‘Noto Boil,’ Paran said in a low tone.
‘Sir?’
‘Walk over to that corporal – that one there – and take a closer look, and then report back to me.’
‘Is this a test?’
‘Just do it.’
The cutter reinserted the spine and then headed over to halt directly in front of the corporal. After a moment, he swung round and made his way back.
‘Well?’ Paran demanded.
Noto Boil removed the spine. ‘The man is crying, High Fist.’
‘He’s crying.’
‘So it seems, sir.’
‘But … why is he crying?’
Noto Boil turned back to regard the corporal once more. ‘Was just the one tear. Could be anything.’
Swearing under his breath, Paran marched over to stand before the corporal. The marine’s stare was fixed straight ahead. The track of that lone tear, etching its way down from his right eye, was already dulled with grit and dust. ‘Something in your eye, Corporal?’
‘No sir.’
‘Are you ill?’
‘No sir.’
‘You’re trembling.’
The eyes flicked briefly in their thinned slits, locked for an instant with Paran’s own. ‘Is that so? Didn’t know that, sir. Beggin’ your pardon.’
‘Soldier, am I blocking your view?’
‘Yes sir, that you are, sir.’
Slowly, Paran edged to one side. He studied the sapper’s face for a half-dozen heartbeats, and then a few more, until … oh, gods below! ‘I thought you said you weren’t sick, Corporal.’
‘I’m not, sir.’
‘I beg to differ.’
‘If you like, sir.’
‘Corporal.’
Another flicker of the eyes. ‘Sir?’
‘Control yourselves. Be orderly. Don’t blow any of us up. Am I understood?’
A quick nod. ‘Aye, sir. Bless you, sir.’
Startled, Paran’s voice sharpened, ‘ Bless me?’
And from the mob of sappers came a muttered chorus, echoing the corporal’s blessing. Paran stepped back, struggled for a moment to regain his composure, and then raised his voice. ‘No need to rush – there’s plenty for everyone.’ He paused upon hearing a faint whimper, then continued, ‘In one turn of the sand I want you back with your squads. Your sergeants have been apprised of this resupply so you can be sure that the word has gone out. By the time you get back to them they will all have done with their prayers, sacrifices, and all the rest. In other words, they’ll be ready for you. The advance begins two turns of the sand from now. That is all.’
He set off, not looking back.
Noto Boil came up alongside him. ‘High Fist.’
‘What?’
‘Is this wise? That’s more munitions than any of them has ever seen.’
‘In those crates are just the sharpers, burners and smokers. I haven’t even let them see the cussers and 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.’