The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  The captain returned his attention to the keep. Its outer wall was high, well fortified – if anything, stronger than the one enclosing the city. The main structure beyond it was as much raw rock as worked stone. The keep had been carved into a mountainside.

  Monstrous gargoyles lined the ragged roof’s edge, black and hunched, barely visible as darker blots against the night sky.

  Then Paran saw one move.

  Condors. Oh, we’re in the Abyss now … He thumped on the Moranth’s shoulder, jabbed a gloved finger down to the street below. The officer nodded.

  As one, the quorls carrying the Bridgeburners darted down, skimmed a dozen paces at waist-height over the street, then settled with a single tilt of wings.

  Soldiers scrambled from the saddles, seeking shadows.

  The Moranth and their quorls leapt skyward once more, wheeling for the return flight.

  Crouched in a dark alley mouth, Paran waited for the squads to gather around him. Quick Ben was first to his side.

  ‘The keep’s roof—’

  ‘I saw,’ Paran growled. ‘Any ideas, Wizard?’

  Antsy spoke up, ‘How ’bout finding a cellar and hiding, Captain?’

  Quick Ben glared at the sergeant, then looked around. ‘Where’s Hedge?’

  The sapper pushed forward, waddling beneath bulging leather sacks.

  ‘Did you see the damned sparrows?’ the wizard asked him, making a strange half-shrugging motion with his left shoulder.

  ‘Aye. We need sharpshooters atop the wall. I got twelve quarrels with sharpers instead of points. We do it right and we can take out that many—’

  ‘Raining bird-meat,’ Spindle cut in. ‘Burning feathers.’

  ‘Is that worse than burning hairshirt, Spin?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Paran snapped. ‘All right, get hooks on the wall and line our brilliant crossbow experts to the top. Hedge, find the right place to set the cusser-bundle and crackers, and do it fast – we’ve got to time this right. I want those birds knocked from their perches, not in the air. Dujek’s first wave is probably already on the way, so let’s move.’

  The captain waved Picker to point. They headed towards the keep wall.

  Reaching the street’s edge opposite, Picker raised a hand and crouched low. Everyone froze.

  Paran moved up to just behind her. She leaned back. ‘Urdomen guards,’ she whispered. ‘The gate’s twenty paces to the left, well lit—’

  ‘The guards are well lit?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Idiots!’

  ‘Aye, but I’m wondering…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We switch back and head right, come up again, we’ll be at a corner of the wall. Hedge likes corners…’

  ‘So we leave the guards where they are.’

  ‘Aye, Captain. Hood knows, in that light, they won’t see a damned thing. And we’ll be far enough away for the sound the hooks make if they make any not to reach ’em.’

  ‘You hope.’

  ‘They’re all wearing great-helms, sir.’

  ‘All right, take us round, Lieutenant.’

  ‘A moment, sir. Blend?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Stay here. Keep an eye on those guards.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Picker nodded to Paran and headed back down the street. The squads wheeled and followed.

  It seemed to the captain as he padded along that he was the only one making a sound – and far too much sound at that. The thirty-odd soldiers around him were ghostly silent. They moved from shadow to shadow without pause.

  A sixth of a bell later, Picker once more approached the street facing the compound wall. Directly ahead was a squared corner tower, surmounted by a massive battlement. The squads closed in behind the lieutenant.

  Paran heard the sappers whispering with glee upon seeing the tower.

  ‘Won’t that come down pretty—’

  ‘Like a potato on a spindly stick—’

  ‘Brace the crackers, right? Drive the forces in at an angle to meet an arm’s reach inside the cornerstone—’

  ‘You tellin’ Granda where’s the pretty hole, Runter? Shut up and leave it to me and Spin, right?’

  ‘I was just sayin’, Hedge—’

  Paran cut in, ‘Enough, all of you. Crossbows up top before any of you do anything else.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ Hedge agreed. ‘Ready the hooks, dearies. You with the crossbows, line up and get your sharper-quarrels – hey, no cutting in, show some manners, woman!’

