They have no mages. Stop this! Someone must put an end to this!
‘It’s begun,’ a coarse, gravelly voice announced beside him. Possum leapt, spinning: an old bearded man in dirty robes hugging a chipped brown earthenware jug.
‘Who are you?’
‘Heuk. Cadre Mage. Sixth squad, Second Company, Fourth Division, Fourth Army.’
‘What’s begun?’
‘Our duel.’
Possum eyed the man up and down as if he were mad. ‘Your duel? There are at least twelve Avowed mages out there.’
‘Less than that. The boys got maybe three. In any case,’ and his eyes looked directly into Possum’s, ‘that’s not your concern, is it?’
Possum could not help but back up a step: that smell, blood? The man’s eyes – midnight black upon black? And at his mouth – blood? ‘Who are you?’ he breathed.
The fellow gestured to the south. ‘Look. They’ve broken.’
Indeed. The Gold phalanx was disintegrating under the pressure of the widening ravenous cyclone. Knots of soldiers fled in all directions.
The man’s smile twisted, revealing black, crooked teeth. ‘We’re next.’ His glance returned to Possum. ‘Who am I? Your recruiters named me a mage, but I am no mage. And now,’ he hiked up his jug, ‘you’d best fly away, little death crow. Keep to your games in the shallows of shadow. As for myself – I plumb the infinite depths of Night Eternal!’
Possum continued backing away. ‘No – that Warren is beyond us.’
‘Fool! As I said, I am no mage. I am a mere worshipper of Night. And as the old saying goes, my blood is up. Now flee, because I am about to call upon my God for he has returned and the time is long overdue for a demonstration of his gathering presence upon this world.’
While Possum watched, revolted, the man upended the jug over his head. Thick fluid – clotted blood, he imagined – ran down over the man’s hair, face and shoulders. Possum turned away, his gorge rising. Madness! Utter insanity. And the night had barely begun! At the base of the shallow rise he stopped short as cocked crossbows in the hands of tens of soldiers kneeling and lying in the grass jerked to train themselves upon him. He froze.
‘Lower your Warren,’ someone shouted. ‘Or die.’
Possum complied. They see him. How could they see him?
‘Ach!’ someone snorted. ‘It’s only a fucking Claw.’ The crossbows all swung away.
Feeling rather piqued, Possum sought out the owner of that voice. He found the man – a sergeant – in a trench arguing with a Moranth Gold who towered above. ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass,’ the sergeant was saying. ‘Your orders are to stay, so you stay!’
‘Our brothers need us,’ the Moranth rumbled. ‘They are sorely pressed.’
‘They’ve broken,’ Possum said. Both looked over, annoyed, it seemed to him, by his interruption. The sergeant made a tossing away gesture. ‘There you go.’
‘You could have them rally to this position,’ Possum suggested.
The Moranth swung his helm down to peer to the sergeant who glared at Possum then waved the Moranth away. ‘Fine!’ And he muttered under his breath, ‘Might as well paint fucking bull’s-eyes on our heads.’
‘Too late for that, Sergeant…?’
‘Nai—’ The man took a deep breath. ‘Jumpy. Sergeant Jumpy.’
Ah! Of course, the man crazy enough to go out into the night to try to stalk Ryllandaras. Who else would it be? ‘You already have the Guard’s attention. I can guarantee you that. You have a lunatic mage, or priest, above your heads with delusions of omnipotence. And with the Moranth broken, yours and the centre are the last remaining Imperial strong-points in the field.’
The man was scanning the dark field before the trench where mixed Moranth and Malazan regulars held lines defending coalesced skirmishers against probing Guard infantry. ‘Then I guess you best run away,’ he said, offhanded.
Possum’s mouth clamped shut; his hands twitched to fill themselves. ‘Do not presume to be beyond the reach of the Empress,’ he ground out.
‘Don’t you presume yourself safe.’ And he pointed down the trench. Possum glanced aside: four saboteurs held crossbows trained upon him, each set with a sharper. ‘We’re in the trench and you ain’t,’ the sergeant observed laconically.
Possum straightened, carefully adjusted his dark-blue tunic. ‘Continue defending this position, Sergeant,’ and he stepped over the trench, raising his Warren to pass through the lines of assembling Imperials. The sergeant called after him, ‘No kidding! Like I was going to go for a blasted swim or something.’
