Paran found an empty chair and pulled it up between Mallet and Trotts.
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Hedge growled, "Hey, Trotts, you gonna call this game or what?"
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Releasing a long breath, Paran turned to Mallet. "Tell me, Healer, what's the average life expectancy for an officer in the Bridgeburners?"
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A grunt escaped Hedge's lips. "Before or after Moon's Spawn?
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Mallet's heavy brows rose slightly as he answered the captain. "Maybe two campaigns. Depends on a lot of things. Balls ain't enough, but it helps. And that means forgetting everything you learned and jumping into your sergeant lap like a babe. You listen to him, you might make it."
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Hedge thumped the table. "Wake up, Trotts! What are we playing here?"
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The Barghast scowled. "I'm thinking," he rumbled.
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Paran leaned back and unhitched his belt.
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Trotts decided on a game, to the groans of Hedge, Mallet and the three 2nd Army soldiers, since it was the game Trotts always decided on.
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Mallet spoke. "Captain, you've been hearing things about the Bridgeburners, right?"
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Paran nodded. "Most officers are terrified of the Bridge-burners. Word is, the mortality rate's so high because half the captains end up with a dagger in their back.
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He paused, and was about to continue when he noticed the sudden silence. The game had stopped, and all eyes had fixed on him. Sweat broke out under Paran's clothing. "And from what I've seen so far," he pressed on, "I'm likely to believe that rumor. But I'll tell you something -all of you-if I die with a knife in my back, it'd better be because I earned it. Otherwise, I will be severely disappointed." He hitched his belt and rose. "Tell the sergeant I'll be in the barracks. I'd like to speak with him before we're officially mustered."
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Hedge gave a slow nod. "Will do, Captain." The man hesitated. "Uh, Captain? Care to sit in on the game?"
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Paran shook his head. "Thanks, no." A grin tugged the corner of his mouth. "Bad practice, an officer taking his enlisted men's money."
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"Now there's a challenge you'd better back up some time," Hedge said, his eyes brightening.
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"I'll think about it," Paran replied, as he left the table. Pushing through the crowd, he felt a growing sense of something that caught him completely off-guard: insignificance. A lot of arrogance had been drilled into him, from his days as a boy among the nobility through to his time at the academy. That arrogance now cowered in some corner of his brain, shocked silent and numb.
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He had known that well before he'd met the Adjunct: his path into and through the officer training corps of the Marine Academy had been an easy procession marked by winks and nods. But the Empire's wars were fought here, thousands of leagues away, and here, Paran realized, nobody cared one whit about court influences and mutually favourable deals. Those shortcuts swelled his chances of dying, and dying fast. If not for the Adjunct, he'd have been totally unprepared tO take command.
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Paran grimaced as he pushed open the tavern door and stepped out into the street. It was no wonder the old Emperor's armies had so easily devoured the feudal kingdoms in his path on the road to Empire. He was suddenly glad of the stains marring his uniform--he no longer looked out of place.
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He strode into the alley leading to the barracks' side entrance. The way lay in shadow beneath high-walled buildings and the faded canopies that hung over sagging balconies. Pale was a dying city. He knew enough of its history to recognize the bleached tints of long-lost glory. True, it had commanded enough power to forge an alliance with Moon's Spawn, but the captain suspected that that had had more to do with the Moon's lord's sense of expedience than to any kind of mutual recognition of power. The local gentry made much of finery and pomp, but their props looked tired and worn. He wondered how alike he and his kind were with these droopy citizens——
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A sound behind him, the faintest scuff, made him turn. A shadow-wrapped figure closed on him. Paran cried out, snatching at his sword. An icy wind washed over him as the figure moved in. The captain backpedaled seeing the glint of blades in each hand. He twisted to one side, his sword halfway out of the scabbard. His attacker's left hand darted up. Paran jerked his head back, throwing his shoulder forward to block a blade that never arrived. Instead, the long dagger slid like fire into his chest. A second blade sank into his side even as blood gushed up inside to fill his mouth. Coughing and groaning, Paran reeled, careened off a wall, then slid down with one hand grasping futilely at the damp stones, his fingernails gouging tracks through the mold.
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A blackness closed around his thoughts which seemed to involve only a deep, heartfelt regret. Faintly, a ringing sound came to his ears, as if something small and metallic was skittering across a hard surface. The sound remained, of something spinning, and the darkness encroached no further.
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"Sloppy," a man said in a thin voice. "I am surprised. The accent was familiar, pulling him to a childhood memory, his father dealing with Dal Honese traders.
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The answer came from directly above Paran. "Keeping an eye on me?" Another accent he recognized, Kanese, and the voice seemed to come from a girl, or a child, yet he knew it was the voice of his killer.
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"Coincidence, the other replied, then giggled. "Someone-something, I should say. has entered our Warren. Uninvited. My Hounds hunt."
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"I don't believe in coincidences."
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Again came the giggle. "Nor do I. Two years ago we began a game of our own. A simple settling of old scores. It seems we have stumbled into a wholly different game here in Pale."
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"Whose?"
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"I shall have that answer soon enough."
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"Don't get distracted, Ammanas. Laseen remains our target, and the collapse of the Empire she rules but never earned."
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"I have, as always, supreme confidence in you, Cotillion."
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"I must be getting back," the girl said, moving away.
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"Of course. So this is the man Lorn sent to find you?"
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"I believe so. This should draw her into the fray, in any case."
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"And this is desirable?"
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The conversation faded as the two speakers walked away leaving, as the only sound in Paran's head, that whirring hum, as if a coin was spinning, endlessly spinning.
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