The Crippled God

forgetting which squad he’d joined, but now he was here, trudging along under a massive bundle of rolled chain armour, weapons and shield. The heavy had tied a Nah’ruk finger bone to his beard and it made a thumping sound on his chest as he walked. His maimed shield hand was bound up in leather straps.
    As they walked, the regulars to either side began converging ahead, as if to line their route, as if to watch in that Hood-damned silence of theirs as the marines and heavies passed. His unease deepened. Not a word from them, not a thing. As if we’re strangers . As the troop approached the broad avenue, the only sound came from their marching – the hard impact of their boots and the clatter of equipment – and through his growing anger Cuttle had an uncanny sensation of walking through an army of ghosts as the regulars drew up on either side. He didn’t see a single youthful face among all the onlookers. And not a nod, not even a tilt of a head .
    But we look just as old and ruined, don’t we? What are they seeing? What are they thinking?
    Tavore, I don’t envy you these soldiers. I can’t read them at all. Do they understand? Have they worked it out yet?
    They’re heading east – to block the army the Assail are sending after us – to buy us the time we need. But if they can’t do it – if they can’t slow the bastards down – it’s all lost. This whole damned thing falls apart .
    You’re headed for a fight. And we won’t be there for you – any of you. No fist of heavies. No knots of marines in the line. So if that’s a look of betrayal in your faces, if you think all this is about abandoning all of you, then Hood take me —
    The thought ended abruptly, and Cuttle’s growing anger simply disintegrated.
    The regulars began saluting, fists to their chests. Standing at attention, in suddenly perfect rows to either side.
    The few muttered conversations among the marines and heavies fell off, and suddenly the silence became oppressive in an entirely different way. Cuttle felt more than heard the company’s footfalls slipping into cadence, and in the squad directly in front of him he now saw the soldiers edging into paired rows behind Captain Fiddler, with Corabb and Tarr in the lead, Smiles and Koryk behind them, followed by Bottle and Shortnose.
    ‘You just had to be uneven,’ growled Balm in a low voice as he came up on his right.
    ‘Then drop back.’
    ‘And shake this out all over again? Can’t even remember the last time I found myself on a parade – no, we just hold this, sapper, and hope to Hood no one trips over their own Hood-damned feet.’
    ‘Wasn’t expecting this.’
    ‘I hate it. I feel sick. Where we going again?’
    ‘Stop panicking, Sergeant.’
    ‘And who in the White Jackal’s name are you, soldier?’
    Cuttle sighed. ‘Just march, Sergeant. Once we get through this, we can relax again. Promise.’
    ‘We getting medals or something?’
    No. This is something else. This is what the Adjunct said wouldn’t happen. Look at these regulars .
    They’re witnessing us .
    ‘Did you see this?’ Kisswhere asked.
    Sinter kept staring straight ahead, but she frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Your visions – did you see any of this? And what about what’s coming – what about tomorrow, or the next day?’
    ‘It’s not like that.’
    Her sister sighed. ‘Funny. I can see what’s coming, right through to the very end.’
    ‘No you can’t. That’s just fear talking.’
    ‘And it’s got a lot to say.’
    ‘Just leave it, Kisswhere.’
    ‘No. I won’t. Tell me about a vision of the future, with us in it. Here’s mine. You’ve got a baby on your hip, with a boy running ahead. It’s the morning walk down to the imperial school – the one they were building before we left. And I got a girl who looks just like me, but wild, a demon in disguise. We’re exhausted, in the way of all mothers, and I’m getting fat. We brag about the runts, complain about our husbands, bitch at how tired we are. It’s hot, the flies are out and the air smells of rotted vegetables. Husbands. When are they going to finish fixing the roof, that’s what we want to know, when instead of doing something useful the lazy bastards spend all day lying in the shade picking their noses. And then if that’s not—’
    ‘Stop it, Kisswhere.’
    To Sinter’s astonishment, her sister fell silent.
    Was that the first time? Must’ve been. Sorido the miller’s boy. I’d woken up that