* * *
To touch—
* * *
The cage!
Broken!
Freed!
The wolf drew breath.
And howled.
* * *
The hammer held high in Brood’s hands, trembling, iron shaking—
As a god’s howl ripped the air, a howl climbing, a call—
Answered.
On the killing field, T’lan Ay rising from the ground, the beasts blurring forward in a silent, grey wave, cutting through K’Chain Che’Malle – tearing the undead reptiles down, rending – the giant, armoured reptiles buckling before the onslaught.
Other K’ell Hunters wheeling, racing for the gate – wolves pursuing.
Far overhead, condors breaking away from their deadly dance with two black dragons, speeding back towards the keep, Korlat and Orfantal following, and behind them, tens of thousands of Great Ravens—
—and above the keep, something was happening—
* * *
Holding the Mhybe, now unconscious, in his arms, Kruppe staggered back as Togg tore itself free of the shattered cage, the god’s howl blistering the air.
The deluge of hail ceased. Abrupt. The sky darkened.
A pressure, a force, ancient and bestial. Growing.
Togg, huge, one-eyed, white, silver-tipped fur – howling –
The wolf-god, emerging with the force of heaving stone, his cry seeming to span the sky.
A cry that was answered.
On all sides.
* * *
Paran ducked even lower to a sudden descent of gloom, cold, a weight overwhelming the captain.
Beside him, Quick Ben groaned, then hissed. ‘This is it, friend. Kurald Galain. I can use this – get us over this wall – we have to see—’
See what? Gods, I’m being crushed!
The pressure dimmed suddenly. Hands gripped his harness, dragged him up, metal scraping, leather catching, up and over the low wall to thump down on the other side.
The darkness continued its preternatural fall, dulling the sun to a grey, fitfully wavering disc.
Condors overhead, screaming—
—and in those screams, raw terror—
Paran twisted round, looked upon the scene on the parapet. Thirty paces away, on the far edge, crouching, was a figure the captain knew instinctively to be the Seer. Human flesh and skin had sloughed away, revealing a Jaghut, naked, surrounded in misty clouds of ice crystals. Clutched in the Seer’s hands, an egg the size of a cusser. At his side, huge and misshapen, a K’Chain Che’Malle – no. The Matron. What flowed from her left Paran horrified and filled with pity. She was mindless, her soul stripped, filled with a pain he knew she could not even feel – the only mercy that remained.
Two heavily armoured K’ell Hunters had been guarding their mother, but were now moving forward, weapons rising, thumping across the roof as, at a stairwell fifteen paces to Paran’s left, two figures appeared. Masked, painted from head to toe in blood, each wielding two swords, clambering free of a passageway strewn with the bodies of Urdomen and Seerdomin.
‘Hood take us!’ Quick Ben swore. ‘Those are Seguleh!’
But Paran’s attention had already left them, was oblivious, of the battle as the K’ell Hunters closed with the Seguleh. The storm-cloud that had towered overhead for so long was still climbing, shredding apart, almost lost in darkness. Something, he realized with a chill, was coming.
‘Captain! Follow me!’
Quick Ben was edging along the low wall, following its curve towards the harbourside.
Paran scrambled after the wizard. They halted where they had a full view of the harbour and the bay.
Far out in the bay, the horizon’s line of ice was exploding all along its length, in white, spewing clouds.
The waters of the harbour had grown glass-smooth beneath the dark, now motionless air. The web of ropes spanning it – with its shacks and dangling lines and withered corpses – suddenly trembled.
‘In Hood’s name what’s—’
‘Shh! Oh, Abyss! Watch!’
And he did.
The glass-smooth waters of the harbour … shivered … swelled … bulged.
Then, impossibly, fled on all sides.
Black, enormous – something – rising from the depths.
Seas thrashed, a ring of foam racing outward. A sudden push of cold wind hammered the parapet, made the structure sway, then tremble.
Rock, ragged, scarred – a Hood-damned mountain! – rising from the harbour, lifting the vast net with it.
And the mountain grew larger, rose higher, darkness bleeding from it in radiating waves.
