Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(89)

‘Just in time,’ he gasped.

‘So it’s true,’ Jass murmured in amazement.

‘What’s true?’

‘The old tales. Shapeshifter. Old Bear. The last of them.’

Orman wiped his cold slick face. ‘Or a spell, perhaps.’

Wet coughing pulled his attention round. A soldier. Orman moved off to stand over him. The man lay peering up, his chest a crushed ruin. ‘They warned us,’ he croaked.

Orman crouched on his haunches. ‘What’s that?’ He could barely make out the man’s foreign speech.

‘Them townsfolk,’ the soldier said. ‘They warned us.’ He tried to laugh, but had no air for it.

‘Where are you from?’ Orman asked.

‘Don’t matter.’

‘Where?’

‘Long ways away. Half-fort, Genabackis.’

‘You soldiers?’

‘Mercenaries, lad. You won this one … but I’d run … I was you.’

‘Why?’

‘Straw hut in a flood is you, lad. Compared to what’s comin’ … straw hut …’ The mercenary’s mouth fell slack and his gaze fixed. Orman pressed a hand down the man’s face to close his eyes.

The Reddin brothers came up, Keth limping and Kasson cradling his bloodied left arm. Gerrun was hunched over the dead, rummaging through their clothes.

Orman studied the three of them: the brothers and Jass. He motioned uphill. ‘Let’s go.’

‘What about Old Bear?’ Jass asked.

‘He’ll find us.’

‘And these bodies?’

‘Leave them for the scavengers – as a warning.’

Keth nodded. He and his brother bound their wounds then waved to Gerrun. They headed back the way they came.

They could only limp a few leagues before bedding down for the night. They kept a watch just in case any of the soldiers came hunting them. Orman didn’t think that any of them would have escaped Old Bear, but it was best to be careful.

The next day Old Bear emerged from the brush to join them. He looked his old self, except perhaps the great shaggy bear hide he wore appeared a little worse for wear, hacked and slashed even more. Now, though, Orman knew he would never again look upon the man in the same way as before.

‘You could have told us,’ he accused him.

The old man grinned hugely. Even his frosty bad eye seemed to glint in delight. ‘And ruin the surprise? Should’ve seen your faces! I’m sure you soiled your breeches, Orman Bregin’s son.’

‘Only from your smell.’

The old man guffawed his huge laugh. He slapped Jass’s back. ‘There you go, lad. Not so bad, hey?’

But Jass shook his head. ‘We would’ve lost.’

At that morose evaluation a huge weight eased from Orman’s mind. Good. The lad sees it. The victory – such as it was – hasn’t fed any false youthful cockiness. ‘I lost my duel,’ the youth said, and the pain in that admission squeezed Orman’s chest.

‘It’s all right, lad,’ Old Bear said. ‘Why, I’d be surprised if you won your first. That’s why we’re together. We cover one another. Next time maybe you’ll save Kasson’s life, hey?’

Jass merely shrugged. ‘It wasn’t …’

‘Wasn’t what?’ Old Bear asked.

‘… wasn’t what I thought it’d be.’

Over Jass’s head, Old Bear’s single eye caught Orman’s gaze and fixed there. He patted the lad’s shoulder. ‘It never is, lad. It never is what we think it’s going to be. It’s ugly, and confusing, and a blur and full of the acid of fear. Then it’s over and you don’t quite remember what happened but you’re either alive or you’re not. And there you are.’

Orman was nodding. ‘Yes. That’s how it was for me.’

Jass looked up at him. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were scared?’

‘Yes I was. Only a fool wouldn’t be.’

The youth let go a long breath. ‘Well … I was very frightened.’

Old Bear cuffed him again. ‘’Course you were! Only natural. First time’s always the worst – hey, Orman?’

And Orman nodded, frowning with the memory of it. Yes, it had been.

The next day Gerrun announced that he ought to return to the lowlands to see what was going on. Old Bear waved him off, as did Orman and the brothers. They watched him go and Orman couldn’t help reflecting that the man was now headed down to the towns loaded with the coin and goods he’d pocketed from all those dead mercenaries. It occurred to him that perhaps Gerrun was enjoying the best of both worlds – the fine clothes and wine of the lowland towns, and the comradeship and belonging of the highlands – and he felt a hot surge of resentment towards him. Then he recalled the man’s role in hiring along with the invading parties, even the armies, spying on them and guiding them to ambushes, and he decided that the fellow pretty much earned every lead penny of it.

They returned to the highlands. From time to time grey shapes appeared in the woods to walk alongside them. Orman found that he no longer paid their ghostly visitors any mind at all.

He passed the time speaking to Jass and was rather embarrassed when the lad truly did treat him as an elder brother, though he was no Iceblood. He found that, indeed, there were only five living Sayers. Only these few defended the entire Holding. The bonded couple Jaochim and Yrain ruled – if that was the word for such a small clan. Of Buri, Jass confessed he had seen the man only a few times. He kept to the far north and when he visited even Jaochim bowed to him, for he was the eldest living of any clan of the Icebloods.