Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(22)

She worked well into the night, the wide front of the fortress smithy open to the cool night. The candles of tallow burned down around her, providing no more light than the dim fading coals of the forge. She was rolling up the coat in its covering of oiled leather when a voice spoke from the darkness: ‘You should get some sleep.’

She spun. The name on her tongue faded away when she saw Petal come shuffling forward out of the night. His heavy lips were pursed and his gaze was directed down at his hands clasped across his wide girth.

‘Not whom you were expecting,’ he murmured, embarrassed.

She smiled despite her disappointment and anger at herself for her reaction. ‘No – but always welcome, Petal. What brings you round?’

The big man sighed. ‘It is my fate to always be the man women aren’t expecting.’

She had heard that he and the fiery-tempered Mara, recently united, were now not getting along. She turned to her gear to hide her smile, and said, ‘Women are allowed to be just as great fools as men.’

‘You are too kind, Shimmer.’

Straightening her expression, she turned back to him. ‘So – cannot sleep?’

‘No. Sleep, and dreaming, is always problematic for us practitioners of Mockra.’

Mockra was the Warren of manipulating thoughts and the mind. ‘I understand.’

‘So – you may sleep. I will keep watch. And if … anything should happen I will send for you, of course.’

She tipped her head in acceptance. ‘How can I refuse such a kind offer? My thanks, Petal.’

He leaned back against a post then jumped when the horseshoes and chains hung there jangled and rang. ‘Certainly,’ he managed, and smoothed the front of his dark robes.

Shimmer felt the urge to give the sweet fellow a peck on the cheek. ‘Good night.’

‘Ah, yes. Good night.’

The next morning she found her best shirts, gambeson, and long tabard laid out by her servants. This would be the last day of such pampering, as they would be leaving all the servants, grooms, and maids behind in the fortress. She splashed her face, saw to her toilet, then dressed. Gwynn, who had somehow fallen into the role of her unofficial second-in-command, awaited her in the Great Hall.

The dour white-haired mage had returned to his typical dress of hues of charcoal: a long coal-black shirt over midnight trousers. And his expression was in keeping with a priest of Hood, though he was not.

‘How are we doing?’ she asked, and took a bite from a scrap of yesterday’s bread.

‘We are behind, of course.’

Taking up a glass of watered wine, she invited him to follow her out. ‘Oh? What is it now?’

‘The water casks. We are still short. More were promised by the cooper but they haven’t arrived.’

‘We’ll just have to make do.’

‘We are too low on salted meat as well.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’

‘And dyed red cloth.’

‘Red cloth?’

‘For the tabards,’ he explained.

‘Well, some will have to go without.’

They descended the stone and dirt way that led from the fortress to Haven Town. Shimmer nodded to tradesmen, labourers and farmers as they passed. Guardsmen and women saluted her. She cast a glance sidelong to the elder mage. Did the man enjoy being the bearer of ill tidings? Did he relish failure and gloom? Or was he perhaps merely excruciatingly careful? In all the time spent with him in Jacuruku and since, she had yet to decide.

‘We’ll take whatever we can get,’ she told him.

‘Which, I must point out again, is not enough.’

‘Are there enough casks and nails in all of Haven Town?’

The mage contented himself with rubbing his jowls and grumbling into his hand. Shimmer smiled tightly; that should hold him for a time.

She found a crowd of the Avowed of the Crimson Guard awaiting her at the waterfront. The sight sent a flush of gratitude and affection through her. At first she’d feared she’d been too selfish in her choice of those would accompany the expedition: personnel from her old command predominated. No doubt, however, the other Avowed understood her preference for the men and women she had commanded for decades and knew so well. And here they all were, assembled to see them off.

She embraced many as she passed and saluted old soldiers of the Second Investiture like Ambrose and Trench. She shook hands with a glum Tarkhan, formally handing over command of Fortress Haven.

‘Good hunting,’ he told her. ‘Come back with Cal.’

‘I shall.’ Leaning close, she murmured, ‘Any sign?’

He gave a minute jerk of his head. ‘None.’

Damn the man! He ought to be here. This was inexcusable, and, if anything, it strengthened her faith in the difficult decision she had made. Negligence. Pure negligence.

She caught Gwynn’s eye as she shook hands and answered salutes of farewell. ‘We are all aboard?’

‘Aye.’

‘Very good.’ She motioned him up the gangway of their hired merchantman, Mael’s Greetings, then faced the crowded dock and gave one last long salute. ‘Farewell, brothers and sisters. We will return with the Fourth – then we will all be reunited once again. And at full strength!’

A raucous cheer answered her. She raised her hand in salute once more, and climbed the gangway.