Brys approached. ‘Atri-Ceda Aranict, if you please, would you escort the Khundryl inside once you are … er, done here.’
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘It will be my pleasure.’
Moments later the three women were alone apart from the two soldiers flanking the tent’s entrance.
Hanavat was the first to speak. ‘I am tempted to go back to my people. I do not belong in such company.’
‘You stand in your husband’s stead,’ said Aranict.
She grimaced. ‘It is not what I would choose.’
‘No one is blind to that,’ Aranict said, as gently as she could. ‘But, if you like, I can invent an excuse …’
‘No,’ Hanavat said. ‘Even my husband struggled in this particular duty. The Burned Tears are sworn to the field of battle, in the memory of Coltaine of the Crow clan.’ She released a harsh stream of smoke. ‘But it seems failure finds us no matter where we turn.’ She nodded to the tent. ‘I will stand before their disappointment since my husband dares not. My midwives tell me again and again that a woman’s spirit is stronger than a man’s. This day I mean to prove it.’
‘If you like, I shall introduce you, Hanavat.’
‘I expect no such formalities, Atri-Ceda. The Adjunct has more important matters to attend to in there.’
‘My head is spinning,’ said Shelemasa.
‘It passes,’ said Aranict.
A short time later they were done. Hanavat gestured for Aranict to precede them. The Atri-Ceda turned to the tent entrance, but then Hanavat said, ‘Aranict.’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you.’
‘My commander spoke from the heart with the words he gave you earlier, Hanavat. The Khundryl have nothing to be ashamed of. Indeed, the very opposite is true.’ She led them into the command tent.
In the outer chamber were the two Malazan captains, Raband and Skanarow. Muted voices came from the other side of the curtain.
Skanarow gave them all a strained smile. ‘We decided we didn’t want to crowd the room.’
When Shelemasa hesitated, Hanavat took the younger woman by the arm.
Aranict drew the entrance curtain to one side. The Khundryl women entered the chamber.
Conversation fell away.
As Aranict stepped in she sensed the tension. Mortal Sword Krughava’s face was dark with anger – or shame. A pace behind her was the Shield Anvil, pale, clearly rattled. Brys stood to the right, his back almost brushing the curtain wall. Alarm was writ plain on his face. To the left stood the queen, taut and watchful as her sharp eyes tracked from Krughava to the Adjunct and back again. Who had just been speaking? Aranict wasn’t sure.
The Fists stood to the Adjunct’s left, close to the corner of the chamber. Banaschar leaned against a support pole on the other side, his arms crossed and his eyelids half lowered. Close by, as if ready to catch the ex-priest should he collapse, was Lostara Yil.
Adjunct Tavore looked hale, her expression severe, holding Krughava’s glare unflinchingly.
Upon the arrival of the Khundryl, Fist Faradan Sort cleared her throat and said, ‘Adjunct, it pleases me to introduce—’
‘No need,’ Tavore replied, setting her regard upon Shelemasa. The Adjunct stepped forward, forcing apart the Mortal Sword and the queen. ‘I assume you are Shelemasa, who succeeded in rallying the survivors of the Charge, guiding the retreat and so saving many lives. It is said you were the last to leave the field. Your presence here honours us all.’ She paused, and then turned to Hanavat. ‘Precious mother,’ she said, ‘I grieve for your terrible losses. It grieves me too that, in this time, your husband dwells only upon his own losses. It is my hope that he soon awakens to the gifts remaining in his life.’ Tavore looked at the others. ‘Hanavat and Shelemasa are Khundryl Burned Tears, our longest-standing allies. Their sacrifice on the day of the Nah’ruk saved the lives of thousands. On this day, as upon every other, I value their counsel. Fist Kindly, find a chair for Hanavat – it is not proper that she stand with her child so near.’
Aranict saw Hanavat fighting back tears, welling up behind her astonishment, and if the two women now stood taller than they had a moment earlier … Adjunct Tavore, you continue to surprise us .
Tavore returned to her original position. ‘The Bonehunters,’ she said, ‘have had enough time to lick their wounds. Now we must march in earnest.’
Krughava’s voice was harsh with suppressed emotion. ‘We are sworn to—’
‘Serve me,’ the Adjunct snapped. ‘You have sworn to serve me, and that I need to remind you of this pains me, Mortal Sword.’