Impertinent shit. Possum calmed himself with the certainty that – even with the deluded priest’s claims – they would all be dead by the dawn. He just hoped they would savage the Guard brutally enough for the Claws to then at their leisure pick off the remaining exhausted and drained Avowed.
Her Blades found the west flank in a shambles. Shimmer sent her lieutenants ahead to organize what scattered forces remained. All that stopped a solid Imperial advance was the lack of support from the rest of the field – the Guard centre still held and the appalling display of battle magics on the east was a pause for every ordinary soldier.
Shimmer advanced with Greymane, Shell and Smoky, gathering to her a growing following of Avowed, most of which she sent ahead to help firm resistance. The closer they got to the front, or scattered sections of the front, the thicker became the punishing flights of crossbow bolts. Every Avowed, and many regular Guardsmen and women, had picked up a Malazan heavy infantryman’s solid rectangular shield, which they hunched behind like moveable walls. Shimmer had to occasionally sweep away the bolts hammered into hers in order to keep it usable.
An Avowed, Daneth, waved her over to a pile of fallen Guardsmen. ‘Look at this.’ On her knees, she raised a corpse to rest its head on her lap. Despite the man’s mangled features Shimmer recognized him as an Avowed, Longlegs. The body displayed a number of wounds, as one would expect, but what was surprising was that fatal head wound: it was singular. Someone, or something, had struck him a blow on the face shattering his nose and jaw, driving the fragmented bones back into his brain, killing him instantly. ‘A club or mace?’ Shimmer opined.
‘The heel of an open hand,’ Daneth said, her flat tone matching her set grim face.
‘What? Who could possibly…’
‘Urko!’ Smoky gasped as if the name itself were a curse. ‘He’s here.’
Urko – the man who needs no weapons. No wonder the west was in such disarray; no unit could hold against him. She glanced around, caught the gaze of nearby Avowed. ‘Halfdan, Bower, Lucky! Find him and kill him.’
They three inclined their heads in concurrence, jogged off.
‘They won’t find him,’ Smoky said aside.
‘No? Why not?’
‘He’s probably standing in line like any other heavy infantryman. He’s already hiding from the Veils. He could be any of them.’
‘Lucky is no fool. He’ll wait and watch.’
A shrug. ‘I hope so.’ He motioned to Shell. ‘In any case, Shell and I have done a few head-counts and we think we have some thirty of our brothers and sisters.’
‘And Skinner?’
‘Slightly more.’
‘I see. So, we remain split in our sympathies.’ Again, doubt stabbed at her, squeezing her breath and churning her stomach almost to the point of retching. What if she’d been dreaming? Hearing voices? It was Shadow after all. She turned on Greymane, snapping angrily, ‘What of you? Are you a match for a man who breaks armour with his bare hands?’
Nearby eruptions from a wave of tossed munitions shot dust and dirt over everyone. Greymane hefted his scavenged shield, shook dirt from his shoulders. ‘I’ve never met him,’ he shouted. ‘But from what I’ve heard – no.’
‘No?’ She was incredulous. ‘Just like that – you admit you could not defeat him. Is this a refusal to fight?’ All remaining nearby Avowed turned to watch warily.
‘I did not
say that, Shimmer,’ Greymane said calmly, his hands kept loose at his sides. ‘I merely said there would be no match between us.’
‘So, all you have heard of him leads you to fear him that much.’
‘No, Shimmer. All that I have heard leads me to admire him that much. But I will say this. I vow that I would give my life in defence of you.’
Shimmer remained motionless for a number of heartbeats, her dark gaze slitted on Greymane’s own pale unguarded eyes. She let her shield fall then hiked it up again as a crossbow bolt sang past, biting at the crimson silk tail that hung from her helmet’s wrapping. She let go a snarled exhalation through clenched teeth. ‘Damn you, Greymane. Must you always walk the knife’s edge?’
‘I must be true to myself.’
And look at what it has brought you, renegade! But she left the retort unsaid. The man seemed all too desolately aware of it. She gripped her sheathed Napan whipsword. ‘Then I’ll have to take you up on your offer and head to the front ranks until we find our friend…’
He rubbed his broad, flattened nose, wincing. ‘I was worried you’d propose that.’
‘Father Light preserve us!’ Smoky breathed, suddenly fixed upon the east. Shell too stared, speechless. Her hands rose as if to fend off what she was seeing. Shimmer squinted but could only make out a darker patch against the general night. ‘What is it?’
