Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(88)

Something else about them troubled Orman. Then he had it: they were all dressed alike in battered banded leather armour that looked to have once been painted or enamelled a dark green, with shortswords at their sides and shields on their backs. And they climbed as a unit, not dragging out in a long straggling line. Soldiers. Veterans, probably. Not your typical fortune-hunters, though soldiers sought gold just as anyone did. Very bad news for their small band. There was no way they could take such a large party of experienced fighters. He climbed back down.

Old Bear, however, was not impressed. ‘We’ll come at them in the night,’ he said. ‘When they’re all asleep.’

‘There’ll be guards!’ Orman answered hotly, hardly believing his ears.

‘So there will be a few guards,’ the old man answered, waving it aside. ‘We’ll rush ’em.’

‘Rush them?’ Orman echoed scornfully. ‘They’re soldiers! Trained for such a thing!’

Old Bear merely turned to Jass. ‘Are we to retreat? Allow them passage?’

The lad, who had been following all this with a serious face, now shook his head. So serious was he it somehow made Orman’s chest ache. Oh, lad, he thought, we’re asking too much of you – we really are. ‘Jaochim has laid the task on us,’ Jass said, his eyes downcast, as if unwilling to look at them or let them see what was in his gaze. ‘So we must see it through.’

Orman groaned inwardly. Oh, lad! What other answer could you possibly give us? You’re too young to be brave enough to say no.

Old Bear grinned his approval. ‘Aye, lad!’ He cast a severe one-eyed glare on Orman, who nodded as well. For what else could he do? Had he not sworn his loyalty?

‘I will watch them,’ Keth said, and started pulling off his shield.

‘No,’ Old Bear interrupted. ‘The Eithjar will shadow them. We can follow at a distance.’

The Reddin brothers accepted this without further words. They sat back and started working the edges of their weapons. Orman laid Svalthbrul across his lap. These Eithjar had better be a big help, because he did not like their chances against an organized party of soldiers.

With dusk one of the dead ancestors of the Sayers came to them and beckoned them onward. They crept forward in a line, the Reddin brothers leading, Orman following Jass, and Old Bear bringing up the rear.

The night was very dark. The Visitor had withdrawn to a faint bottle-green dot among the stars; the moon was a sliver arc, while clouds bunched up from the lowlands. Orman thought it unaccountably warm for this early in the spring. Jass knelt then, raising a hand for a pause. He tilted his head as if listening to something only he could hear, then he gestured for them to spread out.

Orman edged to his left. He used Svalthbrul to part the brush and saw the glimmer of a campfire. He motioned to the Reddin brothers and signed ahead. Keth readied his bow and Kasson drew a hatchet. They all crept forward.

Against the flickering gold glare of the flames, he made out one of the guards. The man was standing with his back to the fire and Orman mentally cursed. Damned veterans! They know every trick. He almost backed out then, feeling that they were walking into a trap – yet how could that be with the Eithjar keeping watch? A bowstring thrummed and the guard pitched backwards.

Orman charged, Svalthbrul readied. At that moment the prone figures about the fire all threw off blankets and leapt to their feet – and not groggily, for they were armed and armoured, ready for the attack. There was no time to curse as one charged Orman directly. The man had his medium-sized round shield ready and he batted aside Orman’s thrust, but Svalthbrul was no ordinary spear and the edge of the lanceolate blade caught the shield and Orman used this to yank the shield aside and curve round it inward to thrust again taking the man through his chest armour and sinking deep. Too deep. The blade would not come free as the man fell. He held on hard, twisting, forgetting for the moment the boiling charging figures around him.

Someone shield-bashed him, knocking the breath from him and raising stars in his vision. The blow was so powerful it yanked Svalthbrul free and he turned it on the man, snapping up the haft as if it were a whip, taking him across the face so that he screamed as blood flew skyward.

Orman backed off. He searched among the dark milling shapes for Jass. He found him being pushed backwards by an opponent, his spear held sideways across his chest. The lad’s footing became hung up on a corpse and he fell. The soldier reared over him, sword pulled back for a thrust. Orman screamed as he threw Svalthbrul. The spear pierced the man completely. He fell leaving the weapon standing from his back. Jass recovered his and backed away.

But the Reddin brothers were surrounded, while Gerrun had gotten free somehow and was duelling with a soldier while armed only with short knives. Three more were coming for Orman; he drew his heavy fighting knives and despaired. Too many. Just too damned many.

Then the very ground shook beneath his booted feet. A roar burst upon everyone like a blast of thunder. A massive mountain of russet shaggy fur came bowling in upon the scene, paws the size of shields swiping men left and right. Massive jaws crunched on an armoured arm and threw a soldier flying, legs and arms spinning. Another swat sent the two facing the Reddins down in a crunch of broken bones.

The remaining soldiers broke, running. The titanic humped bear roared again and gave chase.

And then it was quiet. Orman stood dragging in cold air, weaving on his feet. He retrieved Svalthbrul and staggered to Jass, who stood motionless, staring off where the great bear – Old Bear – could still be heard crashing through the underbrush.