‘They’ve unveiled Kurald Galain!’ Quick Ben shouted through the roaring wind. ‘All of them!’
Paran stared.
Moon’s Spawn.
Rising.
Rake hid it –
—oh, Abyss below, did Rake hide it!
Rising, water descending down its battered sides in tumbling falls, into mist that flowed as the edifice climbed ever higher.
The Cut. Ortnal’s Cut – that chasm—
‘Look!’ Quick Ben hissed. ‘Those cracks…’
And now he saw the cost of Rake’s gambit. Huge fissures scarred the face of Moon’s Spawn, fissures from which water still poured in undiminished volume.
Rising.
Two-thirds now clear of the churned seas.
Slowly spinning, bringing into view, high on one side, a ledge—
Where stood a lone figure.
* * *
Memories … gone. In their wake, tens of thousands of souls. Silent.
‘To me, then, I will take your pain, now.’
‘You are mortal.’
‘I am mortal.’
‘You cannot carry our pain.’
‘I can.’
‘You cannot deliver it—’
‘I shall.’
‘Itkovian—’
‘Your pain, T’lan Imass. Now.’
It rose before him, a wave of immeasurable height, rose, towering, then plunged towards him.
And they saw, one and all.
They saw Itkovian’s welcoming smile.
* * *
Moon’s Spawn rose, shrouded in darkness, beyond the city. Caladan Brood stared. Cascading clouds of mist, streams of water falling, fading. Dragons, now, wheeling outward, black, one crimson, waves of Kurald Galain, lashing out, incinerating the demonic condors.
Moon’s Spawn, leaning – a massive chunk of midnight stone sloughing from one side, rocking the entire edifice – leaning, sliding, forward, towards the keep—
On the killing field below, scattered remnants of soldiers – Malazan, Barghast, Grey Swords, Gruntle and the handful of followers that were all that remained of his legion – had one and all crossed the stone bridge and were converging on the shattered north gate. Unimpeded. The wall east of the gate was empty of mages, of anyone – stripped clean.
Fires lit the city beyond the wall. The sky was filling with Black Moranth, Great Ravens – Kurald Galain spreading out, down, onto Coral—
A true unveiling. All of the Tiste Andii, joined in ritual magic – the world has never known this – in all the millennia since their arrival – never known this. Burn’s heart, what will come of this unveiling?
He continued staring, overcome with a vast, soul-numbing helplessness.
* * *
The power flowed towards Korlat. Her eyes flashed as she and her brother swept on the cold, familiar currents of Kurald Galain, towards Moon’s Spawn.
Oh, it was dying – she could see that. Dying, but not yet completed its dreadful, deadly task.
She watched it moving, drawing closer to the keep’s parapet – to where, she could now see, stood the Seer – the Jaghut, clutching the Matron’s Finnest, staring upward, frozen, as the black, towering mountain inexorably approached.
Darkness, come to this world. To this place, this city.
Darkness, tha
t would never dissipate.
Coral. Black, black Coral …
* * *
It took no more than a half-dozen heartbeats before Lady Envy realized – as she watched the Bridgeburners crumble before the Urdomen attack – that she had misunderstood Picker’s last comment. Not confidence, not even bravado. Rather, a comment rife with fatalism, no doubt typical of these soldiers, but entirely new to Lady Envy.
As comprehension struck her, she acted. A small gesture with one hand.
Sufficient to rupture the flesh of the Urdomen warriors.
They crumpled en masse.
But the damage had already been done.
Two Bridgeburners remained standing, and both bore wounds.
She watched as they began checking their fallen comrades, finally gathering around one, pulling him clear. Only one among those fallen, then, who still breathed.
Heavy boots down the hallway, fast approaching.
Lady Envy scowled, raised her hand again—
‘Wait!’ Picker screamed. ‘That’s Mallet! Spin! Over here, you bastards!’
Behind the first two who had appeared – Mallet and Spin, she presumed – staggered two more soldiers in the garb of the Bridgeburners. All were terribly wounded – the Barghast in particular, whose armour was nothing more than fragments and whose body was a mass of cuts and gaping holes. Even as she watched, he staggered, sank to his knees, teeth bared in a smeared grin.
