them to brew a particularly unpleasant poison that was exactly that colour, a ‘fake blue’ Nona called it.
‘Or …’ Nona raised an open hand towards the east.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Kettle said.
‘This is a day for dangerous. We’re going to face the Scithrowl one way or the other. Do we want it to be when they’ve breached the city wall? Us waiting at the emperor’s gates and a rank of pikemen advancing while the arrows rain in …? Or do we want it to be as Sisters of Discretion, behind their lines, hitting at what they would rather keep safe? You don’t put up a pavilion like that for a minor general or some princeling. I saw you do it less than a month ago!’ Nona had watched through her thread-bond with Kettle as the Grey Sister killed the commander of five hundred Scithrowl within the luxury of his tent, slitting his throat while he slept beneath the furs of a hoola. ‘They’re not afraid of us! They’re arrogant and stupid. We could do some real damage here. It might be Adoma herself! Even if we die we will have sold our lives for something of worth, more than we could achieve cutting down foot soldiers as they climb the walls.’
‘It’s still too—’
‘You didn’t see them, Kettle. Words can’t paint it. Numbers that big don’t have meaning. They’re an ocean, a wave. They will roll over the walls and grind us down and nothing we have will stop them. We need to cut off the head. Come at their leaders where they’re most vulnerable. This is what Apple trained us for!’
Kettle shook her head and turned to go. Nona grabbed her arm. ‘Go up the tree, then tell me.’
Kettle rolled her eyes. ‘Sister Cauldron, don’t let her do anything stupid while I’m up there.’ And with that she was gone, fairly sprinting up the pine despite the weight of her chainmail.
‘You should learn to follow orders, sister.’ Bhenta watched Nona through narrow eyes. ‘Sister Kettle has seen more war than any of us.’
Kettle dropped back to the ground before it seemed that there had been time to reach the top. She joined them, white-faced.
‘Let’s do it.’
20
Holy Class
Nona couldn’t understand any of what was said at the four layers of the Scithrowl perimeter but Kettle proved sufficiently convincing to get through. Kettle even managed to earn a slap on the back and a few laughs at the last checkpoint. Bhenta remained largely taciturn during these encounters but interjected a few comments unasked since silence provokes questions. Bhenta adopted the heavily accented empire tongue that predominated in the shadow of the Grampains on the Scithrowl side … though Nona supposed that both sides of the range were now the Scithrowl side.
For her part Nona spoke the international language of pain – groaning and holding her side with bloody hands. She had been hurt enough times to know how to play it. Whatever she was asked she planned to stick to moaning. Her written Scithrowl was rudimental, her spoken Scithrowl worse.
On receiving directions from some minor officer Kettle began to lead them briskly through the outskirts of the main Scithrowl force. Nona hobbled after her with one arm over Bhenta’s shoulders for support, her head down so that the blackness of her eyes would not draw comment or attention.
The smell of the place was overpowering. Smoke from the battle at the walls drifted back to mix with that of countless cook-fires and communal blazes, along with the pervading stink of latrines, the aroma of unfamiliar stews bubbling in cauldrons, the odour of close-packed humanity, of draught horses, cavalry, penned cattle and pigs, stray dogs, a shanty town of camp followers to the rear. It was as if a vast city had been turned out into the fields, given weapons and dressed in armour.
Although Kettle was discreet about it Nona could see that she was noting every detail and the telltale furrow between her eyebrows meant that she was sending to Apple all the information their shadow-bond would allow. Nona could only imagine what Apple might be sending back. Demands for her return? Pleading? Threats, even? Or did Mistress Shade have the discipline not to distract a Grey Sister with her personal fears even when that Grey Sister was Kettle and the mission could very well be one that allowed no return?
Turning sharply behind a latrine trench sheltered by a wall of woven sticks, Kettle snatched up an empty water barrel and thrust it at