The Crippled God

safekeeping. The best they have.’
    Faradan Sort shook her head. ‘Now who is the one with too much faith, Ruthan Gudd?’
    He shrugged. ‘It’s hot out here.’
    They watched as he headed off, a lone figure trudging back to the pickets, and to the camp beyond. There was no dust in the air – this desert didn’t make dust.
    Eventually, Kindly turned to Lostara Yil. ‘Did you suspect he was about to bolt?’
    ‘What? No. The man’s a damned cipher, Fist.’
    ‘How,’ asked Faradan, ‘is this going to work? When I need to stiffen the spines of my soldiers, what in Hood’s name can I say to them?’
    After a moment, Lostara Yil cleared her throat and said, ‘I don’t think you have to tell them anything, Fist.’
    ‘What do you mean? And don’t go spewing out Ruthan’s words – he places far too much in the hearts and minds of the common soldier. Just because your life is devoted to killing, it doesn’t accord you any special wisdom.’
    ‘I don’t agree with that,’ Lostara said. ‘Look, just by standing with her, with the Adjunct, you’re saying all that needs saying. The real threat to this army is Fist Blistig, who’s hardly kept secret his opposition to the Adjunct, and by extension to all of you. If he starts gathering followers … well, that’s when the trouble will start.’
    Kindly reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘There is wisdom, Faradan. The wisdom that comes with knowing – right to the very core of your soul – just how fragile life really is. You earn that wisdom when you take someone else’s life.’
    ‘And what about the ones who don’t think twice about it? Wisdom? Hardly. More like … a growing taste for it. That dark rush of pleasure that’s so … addictive.’ She looked away. I know. I stood the Wall .
    Lostara pointed. ‘There’s a runner coming … for one of us.’
    They waited until the thin, round-faced soldier arrived. A soldier with mutilated hands. He saluted with the right one and proffered Kindly a wax tablet with the other. ‘Compl’ments of Lieutenant Master-Sergeant Quartermaster Pores, sir.’
    Kindly took the tablet and studied it. ‘Soldier,’ he said.
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘The sun’s heat has melted the wax. I do hope you committed the message to memory.’
    ‘Sir, I have.’
    ‘Let’s hear it.’
    ‘Sir, the missive was private.’
    ‘From Pores? I really don’t have time for this. We’re past all the duelling. Spit it out, soldier.’
    ‘Sir. To quote: “Private missive, from Lieutenant Master-Sergeant Field Quartermaster Pores, to Fist Kindly. Warmest salutations and congratulations on your promotion, sir. As one might observe fromyour advancement and, indeed, mine, cream doth rise, etc. In as much as I am ever delighted in corresponding with you, discussing all manner of subjects in all possible idioms, alas, this subject is rather more official in nature. In short, we are faced with a crisis of the highest order. Accordingly, I humbly seek your advice and would suggest we arrange a most private meeting at the earliest convenience. Yours affectionately, Pores.”’ The soldier then saluted again and said, ‘I’m t’wait yer answer, sir.’
    In the bemused silence that followed, Faradan Sort narrowed her eyes on the soldier. ‘You were heavy infantry, weren’t you?’
    ‘Corporal Himble Thrup, Fist.’
    ‘How stands the rank and file, soldier?’
    ‘Standin’ true, Fist.’
    ‘Do the enlisted say much about the Adjunct, soldier? Off the record here.’
    The watery eyes flicked momentarily to her, then away again. ‘Occasionally, sir.’
    ‘And what do they say?’
    ‘Not much, sir. Mostly, it’s all them rumours.’
    ‘You discuss them.’
    ‘No sir. We chew ’em up till there’s nothing left. And then invent new ones, sir.’
    ‘To sow dissension?’
    Brows lifted beneath the rim of the helm. ‘No, Fist. It’s … er … entertainment. Beats boredom, sir. Boredom leads to laziness, sir, and laziness can get a soldier up and killt. Or the one beside ’im, which is e’en worse. We hate being bored, sir, that’s all.’
    Kindly said, ‘Tell Pores to find me at my command tent, whenever he likes.’
    ‘Sir.’
    ‘Dismissed, soldier.’
    The man saluted a third time, wheeled and set off.
    Kindly grunted.
    ‘That’s a heavy for you,’ Faradan Sort muttered, and then snorted. ‘Inventing nasty rumours for fun.’
    ‘They’re only nasty, I suppose, once someone decides one’s for