Borduke and his squad were having a hard time of it.
‘To the right,’ Strings said. ‘We can skirt it and get through before them!’
Borduke heard and twisted round from where he clung to the wall, three quarters of the way up. ‘Bastards! Balgrid, get that fat butt of yours moving, damn you!’
Koryk found a way round the crater, clambering over the rubble, and Bottle and the others followed. Too distracted for the moment by the effort of staying on his feet, Bottle did not attempt to sense the myriad, minuscule life beyond the blast area, in the city itself. Time for that later, he hoped.
The half-blood Seti’s progress halted suddenly, and the mage looked up to see that Koryk had encountered an obstacle, a broad crack in a sharply angled, subterranean floor, a man’s height below ground-level. Dust-smeared tiles revealed the painted images of yellow birds in flight, all seeming to be heading deep underground with the slanting pitch of the floor.
Koryk glanced back at Strings. ‘Saw the whole slab move, Sergeant. Not sure how solid our footing will be.’
‘Hood take us! All right, get the ropes out, Smiles—’
‘I tossed ’em,’ she said, scowling. ‘On the run in here. Too damned heavy—’
‘And I picked them up,’ Cuttle interjected, tugging the coils from his left shoulder and flinging them forward.
Strings reached out and rapped a knuckle against Smiles’s chin – her head snapped back, eyes widening in shock, then fury. ‘You carry what I tell you to carry, soldier,’ the sergeant said.
Koyrk collected one end of the rope, backed up a few paces, then bolted forward and leapt over the fissure. He landed clean, although with very little room to spare. There was no way Tarr or Cuttle could manage such a long jump.
Strings cursed, then said, ‘Those who can do what Koryk just did, go to it. And nobody leave gear behind, either.’
Moments later both Bottle and Smiles crouched at Koryk’s side, helping anchor the rope as the sergeant, twin sacks of munitions dangling from him, crossed hand over hand, the bags swinging wild but positioned so that they never collided with one another. Bottle released the rope and moved forward to help, once Strings found footing on the edge.
Cuttle followed. Then Tarr, with the rope wrapped about himself, made his way down onto the slanted floor and was dragged quickly across as it shifted then slid away beneath his weight. Armour and weapons clanking, the rest of the squad pulled the corporal onto level ground.
‘Gods,’ Cuttle gasped. ‘The man weighs as much as a damned bhederin!’
Koryk re-coiled the rope and handed it, grinning, to Smiles.
They set off once more, up over a ridge of wreckage from some kind of stall or lean-to that had abutted the inner wall, then more rubble, beyond which was a street.
And Borduke and his squad were just entering it, spread out, crossbows at the ready. The bearded sergeant was in the lead, Corporal Hubb on his right and two steps behind. Ibb was opposite the corporal, and two paces behind the pair were Tavos Pond and Balgrid, followed by Lutes, with the rear drawn up by the sapper Maybe. Classic marine advance formation.
The buildings to the sides were dark, silent. Something odd about them, Bottle thought, trying to work out what it might be…no shutters on the windows – they’re all open. So are the doors…every door, in fact—‘Sergeant—’
The arrows that suddenly sped down from flanking windows, high up, were loosed at the precise moment that a score of figures rushed out from nearby buildings, screaming, spears, scimitars and shields at the ready. Those arrows had been fired without regard to the charging warriors, and two cried out as iron-barbed points tore into them.
Bottle saw Borduke spin round, saw the arrow jutting from his left eye socket, saw a second arrow transfixing his neck. Blood was spraying as he staggered, clawing and clutching at his throat and face. Behind him, Corporal Hubb curled up round an arrow in his gut, then sank to the cobbles. Ibb had taken an arrow in the left shoulder, and he was plucking at it, swearing, when a warrior rushed in on him, scimitar swinging to strike him across the side of his head. Bone and helm caved in, a gush of blood, and the soldier fell.
