Kellanved's Reach

A smile crooked the lad’s lips. ‘Spoken like an old campaigner.’ He raised his dark, so very dark blue eyes and even Nedurian, sceptic and veteran, felt a shudder. As if he were looking through me to something else. Something so very far away. ‘What may I do for you?’ the lad asked.

Now Nedurian smiled, despite himself. No false pride or haughtiness here! Just two veterans hunkering down for a chat. And so he crouched to his haunches, picked up a rock and studied it, saying, ‘Got us a lot of raw recruits in need of training …’

The lad’s face clouded, and he nearly winced. He dropped his gaze. ‘Death comes to us all.’

Nedurian fought to hide his impatience with this sort of easy youthful fatalism. ‘That’s true. But it could come a year later just as easily – so who’s to decide? You?’

A half-smile ghosted the lad’s lips. ‘Touché, my friend. Nedurian, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And veteran of the Iron Legion.’ The lad’s penetrating gaze rose and Nedurian had to look away. ‘Officer, yes?’

He nodded. ‘Of the Old Guard. Before the legion was broken on the fields of Commor before Unta.’

‘The Untans take credit for that victory.’

‘They shouldn’t,’ Nedurian answered, rather testily. ‘It was the Bloorian and Gris heavies. They sacrificed themselves to turn the tide. It was a slaughter, but they weakened the lines just enough. The Untans came swanning in later.’

‘You were there,’ the lad said – and it was not a question.

Nedurian jerked a nod, his gaze lowered. ‘Yes. I was there.’

The Dal Hon youth was quiet for a time, then he asked, quietly, ‘What is it you want of me?’

Nedurian flung his arms open. ‘Training, man! At least give them a chance to survive the first sword stroke!’

Dassem glanced away. ‘I’m not a soldier. Nor do I pretend to be.’

Nedurian swept that aside. ‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll take care of the soldiering. You just handle the swordsmanship.’

The lad considered, his head cocked. Then he gave a slow nod. ‘Very well. If that is our agreement. But I am no soldier or general. Remember that.’

Nedurian gave a curt nod of agreement in answer. ‘Whatever. So long as our lads and lasses have a better chance. That’s all I ask.’

‘You?’ Dassem demanded sharply. ‘Or this woman, Surly?’

‘Does it matter? So long as we can help these recruits?’

The Dal Hon smiled in answer, almost as if rueful. ‘She sent you, didn’t she?’

‘She asked that I speak to you,’ Nedurian admitted. ‘Yes. Why?’

The lad shook his head. ‘Never mind. It’s just that she knew. She knew that out of everyone you had the best chance of … well …’ He shrugged. ‘What’s done is done. Very well. I will return.’ He extended a hand, indicating that they were finished. ‘Tell her I will return.’

Despite his natural scepticism and irreligious bent, Nedurian bowed his head, rising. ‘Thank you. It will mean a lot to the ranks, I’m certain of it.’

Dassem inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘Thank you. Now I must reflect upon this. I must consider if this is the right path for me.’

Nedurian straightened, wincing at the jabbing pain from his left leg, and massaged his hip. ‘Well, we’ll see you at the wharves tomorrow, yes?’

The Dal Hon youth waved him off. ‘Tomorrow.’

He limped away, clenching his lips against the ache of his old wound. Well, if he’d just secured training from the foremost swordsman of their age for his boys and girls, then he didn’t give a tinker’s damn how much this furthered or served the woman Surly’s schemes.

*   *   *

Tayschrenn returned to Malaz City via the hidden Warren Kellanved had found and revealed to him. Not that he feared a renewed confrontation with any D’rek priests – it was just perhaps prudent to avoid notice for a time. Also, though it was personally crushing to admit, he’d failed his god and wanted no more reminders.

This new mage who pretended to be a youth, Calot he called himself, should follow along shortly. Tayschrenn did not consider himself naïve in allowing him time to finish his personal matters; he’d asked him for a small item, in this case a rag used as a handkerchief, and told him that should he fail to appear Kellanved would give this as spoor to the Hounds of Shadow, and they would chase him down no matter where he hid and tear him limb from limb.

Tayschrenn knew he was not the best judge of people’s social signals and body language, but the mage had seemed appropriately alarmed.

On his return, Tayschrenn went straight to Smiley’s. He found the Hold irritatingly distant from the ships that came and went daily with their news of distant lands; it was such news that interested him most, while he suspected that prior occupants of the Hold had been far too uninterested – to their ruin.