Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(59)

‘Greetings, lad. Bernal—’

‘Heavyhand. Yes. Old Bear told me you were here.’

‘Ah.’ He eyed Orman up and down, nodded to himself. Orman raised a questioning brow. ‘I see him in you,’ the man said. ‘Your father.’

‘My thanks.’

The huge fellow nodded thoughtfully. ‘He was a good friend.’

Old Bear spluttered and gasped anew. ‘That is quite enough, Ham,’ he gasped. ‘You enjoy your chores too much, I think.’

‘One must take pleasure from one’s work, sor.’

‘You look like a sad bear that has fallen into a river,’ Bernal called out.

Old Bear pointed to him. ‘You are next.’

Bernal laughed and waved him off. ‘I think not. I have work to do – can’t swan the day away with baths and shaves,’ and he limped off around the side of the hall.

Old Bear peered about, looking very alarmed. ‘Shaves? Who mentioned shaves? There will be no shaving this bear.’

Keth and Kasson, side by side on a bench, their arms crossed, sat grinning at him. Gerrun called out: ‘If we shaved you the only thing left would be a heap of hair.’

Ham threw Old Bear a blanket. ‘If you insist, sor. No blade is up to the task in any case, I fear.’

Leal stepped into the yard and half bowed. ‘The morning meal.’

Old Bear straightened from the tub and threw his arms out to her. ‘Come to me, my dove of love!’

The old woman let out a squeak of terror and ducked back inside.

Orman saw that, impossible as it might seem, the man was twice as hairy from the waist down.

They ate a morning meal of barley porridge and apples. Then Old Bear announced he’d trounce them with any weapon they cared to name. They sparred with spear and staves, then moved on to wooden practice swords. Orman found that while Old Bear could, literally, overbear any of them, his technique with the spear was poor. With the sword he was useless. He wielded it like an axe. After a few bouts Orman began to wonder how on earth the man had lived so long through a lifetime of battle.

With the Reddin brothers it was the other way round. In just a few moves they always had the better of him. Just when he thought it could not be any more embarrassing Kasson reached behind his back to draw twinned long-handled hatchets that he then employed to systematically destroy Orman’s defence with spear and sword. Orman was amazed by the weapons. The brothers could weave the spiked and bearded axe-heads to catch swords and yank them aside or deliver a killing thrust that could penetrate mail armour.

As if this humiliation was not enough, it was then Gerrun’s turn to beat him armed only with a knife. ‘You let me in,’ the little fellow warned him. ‘Never let a knife-fighter get inside your reach.’

Orman waved him away. ‘This is stupid. No one is going to come at me with a knife when I hold a sword.’

Old Bear growled from where he sat on a bench, quite winded. ‘If all they have is a cooking pot then that’s what they’ll come at you with!’ He gestured Gerrun forward. ‘Again.’

They practised through the full day, taking breaks in which they discussed various techniques and moves. It was during one of these rests that a thought occurred to Orman while he sipped water from a ladle. He looked to the Reddin brothers. ‘You two marched north with Longarm’s Fifty,’ he said. ‘When you were here, in the Blood range, did you … you know …’ He motioned to Sayer Hall.

The brothers shook their heads. Keth studied the edge of one of his hatchets, sheathed it at his back. ‘The Bains,’ he answered, low.

‘The Bains,’ Orman repeated. ‘Did you face, you know, that one – Lotji?’

‘We didn’t,’ Kasson said. ‘But we saw him fight.’

‘And?’

The brothers exchanged a look, said nothing.

Old Bear loudly cleared his throat. ‘Lad,’ he said. ‘It’s one thing to learn how to fight. Any fool can do that. But it’s a damned ugly business, risking death and hurting people. Few really enjoy it. But that one does. To him, it’s a game. As in the old days, when the fighting was constant between the clans. Now there’s too few of them.’ The old fellow pulled his fingers through his scraggly beard. ‘He misses those days, I suppose,’ he mused. Rousing himself, he slapped his hands to his thighs and stood. ‘Now, more spear work, I think. Try to keep us at a distance, hey?’

Orman groaned inwardly, but he understood what they were doing. He was carrying Boarstooth: he would be the mark of anyone they met.

In the evening they ate a meal of freshly baked bread, a steaming soup of boiled vegetables and barley, baked pheasant, apples, and weak beer. Old Bear was in a great humour. He entertained them all with the story of Ruckar Myrni and the slaying of the ice-drake in the heights of the Salt range, and all the frozen maidens he found greatly in need of warming. ‘You can be sure,’ he finished, ‘that Ruckar thawed the heart of each of them!’

Noise at the entrance brought their attention round. Vala was there with Jass. She pushed him in and followed behind. The lad’s light brown hair was slicked back, and he wore a belted shirt of mail that was far too long for him and a large knife at his hip, its ivory handle wound with silver wire. They climbed the platform at the end of the hall, where Vala sat in the centre chair while he stepped forward to stand before her.