Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(147)

His answer was a dubious scowl. Malle turned to Tyvar. ‘The only leader out there is a retired Letherii military officer named Teal. However, new soldiers and veterans are arriving all the time.’

‘I thank you,’ he replied. ‘You are uncommonly well informed.’

Her smile turned thin, almost acerbic. ‘That is my business. Also, I have in my hire two ex-cadre mages who are pledged to the defence.’

Jute shot Cartheron a glance, the obvious inference being Lady Orosenn. The old Malazan commander shook his head.

Tyvar no doubt caught the look, as did Malle, probably. He peered about, then lowered his head. ‘We need not worry on that front,’ he assured her.

Malle raised an expressive brow. She glanced back to the bay. ‘The fourth ship? A mage?’

Tyvar nodded. ‘She has granted me permission to speak of her. However, she prefers to remain … anonymous.’

‘I see. Thank you, commander.’ She inclined her head fractionally. ‘If that is all, I can be found at the main table … where I busy myself listening to all of Ronal’s relatives’ offers to support them against him.’

Tyvar drew himself straight and bowed once more. ‘Affairs of statehood. I quite understand. Until later, madam.’

Jute quickly sketched a bow.

Cartheron merely raised his chin in a lazy see-you-later farewell. After she was gone, he turned to Jute. ‘About that lady there …’

‘Don’t get in her way – yes, I gathered that.’

Cartheron gave a very serious nod. ‘You’re a quick study.’ He turned to Tyvar and crossed his arms. ‘So … what do you think?’

‘I think that if these defenders can hold on, then this rabble will just wander off.’ He pulled at his beard thoughtfully. ‘That is, unless someone out there can give the besiegers some sort of spine.’

‘Riches – loot – is a great motivator,’ Cartheron supplied.

Jute frowned his confusion at that. ‘How do you know there are any riches here?’

Cartheron gave him a look that, back in the tent in Wrongway, he’d given one of his crew who’d asked a particularly stupid question. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said, as if explaining something to some new recruit. ‘What matters is what someone out there tells them.’

Jute felt his brows rising. ‘Ah. I see.’ Such a ploy as actually lying – deliberately or innocently – to one’s people hadn’t even occurred to him. However, if it got the job done … well, never mind, hey?

‘And you, Tyvar?’ Cartheron continued. ‘Is this your fight?’

The big man frowned at the question. ‘I do not know. Here is a battle. Yet … we’ve been forbidden from participating. I feel that this is not it. However, best remain hopeful, eh?’ And he slapped Cartheron on the back, almost toppling him from the wall.

For his part, Jute did not like being the object of so many hostile and evaluative eyes as he stood there exposed upon the defences. ‘Perhaps we should retire?’ he offered. Cartheron and Tyvar agreed, and they descended the beaten dirt rampart.

They crossed to the cliffs, and, in despair, Jute realized he’d have to descend the damned stairs in order to return to the Dawn. Only that could possibly have convinced him to set foot once more on the rickety construction. He managed it, but he had his eyes closed for most of the descent.

Back on board, he immediately went to Ieleen. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘they’re under siege. But they don’t want our help.’

Her hands resting on her walking stick, she nodded her understanding. ‘They’re proud. This is their land. They don’t want us here.’

‘However,’ Jute added, ‘Tyvar pledged our support … and our vessels.’

She tilted her head in thought. ‘Perhaps in case evacuation is necessary.’

Jute rubbed his chin; he hadn’t thought of that. Where in the world would they take them? ‘No. I don’t think so. But good point.’

‘So we wait.’

‘Yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And, dearest … about this woman, Giana …’

‘Yes?’

‘Now, you know there’s nothing there – really, there isn’t.’

His wife gave a low throaty chuckle and shook her head. ‘Oh, I know that’s so.’

For some reason Jute felt rather piqued. ‘Why would that be so?’

‘Because she has eyes for our master-at-arms.’

Now he was confused. ‘But she’s …’

His wife was nodding. ‘Yes, dearest. She most certainly is.’

* * *

Badlands quickly shook off any help from Fisher. He led the bard and Jethiss north, and he did so in utter silence, without a glance to either of them. For his part, Fisher eased into the role of returning to the land of his youth. He’d grown up on the Myrni Holding, just to the east. They had taken in his mother, who was of the ancient Fanyar Hold, long pushed out of her homeland. As such, a half-blood, he came to find that he was welcome in neither world. And so he had renounced his place among the Myrni, swearing never to return, and went to find his way in the world.

Yet return he had, from time to time. The last being some three decades ago – in the wider world he’d found that those of Iceblood descent lived a far greater allotment of years.