  Paran drew Quick Ben to one side a few paces behind the others. ‘Twelve explosive quarrels, Wizard,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘There’s at least thirty condors.’

  ‘You don’t think Dujek’s attack inside the city walls will draw ’em away?’

  ‘Sure, long enough for them to annihilate that first wave, leave a few of their own circling to greet the second wave, while the rest come back to take care of us.’

  ‘You’ve something in mind, Captain?’

  ‘A second diversion, one to pull the rest of the condors away from both Dujek and the Bridgeburners. Quick, can you take us through a warren to that roof?’

  ‘Us, sir?’

  ‘You and I, yes. And Antsy, Spindle, Detoran, Mallet and Trotts.’

  ‘I can do that, Captain, but I’m just about used up—’

  ‘Just get us there, Wizard. Where’s Spin?’ Paran looked back at the others, nodded when he found the man. ‘Wait here.’ The captain hurried to where Spindle crouched with the other sappers, reached out and dragged him from the huddle. ‘Hedge, you’ll have to do without this man.’

  Hedge grinned. ‘What a relief, Captain.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Quiet, Spindle.’ Paran pulled him to where Quick Ben waited.

  ‘What have you got in mind?’ the wizard asked as soon as they arrived.

  ‘In a moment. Quick, those condors – what precisely are they?’

  ‘Not sure, sir.’

  ‘Not what I want to hear, Wizard. Try again.’

  ‘All right, I think they once were real condors – smaller, normal sized, that is. Then the Seer somehow figured out a way of stuffing the birds—’

  ‘Stuffing the birds, ha!’ Spindle snickered.

  Quick Ben reached out and cuffed the man. ‘Don’t interrupt again, Spin. Demons, Captain. Possession. Chaos-aspected, which is why their bodies can’t quite hold it all.’

  ‘So, demon and bird both.’

  ‘One the master over the other, of course.’

  ‘Of course. Now, which one does the flying?’

  ‘Well, the condor…’ Quick Ben’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Spindle, then grinned. ‘Well, hey, maybe…’

  ‘What are you two going on about?’

  ‘You hoarding any munitions, Spindle?’ Paran asked.

  ‘Six sharpers.’

  ‘Good, in case this goes wrong.’

  They turned at a hissed command from Picker to see a half-dozen soldiers sprinting across the street to pull up at the base of the compound wall. Hooks and ropes were readied.

  ‘Damn, I didn’t realize how high that wall was – how are they—’

  ‘Look again, sir,’ Quick Ben said. ‘Toes is with them.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Watch, sir.’

  The squad mage had opened his warren. Paran tried to recall the man’s speciality, was answered by the smoky appearance of a dozen ghosts who drifted close around Toes. Paran softly grunted, ‘If those are the ones who keep falling over…’

  ‘No, these are local spirits, Captain. People fall from walls all the time, and since this one is more than a few hundred years old, well, the numbers pile up. Anyway, most ghosts are somewhat … single-minded. The last they remember, they were on the wall, patrolling, standing guard, whatever. So, they want to get back up there…’

  Paran watched the spirits, six of them now somehow carrying hooks, slither up the wall. The other six had closed ghostly hands on Toes and were
lifting him to follow. The squad mage did not look happy, legs flailing.

  ‘I thought the warrens were poisoned.’

  Quick Ben shrugged. ‘Hood’s hit back hard, Captain. He’s cleared a space…’

  Paran frowned, but said nothing.

  Reaching the top of the wall, Toes took charge once more, retrieving and placing each hook since it was clear that the spirits were either incapable of such precision with physical objects, or disinclined. The mage had to struggle with a couple of them to get the roped hooks from their hands. Eventually, he had all the hooks positioned. Ropes uncoiled, snaked down to the soldiers waiting below.

  The first six crossbow-equipped soldiers began climbing.

  Paran cast an anxious glance up at the row of condors surmounting the main building. None stirred. ‘Thank Hood they sleep deep.’

  ‘Aye, building power for what’s to come. Far into their chaotic warren.’

  Paran turned round and studied the dark sky to the northwest. Nothing. Then again, it wasn’t likely that he’d be able to see them in any case. They’d be coming in low, just as his flight had done.