And died.
‘Mallet!’
The large man in the lead spun round, reeled at the sudden motion – and Lady Envy noted that he had taken a sword thrust that had gone right through him, just below the right shoulder. He stumbled back towards the Barghast.
‘It is too late for him, I am afraid,’ Lady Envy called out. ‘And you, Healer – Mallet – you are done with your warren and you know it. Gather to me, then, and I shall oblige. As for you, Picker, a more honest answer to my question earlier would have resulted in a far less horrible episode.’
Wiping blood from her eyes, Picker simply stared.
‘Ah, well,’ Lady Envy sighed, ‘perhaps it is best that you have no recollection of that sardonic quip. Come forward all of you – oh!’
She swung about suddenly, as sorcery descended – Kurald Galain – overwhelming in its power.
‘Down those stairs!’ she cried. ‘We must work clear of this! Quickly!’
Four dragging one, the surviving Bridgeburners followed Lady Envy.
* * *
Splinters of bone struck the wall. Tool staggered back, crashing against the stone, sword falling from his hands, ringing on the flagstones.
Mok raised both weapons—
—and flew to one side, through the air, spinning, weapons sailing from his hands – to collide with a wall, then slide in a heap among shattered wood and metal.
Tool raised his head.
A huge black panther, lips peeled back in a silent snarl, slowly padded towards the unconscious Seguleh.
‘No, sister.’
The Soletaken hesitated, then glanced back.
‘No. Leave him.’
The panther swung round, sembled.
Yet the rage remained in Kilava’s eyes as she strode towards Tool. ‘You were defeated! You! The First Sword!’
Tool slowly lowered himself to collect his notched sword. ‘Aye.’
‘He is a mortal man!’
‘Go to the Abyss, Kilava.’ He straightened, back scraping as he continued leaning against the wall.
‘Let me kill him. Now. Then once more you shall have no worthy challenger.’
‘Oh, sister,’ Tool sighed. ‘Do you not realize? Our time – it has passed. We must relinquish our place in this world. Mok – that man you so casually struck from behind – he is the Third. The Second and the First are his masters with swords. Do you understand me, Kilava? Leave him … leave them all.’
He slowly turned until he could see Toc the Younger.
The body, speared through on a shaft of wood, did not move.
‘The ancient wolf-god is free,’ Kilava said, following his gaze. ‘Can you not hear it?’
‘No. I cannot.’
‘That howl now fills another realm, the sound of birth. A realm … brought into existence by the Summoner. As for what now gives it life, something else, something else entire.’
A scrape from the doorway.
Both swung their heads.
Another T’lan Imass stood beneath the arch. Impaled with swords, cold-hammered copper sheathing canines. ‘Where is she?’
Tool tilted his head. ‘Who do you seek, kin?’
‘You are Onos T’oolan.’ The attention then shifted to Kilava. ‘And you are his sister, the One who Defied—’
Kilava’s lip curled in contempt. ‘And so I remain.’
‘Onos T’oolan, First Sword, where is the Summoner?’
‘I do not know. Who are you?’
‘Lanas Tog. I must find the Summoner.’
Tool pushed himself from the wall. ‘Then we shall seek her together, Lanas Tog.’
‘Fools,’ Kilava spat.
The patter of claws behind Lanas Tog – she wheeled, then backed away.
Baaljagg limped into the chamber. Ignoring everyone but Toc the Younger, the wolf approached the body, whimpered.
‘He is free,’ Tool said to Baaljagg. ‘Your mate.’
‘She is not deaf to that howl,’ Kilava muttered. ‘Togg has passed into the Warren of Tellann. Then … to a place beyond. Brother, take that path, since you are so determined to find the Summoner. They converge, one and all.’
‘Come with us.’
Kilava turned away. ‘No:’
‘Sister. Come with us.’
She spun, face dark. ‘No! I’ve come for the Seer. Do you understand me? I’ve come—’
Tool’s gaze fell to Toc’s broken corpse. ‘For redemption. Yes. I understand. Find him, then.’
‘I shall! Now that I’ve saved you, I am free to do as I please.’
