He met her eyes. ‘Sir.’
‘Something you would say?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Out with it, then.’
‘Welcome back, sir.’
Oddly, his words seemed to rattle her. After a moment, she said, ‘Should I offer the same to you, Wareth?’
‘I am unchanged, sir.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it seems we have something in common.’
Then she had moved on, and Wareth was left, alone once more in front of his troops. The sword at his hip was shivering inside the scabbard, as if to mock his cowardice, and behind him someone muttered something that elicited low laughter, until a snarl from Rebble silenced everyone.
Now you see for yourself, Toras Redone. But then, perhaps you are right for this. I could smell the alcohol fresh on your breath, see the settled wastage in your face bespeaking your determination. Abyss knows, your marriage to Calat Hustain must be a disaster, to have led you to this state.
But sometimes not moving is the greatest act of cowardice one can find. Safe in the hole, the cramped walls, the sodden womb of staying right where you are.
Galar, she will do, when it comes to leading us all into ruination. Did you know this?
* * *
When the inspection was done and the soldiers had been dismissed, Faror Hend joined the other officers in assembling within the command tent. Present were Wareth, Rance, and the other criminals who had been promoted, along with the quartermaster, Castegan and now Galar Baras. Flanked by Prazek and Dathenar, Commander Toras Redone had been invited to sit in the worn but plush chair, into which she sank, cradling a jug of wine.
‘Is this everyone? Good. I haven’t got much to say. None of us asked for this.’ She paused to drink down two quick mouthfuls. ‘I trust you hold no delusions about me. The legion I once commanded is gone. In its place, a nightmare waiting to happen. Criminals?’ She gestured lazily at Wareth and the others. ‘I speak plain, but none of you are officers, barring the titles you’ve been given.’ Her gaze levelled on Wareth. ‘Abyss take us, we have a coward in our midst – oh, he holds the proper pose, but it seems that is all any of us has. A pose. Will that be enough to disabuse Hunn Raal’s ambitions? Enough to make Urusander’s Legion recoil? I doubt it. Mother help Lord Anomander. Mother help Kharkanas.’
There was silence, and then, reluctantly, Faror Hend cleared her throat and said, ‘Commander.’
Toras Redone settled her bleary eyes upon her. ‘Oh yes, the lost Warden. You have something to say?’
‘Yes sir. What the fuck is this?’
Toras Redone blinked.
‘If we’re only here to pity ourselves, we could have gone back to our tents and done it there, as we’ve pretty much been doing ever since we got here. Shall we all get drunk with you now, sir? Not yet acquired our quota of wallowing?’
‘This one,’ said Toras Redone, ‘has spine. No wonder she seems so out of place.’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘I’m happy to leave at your convenience.’
‘Commander,’ said Dathenar, ‘the officers a
ssembled here have done exceptionally well under the circumstances.’
Toras Redone affected an exaggerated frown. ‘You chastise me, Dathenar?’
‘I am dismayed by your quick dismissal. The state of this legion was, until your arrival, the responsibility of myself and Prazek. Castigate us as it please you, but as to the matter of those officers under us, ignorance is an unworthy display.’
Toras Redone snorted. ‘And on the field of battle, who among you here can rally his or her soldiers? A buckling company? A handful of squads holding the centre of a line? Who here can make a fist of every command? Dathenar, you and Prazek cannot be everywhere. Nor can Galar Baras.’ She pointed a finger at Rance. ‘You, sergeant. Tell me, who among your soldiers will follow you?’
‘None, sir,’ Rance replied. ‘They follow no one.’
Castegan spoke up. ‘Commander, I did warn Galar Baras against this madness. True, it was all by command of Silchas Ruin, but Galar could have refused it, and done so with his honour intact. Silchas is not Anomander, after all.’
Toras Redone slid her gaze across to him. ‘Ah, dear old Castegan. I imagine your optimism overwhelmed all and sundry. Galar Baras maintained his honour by following orders. Whatever misgivings he held he kept to himself. But I have been warned – a new sorcery afflicts the Hust iron.’ She drank again, three long swallows, and then settled back further in the chair. ‘They judge us,’ she said in a low tone. ‘Each sword. And that dreadful armour. Judgement. Condemnation. Iron has no respect for flesh. It never did. But these blades, they now thirst.’ Abruptly, she shook herself. ‘Prazek, prepare this legion to march. We leave tomorrow. Pray Lord Anomander finds his way home. Failing that, Silchas Ruin can take command of what he has wrought.’