Strings’s squad arrived, intercepting a half-dozen warriors. Bottle found himself in the midst of a vicious exchange, Koryk on his left, the half-Seti’s longsword batting away a scimitar, then driving point first into the man’s throat. A screaming visage seemed to lunge at Bottle, as if the warrior was seeking to tear into his neck with bared teeth, and Bottle recoiled at the madness in the man’s eyes, then reached in with his mind, into the warrior’s fierce maelstrom of thoughts – little more than fractured images and black rage – and found the most primitive part of his brain; a burst of power and the man’s coordination vanished. He crumpled, limbs twitching.
Cold with sweat, Bottle backed away another step, wishing he had a weapon to draw, beyond the bush-knife in his right hand.
Fighting on all sides. Screams, the clash of metal, snapping of chain links, grunts and gasps.
And still arrows rained down.
One cracked into the back of Strings’s helm, pitching him down to his knees. He twisted round, lifting his crossbow, glaring at the building opposite – its upper windows crowded with archers.
Bottle reached out and grasped Koryk’s baldric. ‘Back! Fid’s cusser! Everyone! Back!’
The sergeant raised the crossbow to his shoulder, aimed towards an upper window—
There were heavy infantry among them now, and Bottle saw Taffo, from Mosel’s squad, wading into a crowd of warriors, now ten paces from the building – from Strings’s target—
—as the crossbow thunked, the misshapen quarrel flying out, up, into the maw of the window.
Bottle threw himself flat, arms covering his head—
The upper floor of the building exploded, huge sections of wall bulging, then crashing down into the street. The cobbles jumped beneath Bottle.
Someone rolled up against him and he felt something flop heavy and slimy onto his forearm, twitching and hot. A sudden reek of bile and faeces.
The patter of stones, piteous moans, the lick of flames. Then another massive crash, as what remained of the upper floor collapsed into the level below. The groan of the nearest wall preceded its sagging dissolution. Then, beyond the few groans, silence.
Bottle lifted his head. To find Corporal Harbyn lying beside him. The lower half of the soldier’s body was gone, entrails spilled out. Beneath the helm’s ridge, eyes stared sightlessly. Pulling away, Bottle leaned back on his hands and crabbed across the rock-strewn street. Where Taffo had been fighting a mob of warriors, there was now nothing but a heap of rubble and a few dust-sheathed limbs jutting from beneath it, all motionless.
Koryk moved past him, stabbing down at stunned figures with his sword. Bottle saw Smiles cross the half-Seti’s path, her two knives already slick with blood.
Bodies in the street. Figures slowly rising, shaking their heads, spitting blood. Bottle twisted round onto his knees, dipped his head, and vomited onto the cobbles.
‘Fiddler – you bastard!’
Coughing, but stomach quiescent for the moment, Bottle looked over to see Sergeant Mosel advancing on Strings.
‘We had them! We were rushing the damned building!’
‘Then rush that one!’ Strings snapped, pointing at the tenement on the other side of the street. ‘They just been knocked back, that’s all – any moment now and another rain of arrows—’
Cursing, Mosel gestured at the three heavies left – Mayfly, Flashwit and Uru Hela – and they lumbered into the building’s doorway.
Strings was fitting another quarrel into his crossbow, this one loaded with a sharper. ‘Balgrid! Who’s left in your squad?’
The portly mage staggered over. ‘What?’ he shouted. ‘I can’t hear you! What?’
‘Tavos Pond!’
‘Here, Sergeant. We got Maybe, uhm, Balgrid – but he’s bleeding out from his ears. Lutes is down, but he should live
– with some healing. We’re out of this—’
‘To Hood you are. Pull Lutes clear – there’s a squad coming up – the rest of you are with me—’
‘Balgrid’s deaf!’
‘Better he was mute – we got hand signals, remember? Now remind the bastard of that! Bottle, help Tarr out. Cuttle, take Koryk to that corner up ahead and wait there for us. Smiles, load up on quarrels – I want that weapon of yours cocked and your eyes sharp on everything from rooftops on down.’
Bottle climbed to his feet and made his way to where Tarr was struggling to clamber free of rubble – a part of the wall had fallen on him, but it seemed his armour and shield had withstood the impact. Lots of swearing, but nothing voiced in pain. ‘Here,’ Bottle said, ‘give me your arm—’
‘I’m fine,’ the corporal said, grunting as he kicked his feet clear. He still gripped his shortsword, and snagged on its tip was a hairy piece of scalp, coated in dust and dripping from the underside. ‘Look at that,’ he said, gesturing up the street with his sword, ‘even Cuttle’s shut up now.’
