began thumping their feet on the hard earth, raising a rhythmic drumbeat that echoed its way across the valley.
The unnamed youth sauntered into the Circle to stand opposite Trotts, five paces between them. Eyeing the Bridgeburner from head to toe, the boy's smile broadened.
'Captain,' a voice hissed beside Paran.
He turned. 'Corporal Aimless, isn't it? What can I do for you? And be quick.'
The lean, stooped soldier's habitually dour expression was even bleaker than usual. 'We were just wondering, sir … If this scrap goes bad, I mean, well, me and a few others, we been hoarding some Moranth munitions. Cussers too, sir, we got five of those at hand. We could open something of a path — see that knoll over there, a good place, we figured, to withdraw to and hold up. Those steep sides-'
'Stow it, Corporal,' Paran growled under his breath. 'My orders haven't changed. Everyone sits tight.'
'Sure he's a runt, sir, but what if-'
'You heard me, soldier.'
Aimless bobbed his head. 'Yes, sir. It's just that, uh, some — nine, maybe ten — well, they're muttering about maybe doing whatever they please and to Hood with you … sir.'
Paran pulled his gaze away from the two motionless warriors in the Circle and met the corporal's watery eyes. 'And you are their spokesman, Aimless?'
'No! Not me, sir! I ain't got no opinion, I never did. Never do, in fact, Captain. No, not me. I'm just here telling you what's going on among the squads right now, that's all.'
'And there they all are, watching you and me having this conversation, which is how they wanted it. You're the mouth, Corporal, whether you like it or not. This is one instance where I probably should kill the messenger, if only to rid myself of his stupidity.'
Aimless's dour expression clouded. 'I wouldn't try that, sir,' he said slowly. 'The last captain that drew his sword on me I broke his neck.'
Paran raised an eyebrow. Beru fend me, I underestimate even the true idiots in this company. 'Try showing some restraint this time, Corporal,' he said. 'Go back and tell your comrades to hold tight until I give the signal. Tell them there's no way we're going down without a fight, but trying a break-out when the Barghast most expect it will see us die fast.'
'You want me to say all that, sir?'
'In your own words, if you like.'
Aimless sighed. 'That's easy, then. I'll go now, Captain.'
'You do that, Corporal.'
Returning his attention to the Circle, Paran saw that Humbrall Taur had moved to stand directly between the two contestants. If he addressed them it was brief and under his breath, for he then stepped back, once more raising the mace overhead. The thumping dance of the massed warriors ceased. Trotts swung his shield to the ready, dropping his left leg back and positioning his sword in a tight guard position. The youth's sloppy stance did not change, the knife held loosely at his side.