Tool nodded. ‘And when you are done, sister, seek me out once more.’
‘And why should I?’
‘Kilava. Blood-kin. Seek me out.’
She was silent for a long moment, then she gave a curt nod.
Lanas Tog strode to Tool’s side. ‘Lead me, then, First Sword.’
The two T’lan Imass fell to dust, then that, too, vanished.
Kilava was alone in the chamber.
Barring an unconscious Seguleh.
And an ay now lying beside a corpse.
She hesitated, took a step towards Mok’s inert form, then sighed, wheeled about and approached Baaljagg.
‘You grieve for this mortal,’ she whispered, reaching down to rest her hand on the beast’s lowered head. ‘For him, you hold back on what you so long for – your reunion with your lost mate. Was this man truly worthy of such loyalty? No, answer not – that is plain enough in your eyes.
‘And so I will tell you something, Baaljagg, that you clearly fail to realize. This mortal’s soul – it rides Togg’s own – and your mate would deliver it, but not to Hood’s Gate. Go, then, pursue that trail. Here, I shall open the way.’
She straightened, gestured.
The Warren of Tellann opened. The chamber’s musty air was swept away. A sweet smell of wet tundra, acrid mosses and softened lichen flowed in on a soft, warm breeze.
The ay bound through the portal.
Kilava closed it after the beast.
Then walked from the chamber.
* * *
A moment later, Blend stepped from the shadows. She strode to where Mok lay amidst broken wood and twisted metal, looked down on the unconscious figure. Oh, that mask. So … tempting—
Startled shouts from the corridor behind her, the sound of soldiers scattering, then heartfelt curses.
‘—a damned panther!’
‘Kilava,’ Lady Envy replied. ‘I have crossed paths with her before. Rude, indeed, to push us all aside in such contemptuous fashio
n.’
Blend turned as the troop arrived.
Lady Envy paused, veiled eyes flicking from Mok to Toc the Younger. ‘Oh,’ she said in a low voice, ‘my dear lad … Would that you had remained in our company.’
Picker. Mallet. Spindle. Antsy. Bluepearl.
Blend closed her eyes.
‘Well, that settles it, then,’ Lady Envy said. ‘We return to the keep’s roof. Swiftly, before Kilava robs me of my vengeance against the Seer.’
‘You can return to the roof,’ Picker growled. ‘We’re leaving.’
Leaving, oh, my love …
Lady Envy crossed her arms. ‘I exhaust myself healing you ungracious soldiers, and this is your answer? I want company!’
Mallet and Spindle moved to retrieve Toc’s body.
Picker slumped against a wall, studied Lady Envy with red-shot eyes. ‘Our thanks for the healing,’ she muttered. ‘But we need to rejoin Onearm’s Host.’
‘And what if still more Pannion soldiers are lurking about?’
‘Then we join our slain brothers and sisters. What of it?’
‘Oh, you’re all the same!’
With that, and a flurry of white robes, Lady Envy stormed from the chamber.
Blend drew closer to Picker, quietly said, ‘There’s a hint of fresh air … coming from the doorway beyond.’
The lieutenant nodded. ‘Lead on.’
* * *
Canted to one side, shrouded in black mist, the ruptured basalt groaning like a living thing, Moon’s Spawn drew ever closer to the keep’s parapet.
Beneath the vast, overwhelming weight of Kurald Galain, the Seer crouched in his madness, head tilted to stare up at the edifice, the Finnest cradled with desperate possessiveness in his arms. Off to one side, the Matron seemed to be trying to claw her way through the tiles beneath her. The pressure was unrelenting.
The two Seguleh had not reached the rooftop unscathed, and the K’ell Hunters were proving more than their match. Both masked warriors had been driven back over the low ringwall, leaving trails of blood. Even so, Paran had never before seen such a display of skill. The swords were a blur, seemingly everywhere at once, and the K’ell Hunters were being hacked to shreds even as they pressed on. The captain had thought to help the two strangers, but had concluded that he’d prove more a hindrance.
Paran glanced back at the sky to the north.
Dragons, diving towards the city, waves of power lashing down to thunder in the streets, against buildings, darkness billowing.
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 263