  The second six soldiers with crossbows strapped to their backs crossed the street and set hands to ropes.

  ‘Wizard, ready that warren…’

  ‘It’s ready, Captain.’

  Picker was suddenly waving madly in Paran’s direction. Hissing a curse, the captain rushed to join her. The remaining squads had pulled far back from the street.

  ‘Captain! Lean out, sir, and check down at the gate.’

  Paran did so.

  There was activity there. The gates had opened, and out were filing, one after another, huge reptilian warriors – K’Chain Che’Malle – so that’s what the damned things look like. Hood’s breath. Five … ten … fifteen … still more, marching out into the city – towards the north wall.

  And Dujek’s about to land in their laps …

  He settled back, met Picker’s eyes. ‘Lieutenant, we’ve got to divert those damned things.’

  She rubbed at her face, glanced back at the remaining squads. ‘They’re supposed to be pretty fast, those undead lizards, but with all these alleys and streets…’ She faced Paran once more, gave a swift nod. ‘We’ve a few sharpers in hand – we’ll give ’em good reason to come after us.’

  ‘Just make sure you stay ahead, Lieutenant. If you can, keep everyone together.’

  ‘Sir, that’s not likely – we’ll have to scatter, I expect, just to keep the things confused.’

  ‘All right, but try anyway.’

  ‘And you, Captain?’

  ‘Quick and Antsy’s squad – we’re headed onto the keep’s roof. We’ll be trying our own diversion with the rest of those condors. You’ve got the Bridgeburners now, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Aye, Captain. So, who do you figure will die first, you or us?’

  ‘That’s too close to call.’

  She grinned. ‘Half my back pay, Captain, we’ll be a step behind you. Pay up at Hood’s Gate.’

  ‘You’re on, Lieutenant. Now, leave Hedge and his sappers to blowing that tower, gather up Blend and the rest of you get going.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Paran made to move away, but Picker reached out and touched his arm.

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, uh, those knives at your back? They’ve been turned the other way for some time. Just wanted you to know.’

  Paran glanced away. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’

  Quick Ben had pulled together Antsy and his squad, minus Hedge and Blend. As soon as Paran joined them, the wizard nodded and said, ‘Say when, Captain.’

  Paran glanced over at the compound wall. The ropes hung slack. No-one was in sight along the top. ‘How long since you last saw them?’

  The wizard shrugged. ‘I expect they’re in position now, sir. Hedge looks about ready.’

  Paran’s eyes dropped to see the team of sappers gathered in a tight, nervously shifting pack at the tower’s base. ‘That was fast.’

  ‘Hedge is lightning when he’s scared witless, sir. We’d better—’

  ‘Yes. Open your warren.’ He glanced over at Antsy. The sergeant, Detoran, Trotts and Mallet had dropped the visors on their helms. Weapons were out. Spindle crouched nearby, a sharper clutched in his right hand. ‘Hold it, Quick – did you tell Spin what—’

  ‘Aye, sir, and he’s working on it just fine.’

  Spindle managed a weak grin.

  ‘All right. Let’s go.’

  The portal flashed open, bled darkness into the street. Paran’s eyes widened. Kurald Galain. What—

  ‘Follow me!’ Quick Ben hissed, darting into the warren.

  The squad plunged forward, was swallowed. Paran flung himself into their wake.

  The transition was almost instantaneous. The captain stumbled across slick tiles – they were on the keep’s roof, thirty paces behind the row of condors—

  A dozen of the huge, demonic creatures suddenly exploded, spraying blood and flesh to spatter across the roof. The others jerked awake as one. Loosing piercing cries, they spread vast wings and launched themselves upward.

  Spindle had already unleashed his warren, and its effect was instantaneous.

  The condors shrilled with terror, wings thundering in panic, heads twisting on spasming necks as the mortal beast within each body – gripped with blind fear engendered by Spindle’s twisted talent – warred with demon for command.

  Crossbow quarrels shot up from along the compound wall, thudded into the flailing creatures.

