The Crippled God

redbolts—’
    ‘Excuse me, sir, the what bolts?’
    ‘It turns out, Noto, that there exists a whole class of munitions exclusive to the Moranth. Not for export, if you understand me. Through a card I was witness to the demonstration of some of them. These ones, which I have called redbolts, are similar to onager bolts. Only they do not require the onager.’
    ‘Curious, High Fist. But if you haven’t shown them to any sapper yet, how will anyone know how to use them?’
    ‘If we need to fight the Perish, well, it’s possible that a crash course will be necessary. For the moment, however, why distract them?’
    They were approaching the camp edge, where two companies of regulars and heavies were assembled, one to either side of the cobbled road. Between them and awaiting their arrival was Fist Rythe Bude.
    Noto Boil said, ‘One more question, sir.’
    Paran sighed. ‘What?’
    ‘Those cussers and redbolts, where did you hide them?’
    ‘Relax. I made my own warren for them – well, to be more precise, I walled off a small area in a different warren, accessible only to me, via a card.’
    ‘Ormulogun?’
    ‘Excuse me? Did he paint the card? Of course.’
    ‘Did he use a funny red slash, sir? Like lightning, only the colour of blood?’
    Paran frowned. ‘Redbolt symbol, yes. How did you know that?’
    Noto Boil shrugged. ‘Not sure, sir. Seen it somewhere, I suppose. No matter.’
    Corporal Stern wiped at his eyes. Crates were being cracked open, the sappers working quickly. He scanned the remaining boxes, swore under his breath, and then turned. ‘Manx, get over here.’
    The Dal Honese shaman waddled over. ‘Just what we figured! Only the small stuff. That bastard don’t trust us.’
    Stern grunted. ‘You idiot. I don’t trust us. But listen, if we—’
    Manx held up a hand in front of Stern’s face. ‘Got it covered. See?’
    The corporal tilted his head back, studied the tattoo blazoned across the hand’s palm. A blood-red jagged slash. ‘That’s it? That’s all you need?’
    ‘Should do. We made sure the toad described it in detail.’
    ‘Right. Has he recovered?’
    ‘Well, we roasted him a bit crispy here and there, but he’ll survive. It all kind of went wrong for a bit – I mean, we had ’em both trussed up, and we figured just threatening the toad would be enough to make the artist break down and talk. We was wrong. In fact, it was Ormulogunwho suggested the roasting bit – never seen the old lunatic happier. We thought they was friends—’
    ‘Be quiet, will you? You’re babbling. I don’t care what happened, so long as you didn’t kill either of them.’
    ‘They’re alive, I told you. Trussed up and gagged for now. We’ll let ’em go later.’
    Stern looked round, raised his voice, ‘Sappers! Leave room for a cusser or two!’
    ‘Ain’t no cussers, Stern.’
    ‘Never mind that. It’s taken care of. Now let’s get this done – and carefully. We make a mistake here and we don’t take none of the bad guys with us on the way out, and that’ll send our souls to the fiends of the Sapper’s Torment for ever – and nobody wants that, do they?’
    A sudden hush, a renewed attention to caution, and here and there, a few subtle gestures warding against the curse of the Sapper’s Torment.
    Satisfied, Stern nodded. ‘Manx, stay close to me from now on.’
    ‘We ain’t never used one of those redbolts, Stern.’
    The man grunted. ‘Show me a munition I can’t figure out and I’ll show you the inside of the Cobra God’s nose.’
    Manx shot him a look. ‘Figured you had north Dal Hon blood in you.’
    ‘What’s in my blood don’t matter. I just know that when a sapper steps on to the field of battle, they’d be wise to call on every god they ever heard of.’
    ‘Amen and a spit in the eye t’that.’
    Stern hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Amen and a spit in the eye back. Now, you ready? Good. Let’s go find our squad. The sarge is gonna love this.’
    ‘No he ain’t!’
    ‘Sarge loves what I tell him to love, Manx. Credo of the Sapper’s Knuckle.’
    ‘“Who’s holding the sharper?” Aye, Sapper’s Knuckle. Hey, Stern.’
    ‘What?’
    The shaman was grinning. ‘See what this means? Us sappers. We’re back to what we never were but could’ve been, and don’t that taste sweet?’
    ‘It’s only sweet if we don’t mess this up. Now pay attention where you’re stepping. I seen gopher holes.’
    ‘Ain’t gophers, Stern. These are prairie