The weight of the wagon shifted. Here he comes. Hey, Deadsmell, I got me a nice surprise waiting for you . He tightened his grip on the mace in his right hand.
A sound from the back of the wagon. He twisted round to see the wounded one sliding up into view. Shit!
Another shudder of the wagon, as Deadsmell began pulling himself up the side.
Rackle looked across at Throatslitter, saw the man grin.
Time to leave. He rose, spun round—
Widdershins gave the bastard a smile as he drove his short sword into the man’s gut, and then up under his heart.
‘Stay low, Wid!’ Throatslitter hissed.
He let the body’s weight pull him down behind some bales. ‘Where’s the other one?’ he asked.
‘More than one,’ Deadsmell replied, sliding in from the side. ‘Two, I’d guess. Snipers with crossbows, probably lying in shallow pits somewhere out there.’
The wagon rocked violently from the opposite side and a moment later Sergeant Hellian was staring down at them. ‘You lads in trouble?’
‘Head low, Sergeant!’ Throatslitter hissed, ‘Snipers!’
‘Oh yeah? Where?’
‘Out in the desert.’
She squinted in the direction he pointed, and then twisted round. ‘Spread out, squad – we’re going to advance on some dug-in positions. Gopher hunting time. Oh, and shields up – they got crossbows.’
Deadsmell stared across at Throatslitter, who simply shook his head.
‘Listen, Sergeant—’
‘You got a wounded man here, healer,’ Hellian pointed out, and then she clambered across, followed by two soldiers from her squad. Others had gone round the wagon, advancing slowly on the flank. Hellian dropped down. ‘Sergeant Balm, hold fast will ya? We got this.’
‘You won’t find ’em,’ Balm replied. ‘Saw a couple of shadows running off.’
‘Really? Which way?’
‘Into the regulars. We lost ’em, Hellian.’
The woman sagged. ‘What were they after?’
‘Hood knows.’
Having observed all this from atop the wagon, Deadsmell turned back. ‘Nice work, Wid, though it would’ve been good to have taken him alive.’
‘Wasn’t interested in talking,’ Widdershins replied. ‘They probably killed Shorthand.’
Deadsmell was silent. He should’ve thought of that. ‘We need to look for him.’
‘And leave the wagon?’ Throatslitter demanded.
‘ There ain’t nothing on this wagon! ’
‘Right, sorry. Got caught up, somehow. Anyway, I doubt I can walk, so I can stay behind and, er, guard.’
‘Where’d you get it, Throat?’ Widdershins asked.
‘Where it means I can’t walk, Wid.’
‘In the butt,’ Deadsmell explained. ‘It ain’t bleeding – did that quarrel hit bone?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Miracle, with your skinny—’
‘Just go find Shorthand, will you?’
Deadsmell nodded over at Widdershins, and the two of them climbed down from the wagon.
As all of this had been going on, the rest of the column had simply gone round them. On this flank, Sergeant Urb’s squad had arrived, and after a few words with Balm and Hellian Urb led his marines onward. Balm faced his two soldiers.
‘We was targeted specifically,’ he said.
‘The marked casks,’ said Widdershins. ‘Don’t matter that we used it all up on the children. They still think we’re holding back.’
‘Blistig,’ said Deadsmell.
Balm’s face twisted in distaste and he reached up to wipe more blood from his cheek. Then he licked his fingers. ‘Killing officers is one thing … but a Fist? I don’t know.’
‘Who’d complain?’ Deadsmell demanded.
‘It’s mutiny.’
‘We ain’t going against the Adjunct’s command in this—’
‘Wrong. In a way that’s exactly what we’re doing. She made him Fist.’
‘But now he’s trying to kill his own soldiers!’
‘Aye, Deadsmell.’
Widdershins hissed to get their attention. ‘T’lan Imass coming, Sergeant.’
‘Now what?’
The figure halted before Deadsmell. ‘Healer, there is need for you.’
‘You’re way past helping—’
‘The one named Pores is dying from a knife wound. Will you come?’