Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(90)

When they climbed the highest valley and emerged into the fields the hounds came bounding out to greet Old Bear. They leapt up upon him, licking his face and barking. He swatted them aside and tousled their ragged pelts. In turn they pulled and gnawed upon his cloak.

‘They smell the bear in you,’ Jass teased.

‘That they do,’ he answered, grinning. ‘Ale tonight, lads!’

Keth and Kasson shared small tight grins. Orman winked at Jass. They found Yrain had arrived. She and Jaochim oversaw the evening meal in two of the three raised chairs. The middle one remained empty – for Buri, Orman supposed.

Old Bear entertained them all with the tale of his appearance in the battle. How Orman fainted dead away on the spot like an old widow and how he chased the foreign soldiers up trees, into streams, and even to the very walls of Mantle town.

Everyone laughed as the tale went on and on, until it transformed into another tale, the story of one of their ancestors, Vesti the Odd-handed, and his journey to the tallest of the Salt range. There, so he claimed, he met the matriarch of all his kind living in a tower of ice, and had his amorous advances rebuffed.

‘Was this Vesti older than Buri?’ Orman asked Old Bear.

‘He was not,’ Yrain answered, cutting off the man’s answer. Orman inclined his head, accepting this. The woman shared Jaochim’s rather distant and cold manner. Her hair was long, deep flame red, and wavy. She kept it loose about her shoulders. Her build was lean and her skin had an odd hue to it, as if she possessed a touch of colour: a pale olive. She wore leathers, old and much worn, with strings of red stones, garnets, about her neck and wrists.

‘Winter is the eldest of us,’ Jaochim explained.

‘Winter?’ Orman asked.

Jaochim made a small gesture with one hand. ‘We call him that. When he visits he seems to bring winter with him.’ The man frowned then, eyeing Jass, who sat next to Old Bear. ‘Bring me your spear, Jass,’ he called.

The lad rose, puzzled. He came to the platform and handed the weapon to Jaochim, who studied the iron spearhead.

‘This weapon has taken no life,’ Jaochim announced. He handed it back butt-first. ‘I told you to blood your spear and you return it unblooded?’

Old Bear straightened on his bench, ‘The lad fought two of the soldiers. I saw with my own eyes …’

‘Yet he slew neither.’

The old man waved a thick arm. ‘Well, I’m sure that if I hadn’t come charging in—’

‘It is so,’ Jass answered, lifting his chin. ‘I took no life.’

Jaochim pointed to the front of the hall. ‘Then go. And do not return until you have taken a life in defence of our holding.’

Orman almost stood from the bench to object, but for the heavy paw of Old Bear upon his arm. This was too harsh! Yet Jass bowed. He turned away. As he did so, Orman saw his gaze flash to his mother, Vala. She sat rigid, her lips clenched against all she might say. Her eyes caught Orman’s and he saw there a silent plea – the beseeching of a mother for her son. Aware of Jaochim’s disapproving glare, Orman allowed himself only the smallest nod. The woman eased back in her seat, her shoulders falling as she let go a pent-up breath.

Jass gathered up his pack and headed for the wide front entrance. Orman half stood to follow but Old Bear’s great paw closed upon his arm again and yanked him down to his seat.

‘Let me go,’ Orman grated, his head lowered.

‘Not now, lad. Later.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s their way, lad.’

‘Their way is damned harsh.’

‘That it is. Now let it go.’ He filled Orman’s tankard. ‘Drink up. Celebrate. Today you’re alive, lad.’

‘What of it?’

‘What of it?’ Old Bear appeared horrified. ‘Why, lad. That’s everything! Live every day as if honourably facing death then celebrate if you live to see it’s end, hey?’

Orman snorted, but he had to grant the point. Living without fear. Trusting wholly in one’s skill. That was something he had yet to achieve. It was an ideal. One he fell woefully short of.

He raised the leather tankard and gulped down the ale, spilling some down his front. There! To the Abyss with everything! Damn the odds and damn these Icebloods’ rigid notion of honour. He would have none of it. He threw an arm about Old Bear’s shoulders. ‘When can I go?’ he murmured, holding his face close to the old man’s.

Old Bear laughed and slapped his back. He answered beneath his breath: ‘With the dawn.’

*

Wrapped in old furs, Orman lay awake listening to the night. Old Bear snored terribly. Distantly, somewhere in the forest, wolves howled to the night sky. He decided he couldn’t wait any longer, never mind whether he was stepping upon Jaochim’s edicts. He threw off the hides and dressed. Across the hall Kasson’s eyes glimmered in the firelight as he lay awake, watching. Orman thrust his heavy fighting knives into his belt and snatched up Svalthbrul. Across the way, Kasson raised a hand in farewell. He gave the brother a nod and jogged from the hall.

Outside, he headed south. His breath plumed in the cold night air. He wrapped cloth rags about his hands as he ran, Svalthbrul clamped under an arm. Once he reached the forest and the steepening descent into the first of the lower valleys, he stopped and peered about the dark woods.