‘Fid had no choice,’ Bottle said. ‘Too many arrows coming down—’
‘I ain’t complaining, Bottle. Not one bit. See Borduke go down? And Hubb? That could’ve been us, if we’d reached here first.’
‘Abyss take me, I hadn’t thought of that.’
He glanced over as a squad of medium infantry arrived – Sergeant Cord’s – Ashok Regiment and all that. ‘What in Hood’s name happened?’
‘Ambush,’ Bottle said. ‘Sergeant Strings had to take a building down. Cusser.’
Cord’s eyes widened. ‘Bloody marines,’ he muttered, then headed over to where Strings crouched. Bottle and Tarr followed.
‘You formed up again?’ Cord asked their sergeant. ‘We’re bunching up behind you—’
‘We’re ready, but send word back. There’ll be ambushes aplenty. Leoman means us to buy every street and every building with blood. Fist Keneb might want to send the sappers ahead again, under marine cover, to drop buildings – it’s the safest way to proceed.’
Cord looked round. ‘Safest way? Gods below.’ He turned. ‘Corporal Shard, you heard Fid. Send word back to Keneb.’
‘Aye, Sergeant.’
‘Sinn,’ Cord added, speaking to a young girl nearby, ‘put that knife away – he’s already dead.’
She looked up, even as her blade cut through the base of the dead warrior’s right index finger. She held it up for display, then stuffed it into a belt pouch.
‘Nice girl you got there,’ Strings said. ‘Had us one of those, once.’
‘Shard! Hold back there! Send Sinn with the message, will you?’
‘I don’t want to go back!’ Sinn shouted.
‘Too bad,’ Cord said. Then, to Strings: ‘We’ll link up with Mosel’s heavies behind you.’
Strings nodded. ‘All right, squad, let’s try out the next street, shall we?’
Bottle swallowed back another surge of nausea, then he joined the others as they scrambled towards Koryk and Cuttle. Gods, this is going to be brutal.
Sergeant Gesler could smell it. Trouble in the night. Unrelieved darkness from gaping windows, yawning doorways, and on flanking streets, where other squads were moving, the sounds of pitched battle. Yet, before them, no movement, no sound – nothing at all. He raised his right hand, hooked two fingers and made a downward tugging motion. Behind him he heard boots on the cobbles, one padding off to his left, the other to his right, away, halting when the soldiers reached the flanking buildings. Truth on his left, Pella on his right, crossbows out, eyes on opposite rooftops and upper windows.
Another gesture and Sands came up from behind to crouch at his side. ‘Well?’ Gesler demanded, wishing for the thousandth time that Stormy was here.
‘It’s bad,’ Sands said. ‘Ambushes.’
‘Right, so where’s ours? Go back and call up Moak and his squad, and Tugg’s – I want those heavies clearing these buildings, before it all comes down on us. What sappers we got with us?’
‘Thom Tissy’s squad’s got some,’ Sands said. ‘Able, Jump and Gupp, although they just decided to become sappers tonight, a bell or so ago.’
‘Great, and they got munitions?’
‘Aye, Sergeant.’
‘Madness. All right. Get Thom Tissy’s squad up here, too. I heard one cusser go off already – might be the only way to do this.’
‘Okay, Sergeant. I’ll be right back.’
Under-strength squads and a night engagement in a strange, hostile city. Had the Adjunct lost her mind?
Twenty paces away, Pella crouched low, his back against a mud-brick wall. He thought he’d caught movement in a high window opposite, but he couldn’t be certain – not enough to call out the alarm. Might well have been a curtain or something, plucked by the wind.
Only…there ain’t much wind.
Eyes fixed on that particular window, he slowly raised his crossbow.
Nothing. Just darkness.
Distant detonations – sharpers, he guessed, somewhere to the south. We’re supposed to be pushing in hard and fast, and here we are, bogged down barely one street in from the breach. Gesler’s gotten way too cautious, I think.
