Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(54)

Old Bear sat in the glow of the fire, hugging his spear. His ruddy lined face seemed to glow like heated metal in the dancing light.

From what Orman could remember of his father’s tales, they were currently in lands claimed by either the Sayer clan or the Bain clan. ‘Which Hold is this?’ he asked Old Bear.

The man’s single dark eye shifted to him. He nodded at the appropriateness of the question. ‘We are in Sayer Hold.’ He gestured north-east with his crust of bread. ‘Next valley over lies within Bain Holdings. Further east climbs the Lost Hold, though I’ve never met a Lost. They say they’ve hired many mercenaries to fight for them these last years. Must have a lot of gold, those Losts …’ Orman knew most of this already from his father, but he was quiet, taking it all in once more from the mouth of Old Bear himself – a figure out of legend he’d never imagined he’d meet again.

The old man shifted to point west. ‘The Heels. I have treated with the Heels and visited Heel Greathall. Beyond them lay the Myrni.’ He shook his hoary head. ‘Never met any of them.’

‘Will they challenge us?’ Orman couldn’t suppress a slight tremor of dread at the thought. He’d never been this high in the Holdings before. Retreat was no longer an option for any of them.

Old Bear circled a crust of bread in his bowl, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. At last he opined, ‘I have lent my spear to the Sayers now and then. We should be allowed passage.’

‘And the stream. Is it the Upper Clearwater?’

Old Bear’s gaze shifted to Gerrun across the fire where the little man sat with his booted feet stretched out close to the embers. ‘It is. The seam is high in the headwaters. Gold lies strewn down the water’s course where it falls from rapid to rapid. Is this not so, Shortshanks?’

The little man smiled thinly. ‘It is.’

‘Will we reach it soon?’

‘We are moving quickly. Another two days, I should think.’ The old man tilted his head to examine him with his one good eye. ‘You are keen to collect your gold, are you?’

Orman looked to the fire. ‘I will need money to travel. I cannot stay in the north.’

The old man nodded his assent. ‘That is true. You are now outlawed. Kinslayer. You have claimed Boarstooth. Your name will now be added to your father’s, and Jorgan Bain’s before him.’

Orman was not pleased by the man’s light tone. ‘You would mock me?’

Old Bear held up a hand. ‘Not at all, lad. I am merely repeating the tale that is no doubt making the rounds of the taverns even as we speak. Boarstooth has returned to the Holdings – a tale worth the telling.’

Orman could not be certain the man was entirely in earnest. He didn’t think any of this was worth telling at all. He picked up a branch and poked at the fire. ‘That was not what I wanted to happen.’

Old Bear produced an apple from within his cloak. He bit down loudly and chewed while he regarded the fire. ‘I know, lad,’ he said. ‘These things rarely go the way we want them to.’

The next day they traced a course up the valley. The way was stony, steep, and rough. A stream had once run here, but it had long since dried up or shifted course. They came to a pond no bigger than a stone’s throw across where pines grew thick and the air was heavy with their scent. Standing in the water, as if awaiting them, was a ghost.

Old Bear raised a hand, signalling a halt.

The Reddin brothers moved to either side of Orman so that the three of them formed a triangle, back to back. Of Gerrun, Orman saw no sign. Run off, the faithless bastard. Best that they found out this early, he supposed.

Old Bear approached the ghost alone. It was a woman. Tall and slim, her opaque form wavered slightly as if caught in an otherworldly wind. Orman wondered why she’d chosen to stand in the pond. She wore a thick cloak of some sort of animal hide clasped by a large round brooch, like a shield. Her hair was full and long and bunched like a mane itself. For some reason he imagined it must have been black.

The two spoke; or at least she spoke to him. She raised an arm to point to the east. Old Bear nodded and backed away. The woman’s form wavered and disappeared.

‘There is a trespasser,’ the old man announced, returning to them. ‘From the east.’

‘A trespasser?’ Orman repeated. ‘What is that to us?’

Old Bear studied him. ‘The Sayers will allow us to cross here, but not for free. This is their price. We must … look into things for them. Do you refuse? Would you turn back?’

Orman looked to the Reddin brothers; they too studied him, but not narrowly, not frowning. Merely coolly evaluative. He shrugged his indifference. ‘No.’

‘Very well. Let us go greet our visitor.’ Old Bear gestured with his spear that they should spread out and head east across the valley towards the ridge.

‘What of Gerrun?’ Orman asked the nearer of the Reddin brothers – he still didn’t know which was which. This one waved vaguely southwards before continuing on, unconcerned.

Orman hefted Boarstooth. Fine. I can play that game as well. Though he had many more questions, such as what were they to do with the trespasser should they find him or her? He pushed his way through the tall grasses and brush in silence.

Ahead, the woods thickened in a mixed forest of pine, aspen and cedar that climbed the valley’s slope. A voice called from the trees. ‘Greetings! I have come to talk! Is that a senile old bear I see with you?’ Orman halted, crouching for cover.