Eyes still on the far edge of the field, Smoky murmured, almost inaudibly, ‘The impossible.’
‘Explain yourself, mage,’ Shimmer snapped.
Blinking, the man turned back to her, ran his soot-blackened hands up through his tangle of wild hair. ‘Someone has unveiled Kurald Galain here on the battlefield. And whoever that mage is, he or she ain’t one of ours.’
‘Kurald Galain?’
‘The Tiste Andii Warren of Elder Darkness,’ Shell explained. ‘Home of their Goddess, Mother Dark.’
Shimmer eyed the coalescing, gently turning smear of darkness low over the field. ‘But there are no Tiste Andii here…’
‘Exactly. The impossible.’
Buffets of wind announced the arrival of mages through Warren: Opal, Lorsinn and Toby. The gathered Avowed mages all cast taut glances to Smoky who agreed with a tart downturn of his mouth to whatever had been communicated. He faced Shimmer. ‘The escalation in magery has begun. Skinner’s invoked ritual magics, the Imperials have responded. We, all five of us, together with the recruited mages, Twisty, Palla and whoever else – we’ll probably all be needed here.’
‘All of you?’
Smoky dragged a hand across his face. ‘Whoever raised that, Shimmer, is beyond me.’
Shimmer forced herself to remain rigid. Show nothing! They are all looking to you! Could no battle go as planned? We expected sword and shield to settle this engagement. Now Smoky claims things have spiralled to a clash such as the sorcerous conflagrations of old. Well, so be it. Short of the appearance of Tayschrenn she was confident of the Guard’s mage cadre. At least that thing, whatever it was, was now Skinner’s concern as it stood directly between him and the Imperial pavilion. K’azz, if you really are close – we need you. ‘Very well.’ She nodded to the sergeant with her, Trench, who raised a hand signing ‘advance’.
‘For’ard!’
Greymane followed Shimmer, obviously meaning to guard her back, while the assembled mages flanked her. The Avowed of her command spread out through the phalanx of second and third investiture men and women, rallying all the disparate knots into one swelling, widening wedge of shielded soldiers.
‘Great Goddess protect us,’ Liss murmured, her head turning abruptly to the east. The three brothers, Hurl noted, had all turned as well.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Amazing…Like nothing I have ever seen, nor expected to see.’
‘What, dammit!’
‘Elder Darkness, Night Eternal, unveiled there on the battlefield.’ She pulled her gaze from the silhouetted hills to look down to Hurl who stood next to her mount. ‘Things, Hurl, are rapidly sliding out of control out on that field. Forces are being summoned that would give even Ryllandaras pause. He is, after all, just one creature.’ She pointed. ‘But out there, magery such as that which consumed armies is being primed for wielding.’
‘So?’
‘So – we must find him before we ourselves are consumed.’
‘Let us…’ said one brother.
‘Leave him…’
‘To die,’ finished the last.
Liss turned on them. ‘He’s too cunning. He will flee. I intend to make sure of it!’
‘I, as well,’ Rell added.
The three shrugged, their indifference raising the hairs of Hurl’s neck. They moved not one after the other, or raggedly, but identically, at exactly the same moment in exactly the same way despite the sagging paralysis of shoulders, lips and arms. It was as if they were one. And there had always been something eerie about them. Something unsettling. Everyone felt it. For Hurl it was a prickling that struck right at the very centre of her being but which she couldn’t exactly pin down. Intuitive. Something was very wrong about them.
Yet what could she do? They’d done nothing suspicious. Nothing to call them on. Quite the opposite, in fact. They’d been vital to the city’s defence. And so she was stuck with them. Like horses, she reflected, sourly. They made themselves useful so you couldn’t just kill them all. But she knew their true side – she was on to them. ‘So?’ She sighed. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘We should move. He’s close. In the north. The brothers and I should be able to find him.’
Find him? Great Lady, they’re actually going hunting for him! Well, it was what they came for. Personally, she’d hoped to wait till he got himself tarred by the Imperials then they could just step in and finish him off. But there was still hope.
She went to her mount, gathered the reins. The red mare turned its head, watching her. Try anything and I’ll kill you – you know it too. The mare shook her auburn mane. Hurl patted the bulging saddlebags strapped tight and padded in sheepskins. Yeah, she meant to make sure of it too.
A squad healer, name unknown to Ullen, gave his left arm a squeeze to let him know he was done, then moved on the next wounded man. