Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(137)

‘I saved your life, you old fool.’

Old Bear waved a dismissal over the fallen men. ‘All you did was cheat me of a great boast – should I have succeeded.’

‘Should you have succeeded,’ Orman agreed.

The grin returned and the old man opened one arm – his good arm – and Orman embraced him. Old Bear pounded his back. ‘Good to see you, y’damned fool!’ He took hold of Orman’s shoulder and pulled him away to give him a good look up and down. Orman noted the flinch as he examined his face. ‘Running off north! What do you think you could accomplish?’

‘I saw him.’

The old man’s tangled greying brows rose. Even the one over the blind milky eye. ‘Really? You met Buri? What did he say?’

What Buri said returned to Orman’s thoughts, and he half turned away. He shook his head.

Old Bear pulled a hand through his thick beard. ‘Ach – you tried, lad.’ He winced and gripped his shoulder. ‘Damned bastards tickled me.’

Orman took his arm. ‘Let’s find a stream. Clean that wound.’

Old Bear motioned to Orman’s patch as they made their way down the slope. ‘We’re practically twins now!’ he chortled.

Orman laughed as well. ‘Yes – how will they ever tell us apart? So, what’s going on? What in the name of the ancients are you doing here?’

‘Your plan was accepted, Orman. We’re working with the Losts.’

‘My plan? It wasn’t my plan. Was one of the Lost hearth-guards’ … Cal, I think.’

The old man made a face as if insulted. ‘Of course it was your plan! No dim hearthguard of the Losts could come up with a decent plan!’ He grinned anew. ‘Only the Sayers.’

Orman just snorted. Then he drew a hard breath, tensing himself. ‘Any word … on Jass?’

Old Bear lost his grin. He cleared his throat as he limped along. ‘No, lad. He’s a hostage of the Bains. They’ll keep him safe. Don’t you worry. It’s the old ways.’

‘And Lotji?’

‘He’s out there somewhere. It’s one big running battle. We’re trying to herd them together. Us ’n’ the Losts. But they just ain’t organized. Just a bunch of raiding bands, all independent.’ The man grumbled under his breath. ‘Like herding cats.’

‘Well … I’m for Lotji.’

The big man shook his head. ‘Don’t do it, lad. He’ll run you through with Svalthbrul.’

‘I’ll just have to take my chances.’

But Old Bear would not stop shaking his shaggy head. ‘No, lad. Don’t you lot there in Curl tell the old tales?’

Orman snorted his scepticism. ‘You mean that it never misses?’

‘That’s right, lad. Svalthbrul, once loosed, never misses its mark.’

He had no answer for that. Yet Buri had advised he challenge Lotji; he must know the truth of those old tales, if anyone did. And, anyway, he really had no choice in the matter. It would be confronting Lotji, or abandoning everything he believed about himself. It was no choice at all.

They found a stream and Orman cleaned and bound Bear’s shoulder. Then they headed south, down the valley. The shadows lengthened; the sun sizzled atop the ridge to the west. Twilight already pooled in the depths of this particularly steep mountain vale. Orman was considering finding a place to settle in for the night when he heard the clash of fighting echoing from the very bottom of the valley. He and Bear broke into a trot, started jogging down the forested slope.

He glimpsed figures through the trees running parallel to them. Too many to be any allies of theirs. In his rush he’d left Bear behind, and now he broke through a dense thicket of tearing brush to nearly fall into a shallow stream. Halfway across the rushing water, hunched amid gleaming wet boulders, were the Reddin brothers with Vala, Jass’s mother. Even as he watched, arrows glanced from the rocks; they were pinned down by a band of archers on the opposite shore.

Lowlanders came charging out past the line of bowmen, making for them. Bodies lay in the stream all about the hearthguards and Vala, like boulders themselves. The rushing waters coursed over them as over any other obstruction.

Orman charged out as well. He hoped that the archers on the far shore would merely take him for one of their own. Some eight attackers now engaged the brothers and Vala. The three formed a rough triangle amid the rocks. The archers held off, not wanting to hit their fellows. When Orman neared the fight he lashed out with his hatchets, chopping down through the shoulder of one attacker, then stabbing another through the ribs with the spike of his second. The brothers and Vala instantly shifted to the attack. Both brothers had their shields up and were using their swords one-handed. Vala fought with long-knives. She cut down two of the attacking men, and a woman, in swift blows that amazed Orman. Her power was such that she nearly severed a man’s leg at the thigh.

An arrow cut angrily past his head and he threw himself low in the frigid stream, on his haunches, next to Keth – or – the brother he was fairly certain was Keth.

‘I did not think I would see you again,’ Vala shouted from where she crouched.

‘I’ve come for Lotji,’ he called back.

She gave a fierce nod, answered, ‘As have I.’ Roaring gusts of laughter sounded from the forested slope above the stream and Orman shared a grin with the Reddin brothers. ‘Old Bear is keeping them busy,’ Vala said.