It was no longer even the madness of the violence, nor the risk to her own life. No, it was her proximity to these soldiers of Mann, just on the other side of the chartassa – some even running amok within the formation. They were the same men who had gutted her people and laid her homeland to ash and waste.
Curl was ashamed of the fear they instilled in her; it was beyond reason, something primal in it like fear of darkness. It was appalling, this power they still held over her.
With haste she finished fitting Bahn’s wounded arm into a sling. It was good to stand next to him, a familiar face in the storm. The man was frightened too, she could see.
‘Thank you,’ he told her as he inspected the sling.
‘Have it seen to properly when you can,’ she told him.
They looked at each other for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Bahn opened his mouth to speak, but then his eyes flicked to the side, and she saw it too – a squad of imperial soldiers behind their lines, one of them tossing a grenade in their direction.Someone shouted a warning. Bahn launched himself at Curl. His arms wrapped around her, and then a bang knocked the senses out of her and she was engulfed in a wash of cold air, and then a hot blast.
She was lying on her back with the wind knocked out of her, and Bahn pressing against her body.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m all right.’
But his eyes were closed. She couldn’t feel him breathing.
With a shove she pushed him off her and onto his back. His left cheek was torn open. Blood leaked from the ear on that side. Another man lay close by them, his eyes staring blankly at the night sky.
‘Bahn!’ she shouted as she checked his pulse. It was hard to find, but it was there, faintly beating.
She was fumbling for her bag when General Creed himself came stamping towards her with his bodyguards trying to keep up. ‘Is he alive?’
‘Barely!’ she shouted back.
The general glanced across to where an officer was calling out to him. He returned his attention to Bahn sprawled on the ground.
‘Look after this one, you hear me!’
She nodded her head. Creed took one last look at Bahn then strode off towards the officer. ‘Look after him, you hear?’
‘Matriarch,’ said the captain of her honour guard. ‘We should withdraw to a safer position. You are exposed here.’
The captain was right. Sasheen was deep within the imperial lines, a position she’d sought for good reason.
‘Captain. When we win this battle I do not wish it to be said that I sat and watched it from the rear. You are my bodyguards. Protect me.’
Ché listened to the exchange with interest. They stood in a clear space of field between the multitude of formations still to be employed in the fighting, and those in front already embroiled in the action.
The Khosians were edging ever closer.
Archgeneral Sparus had been beckoned to her side some moments earlier. He came now on foot, trailed by his own retinue of officers.
‘Can’t you stop them, Archgeneral?’ Sasheen demanded, sitting astride her zel as she considered the scene ahead. ‘I thought they were nearly finished?’
Sparus looked up at her with his bloodshot eye, like a man long ready for his bed. ‘They are, Matriarch. But they have mortar crews holding a superior firing position on the ridge to the south.’ He pointed for her benefit. ‘They fire down upon our forward lines. It allows them progress.’
‘Then retake the ridge and have us finish this.’
He hid his annoyance well. ‘We’re trying to, Matriarch. It will be ours again presently.’
She waved a hand to dismiss him, and Sparus gave a curt nod of his head.
Ché turned his back on it all. Behind them the fresh infantry was standing impatiently, waiting for their turn to join the fight. They seemed eager to get this business finished too. It was cold in that armour of theirs on this frozen valley floor. Many were likely hung over, or at least still tired from being awakened so rudely from their sleep.
As a Rōshun, and then as a Diplomat, Ché had been trained to spot the important details first. Something drew his attention now, and he squinted between the formations of men at a lone Acolyte moving towards the Matriarch’s position.
It took Ché a moment to become conscious of what was wrong with the image. The man wore leather leggings