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No matter. That it could see farther than the naked eye was all that mattered. The master-at-arms shifted slightly, as the cold of the ground seeped up through his garments. ‘Well?’
‘I wager three hundred,’ Threadbare replied, her breath a stream of white. ‘They’re definitely doubling back.’
‘So, not the forest after all, and more important, not us either.’
‘So it seems, sir. Inviting the question, where now? Have they tucked tail?’
Gelas Storco grunted. ‘Tell me again what that fool said.’
Three nights past, before the appearance of Hallyd Bahann’s company, a half-dead Legion scout had arrived at the keep gate. He had been fevered and wounded. Threadbare had found the stubs of two hunting arrows in the man’s back. Skilled at healing, she had worked on him through the night, cutting out the flint heads, but too much blood had been lost, and what remained was now poisoned by infection. The scout had died even as dawn broke the eastern horizon.
Threadbare lowered the eye-piece, rolled on to her side to face him. ‘Thousands in the forest, hunting Legion soldiers, chasing them down, shooting them with arrows.’
‘But Hunn Raal’s soldiers swept that forest, killing everyone. We saw the fires, breathed the damned smoke. Abyss below, we heard the screams.’
‘I’ve given that some thought, sir.’
He grimaced. ‘I’m sure you have. You’re always giving thought to things, Threadbare. It’s why I keep you close, so I don’t have to.’
‘Yes sir. Well, the Legion invaded the forest at the season’s turn. The Deniers have the strange habit of dividing up their activities. Women gather and harvest, staying close to the camps, keeping an eye on the children along with the elders.’
‘What do the men do, then? Sit around picking their arses?’
‘I said it was strange, sir. When they’re not picking their arses, the men go off on hunts. Off in search of the herds when the migrations are under way.’
‘What migrations? More to the point, what herds?’
‘It was a traditional thing. To my mind, sir, it’s as much an excuse to get away from domestic life as anything else.’
‘You mean, the men have fun sleeping on cold ground, cooking wretched meals all on their own, and otherwise making pigs of themselves?’
‘Well, sir, they are ignorant savages.’
‘You think the Legion missed the hunters, but now the hunters have returned, only to find their wives and children slaughtered.’
‘If so, sir, then that forest over there is a realm consumed by rage.’
‘So Bahann indeed tucked tail and is on his way back to Neret Sorr.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, sir. It’s more likely they thought that war done with, only to now realize that it’s barely begun. But who commands the forest savages?’
‘No one, that’s why they’re savages.’
‘And their faith?’
Gelas scowled. ‘Ah.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘See, I’m cleverer than you think. Bahann’s going to attack the monasteries.’
‘I was thinking just the same, sir.’
His gaze narrowed on her. So innocent and pretty. ‘What am I good at, sergeant?’
‘Sir?’
‘Describe my talents, as you see them.’
‘Well, sir. You conduct a reign of terror over your Houseblades, but you’re fair about it, in that you don’t count favourites. So, even while we all hate you, it’s a disciplined hate, and when you issue orders, we obey. And why wouldn’t we? You’ll be at the forefront of any nasty work, because you’re nastier than all the rest of us, on account of you being angry all the time—’
‘You can shut your mouth now, Threadbare.’
