Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(87)

‘Greetings!’ the man called. ‘I am Jaochim. Brothers, you are welcome. Orman – I knew your father and I honour his name.’ Orman could see that the man was eyeing Svalthbrul. ‘My thanks for joining us. We have need for more spears.’

Old Bear cocked his brow. ‘Oh?’

‘The Eithjar have sent warning. A gang of some twenty raiders have entered the Holding. Take our new spears and drive them off, yes?’

Old Bear bowed again. ‘With pleasure, Jaochim.’ He slapped Orman on the back. ‘Our first sport, lad. Let us blood your spear!’

Jaochim stepped down from the platform and examined Svalthbrul. In turn, Orman examined the head of the Sayer clan. Very tall and wiry he was, like all the Icebloods. Long-jawed, with large canines and a deep brow. His long earth-brown hair hung in a dirty mass about his shoulders. His eyes were oddly shaped; oblong, they seemed, and glowed a deep amber. ‘So it is true,’ he said admiringly.

‘I am proud to carry it,’ Orman said.

Jaochim smiled. His canines made it a wolfish grin. ‘As you should be. Your father’s winning of it is a grand tale. The Eithjar speak of it still.’

Feet slammed the dirt of the floor and Jass came running in. ‘Jaochim!’ Uncle and nephew embraced. ‘I am so very glad to see you!’

‘And I you.’ Jaochim looked Jass up and down and nodded to himself. He gestured to Old Bear. ‘Take the lad with you, Bear. It’s time he blooded his spear as well.’

Orman couldn’t help himself: ‘No!’

Jaochim turned a frown upon him. ‘No, you say?’

Orman shot a look to Vala, but she stood motionless, her arms wrapped around herself, her lips drawn tight. Obviously she was fearful but would not interfere; perhaps she saw the need, or the obligation. He swallowed his sudden dread and cursed himself. ‘There are twenty …’

Jaochim nodded, patted Jass on the shoulder. ‘All the more need for another spear.’ He urged Jass out. ‘You will leave at once. The Eithjar will guide you.’

Old Bear bowed. ‘At once, Jaochim.’ He waved Orman off. ‘Get your gear.’

He waited before the Greathall. He had little gear to ready: just his father’s travelling leathers, his knives, a sleeping roll and a pouch of dried meat and hard cheese. And Svalthbrul, of course. Keth and Kasson emerged side by side wearing their heaviest armour: boiled leather hauberks with mailed sleeves and vambraces. Helmets were pushed back on their heads. They carried shields on their backs, longswords at their sides, and spears in hand.

Old Bear came out escorting Jass, who now wore a leather hauberk that was a touch on the large side for his gangly frame. The sword at his side also looked rather too big for him, and he carried his spear.

Orman went to Old Bear’s side. ‘Is this it, then?’ he whispered, low and fierce. ‘Just we five?’

‘Six,’ Bear answered, grinning – foolishly, Orman thought. ‘Gerrun is probably with them.’

‘With them? What do you mean, with them?’

The big man winked, and the gesture – as if this were all in good fun – infuriated Orman. ‘Don’t you remember the hunting party that came chasing you? Gerrun joined it. He’s with most parties that come up from the lowlands. Offers his services as a guide, he does.’

Old Bar headed off, jogging down the path that led to the trail out of the valley. Orman followed. He thought now of Gerrun, offering to guide his uncle, or perhaps merely joining the party for coin. How many times had the man gone alone among enemies? He shook his head in admiration. And he’d thought him a coward!

Later, as evening darkened beneath the trees, their pace slowed. The uneven ground was treacherous, the path nearly non-existent. Orman had the rear and Old Bear had fallen back to join him, or rather, the party now kept the old man’s pace as he puffed and lumbered along. ‘I understand your reluctance regarding Jass, lad,’ Old Bear said as they descended a steep rocky stretch. Orman didn’t answer. ‘Don’t you worry now. We’ll all look out for him, won’t we? And you can bet the Eithjar will also.’

‘Can they stop a sword?’ Orman growled.

The old man hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat. ‘Well, no. But there’re other things they can do here on the lands of their Holding, you can be certain of that.’

Orman grunted, unimpressed. ‘Then they had better just stay out of my way.’

At an old campsite Keth called for a stop. They threw themselves down and rested until sunrise, then ate a quick cold meal and set off once more. Ghostly shapes wavered into view occasionally: the Eithjar directing them onward. Three days later a translucent womanly shape, all in ghostly furs, appeared before them and motioned to the ground. All fell to their stomachs and rolled to cover.

After a moment, Kasson edged forward on his elbows, then waved them onward. They all slid forward to what proved to be a shoulder of a wooded slope offering a view of the valley. Here a party climbed alongside a slim tumbling stream of meltwater. Orman counted fewer than twenty and decided they had scouts out.

Keth must have come to the same conclusion as he gestured them all into thicker cover. They grouped together under a rock ledge. Keth motioned to the top of the thick trees that rose about them. Orman nodded and handed Svalthbrul to Jass, then set to climbing.

He had to swing round the trunk and lean out to glimpse the party as it advanced. He spotted Gerrun with them, but the man probably wasn’t laughing inside: this time he was tied up and being led along. This group, it seemed, wasn’t nearly as trusting as prior parties.