  The entire keep shuddered. Paran spun to see the compound tower to his left suddenly topple, the enormous battlement pitching towards the street. Smoke billowed. Shouts followed as the Bridgeburners lining the top of the wall scrambled towards the ropes.

  Sharpers echoed from the streets to the east – Picker and her remaining Bridgeburners had just surprised the column of K’Chain Che’Malle – and the pursuit was on.

  Quick Ben pulled Paran close. ‘The demons are winning the struggle!’

  The condors were slowly gaming height, drawing ever further from the influence of Spindle’s warren. If they felt any discomfort for being studded with quarrels, they showed no sign of it. Sorcery crackled around them.

  ‘They’ll come round for us, Captain,’ Quick Ben predicted.

  ‘Better us than Dujek. Now, can we keep them occupied for a time, Wizard?’

  ‘Most of ’em, aye.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, to start, we can run to the south side of this building.’

  Run? That’s it? ‘Let’s move, then.’

  * * *

  Outside the city’s west wall, close to the shoreline’s broken, jagged edge, a lazy swirl of dust rose from the ground, took form.

  Tool slowly settled the flint sword into its shoulder-hook, his depthless gaze ignoring the abandoned shacks to either side and fixing on the massive stone barrier before him.

  Dust on the wind could rise and sweep high over this wall. Dust could run in streams through the rubble fill beneath the foundation stones. The T’lan Imass could make his arrival unknown.

  But the Pannion Seer had taken Aral Fayle. Toc the Younger. A mortal man … who had called Tool friend.

  He strode forward, hide-wrapped feet kicking through scattered bones.

  The time had come for the First Sword of the T’lan Imass to announce himself.

  * * *

  The second wave, bearing another thousand soldiers, plunged down to fill the streets directly behind Dujek’s position, even as explosions lit the skyline to the south – along the keep’s roof-line, then directly beneath it, the latter a deeper sound, rumbling through the ground to rattle the cobbles – a sound the High Fist recognized. The breach had been made.

  ‘Time to push forward,’ he barked to his officers. ‘Take your commands – we drive for the keep.’

  Dujek raised his visor. The air above was filled with the whispering flu
tter of quorl wings. The second wave of carriers were climbing back into the night sky, even as a third approached from the north – moments from delivering another thousand marines.

  Sharpers echoed from the city to the east. Dujek paused to wonder at that – then the sky ignited, a grey, rolling wave, sweeping towards the third flight.

  The High Fist watched, silent, as between two beats of his cold heart a thousand Black Moranth, their quorls, and five companies of Onearm’s Host disintegrated in grey flames.

  Behind the wave, sailing black and deadly, flew three condors.

  The Moranth of the second wave, who had climbed high before intending to turn about and race north, reappeared, above the three condors, diving en masse towards the creatures.

  A fourth flight of carriers approaching from the northwest had captured the birds’ attention.

  Rider and quorl descended on the unsuspecting condors, in successive, suicidal attacks. Black-armoured warriors drove lances deep into feathered bodies. Quorls twisted their triangular heads, chitinous jaws tearing strips of flesh, even as the collisions shattered their frail bodies and frailer wings.

  Hundreds of quorls died, their riders falling with them to strike roofs and streets, lying broken and unmoving.

  The three condors followed, dying as they fell.

  Dujek had no time to think of the horrific price his Moranth had paid for that momentary victory. The fourth wing dropped down into the streets, soldiers flinging themselves from the saddles and scrambling for cover.

  The High Fist beckoned for a messenger.

  ‘New orders to the officers – the companies are to take buildings – defensible ones. The keep will have to wait – I want roofs over us—’

  Another message-bearer appeared. ‘High Fist!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Pannion legions are assembling, sir – every street in a line from the north gate right up to the keep.’

  ‘And we hold the west third of the city. They’re coming to drive us out. All right.’ He faced the first messenger and said, ‘Let the officers know so they can adjust their defence—’

  But the second message-bearer wasn’t finished. ‘High Fist, sir – sorry. There’s K’Chain Che’Malle with those legions.’