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They watched her walk unsteadily towards the wagon bearing the scabbards.
The regulars beyond the thin cordon of guards were crowding closer, strangely mute.
Wareth tried again. ‘Sir—’
‘I am not aware of any viable option,’ Galar said in a low voice.
‘I have always believed that they were alive. But … somehow, they seemed to be … I don’t know. Controlled. Chained. Now, sir, they are indeed insane. What will bearing these weapons, and then the armour, do to us?’
Galar Baras hesitated, and then said, ‘The day after the Poisoning, Wareth, the iron howled – I was there for that. Its cry haunts me still. Those of us present … I think it drove us all slightly mad, and some of us … well, not just slightly.’
‘It’s said,’ Wareth muttered, edging closer, ‘that the world is rotten with sorcery now. Is it possible that the magic has somehow infected the iron?’
‘I don’t know.’
Rebble seemed to have regained his composure, although his expression was fierce as he cajoled the other officers forward to the wagons.
‘Rebble was a good choice, sir. For this, you needed a man with no imagination.’
‘And you, Wareth?’
The man shook his head, glanced down at the bared blade still in his hand. ‘Too much, sir. Far too much.’
‘Still, your old weapon has little to say.’
‘For now, sir, so it seems.’
Yet, for all Rebble’s threats and bluster, the officers resisted. The quartermaster collected another of his aides and directed him to begin scabbarding the swords. The blades were then brought over, one by one, into the tight knot of officers. Galar watched Rance accept a weapon, gripping it awkwardly, her hands so red he wondered if she had washed them in blood.
Cursing, Rebble walked over. ‘Commander, this won’t work.’
‘It will have to,’ Galar replied.
‘We’ve not even got to the armour yet – you can’t put that shit into a scabbard, can you? And almost nobody from the old Hust’s worn it yet, either. Wasn’t it delivered the day after the Poisoning?’
‘Get back to the others, Rebble,’ Galar said. ‘Show some spine.’
‘Spine?’ Rebble’s sudden smile was bright and dangerous. ‘Oh, I’ve plenty of that, sir. Too much, maybe. But it ain’t the bending kind. You break it and I’m useless. But until then it’ll take a lot of weight, sir, and it knows how to push back.’
‘Your point, Rebble?’
‘Just that, sir. You want me back there, fine. But I’m no merchant. If you want me to sell something I’ll make a pitch, only I pitch with my fists, sir.’
‘Just pull Curl to your side, and Rance, and each new one to take a weapon. Line them up, Rebble.’
Still smiling, Rebble saluted and returned to the clutch of officers.
‘You should have spoken up, Wareth. You have a way with Rebble.’
Wareth grunted. ‘Hardly. I just make certain that every order I give him is for something he’d do anyway. That man chose to save my life in the mining camp, but I can’t tell you his reason for doing so. He still binds me straight every night.’ He shook his head. ‘This is how it is among us. Our crimes we hold like shields. Some are solid and strong, but others are flimsy and weak. Some are little more than illusions, or whispers.’ He nodded at the officers. ‘As with Listar, there. His mystery protects him, though who can say for how much longer. In any case, sir, those shields are more than just things to protect us. They’re also what we hide behind.’
Rebble had managed to order the others into a rough line. They had belted their weapons, but even scabbarded the swords at their hips and the others remaining on the wagon’s bed still cried out, a cacophony as shrill as gulls upon a battlefield. A mass of regular prisoners had begun pushing closer. Galar saw more than one guard being shoved backwards. Their hands were on the grips of their blades. They won’t hold.
‘They want to see for themselves,’ Wareth said. ‘They want to know what’s coming.’
At that moment, two riders walked their horses into the gap behind the thin line of guards. Recognizing them, Galar Baras felt a tremor of shock.
The two men were having a conversation, loud enough to cut through the clamour of the weapons.