He heard the clank of weapons, armour and the thud of footfalls as more squads came up. Flicking his gaze away from the window, he watched as Sergeant Tugg led his heavies towards the building opposite. Three soldiers from Thom Tissy’s squad padded up to the doorway of the building Pella was huddled against. Jump, Gupp and Able. Pella saw sharpers in their hands – and nothing else. He crouched lower, then returned his attention to the distant window, cursing under his breath, waiting for one of them to toss a grenado in through the doorway.
On the other side of the street, Tugg’s squad plunged into the building – there was a shout from within, the clang of weapons, sudden screams—
Then more shrieking, this time from the building at Pella’s back, as the three sappers rushed inside. Pella cringed – no, you fools! You don’t carry them inside – you throw them!
A sharp crack, shaking dust from the wall behind Pella, grit raining down onto the back of his neck, then screams. Another concussion – ducking still lower, Pella looked back up at the opposite window—
To see, momentarily, a single flash—
—to feel the shock of surprise—
—as the arrow sped at him. A hard, splintering cracking sound. Pella’s head was thrown back, helm crunching against the wall. Something, wavering, at the upper edge of his vision, but those edges were growing darker. He heard his crossbow clatter to the cobbles at his feet, then distant pain as his knees struck the stones, the jolt peeling skin away – he’d done that once, as a child, playing in the alley. Stumbling, knees skidding on gritty, filthy cobbles—
So filthy, the murk of hidden diseases, infections – his mother had been so angry, angry and frightened. They’d had to go to a healer, and that had cost money – money they had been saving for a move. To a better part of the slum. The dream…put away, all because he’d skinned his knees.
Just like now. And darkness closing in.
Oh Momma, I skinned my knees. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I skinned my knees…
As mayhem was exploding in the buildings to either side, Gesler crouched lower. He glanced over to his right and saw Pella. An arrow was jutting from his forehead. He was on his knees for a moment, his weapon falling, then he sank down to the side.
Sharpers going off in that building, then something worse – a burner, the flare of red flame bursting through the ground-floor windows. Shrieks – someone stumbled outside, wreathed in flames – a Malazan, running, arms waving, slapping – straight for Moak and his squad—
‘Get away!’ Gesler bellowed, rising and raising his crossbow.
Moak had pulled out his rain-cape – the soldiers were rushing towards the burning man – they didn’t see – the satchel – the munitions—
Gesler fired his crossbow. The quarrel caught the sapper i
n the midsection, even as the munitions went off.
Flung back, punched in the chest, Gesler sprawled, rolled, then came to his feet.
Moak, Stacker, Rove. Burnt, Guano and Mud. All gone, all pieces of meat and shattered bone. A helm, the head still in it, struck a wall, spun wildly for a moment, then wobbled to a halt.
‘Truth! To me!’ Gesler waved as he ran towards the building the heavies had entered, and where the sounds of fighting had grown fiercer. ‘You see Sands?’ he demanded as he reloaded his crossbow.
‘N-no, Sergeant. Pella—’
‘Pella’s dead, lad.’ He saw Thom Tissy and what was left of his squad – Tulip and Ramp – heading towards the doorway after Tugg and his heavies. Good, Thom’s thinking clear—
The building that had swallowed Able, Jump and Gupp was a mass of flames, the heat pouring out like scalding liquid. Gods, what did they set off in there?
He darted through the doorway, skidded to a halt. Sergeant Tugg’s fighting days were over – the soldier had been speared through just below the sternum. He had thrown up a gout of bloody bile before dying. At the inner doorway opposite, leading into a hall, lay Robello, his head caved in. Beyond, out of sight, the rest of the heavies were fighting.
‘Hang back, Truth,’ Gesler said, ‘and use that crossbow to cover our backs. Tissy, let’s go.’
The other sergeant nodded, gesturing towards Tulip and Ramp.
They plunged into the hallway.
Hellian stumbled after Urb, who suddenly halted – it was like hitting a wall – she bounced off, fell on her behind. ‘Ow, you bloody ox!’
All at once there were soldiers around them, pulling back from the street corner, dragging fallen comrades.
‘Who? What?’
A woman dropped down beside her. ‘Hanno. We lost our sergeant. We lost Sobelone. And Toles. Ambush—’
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 490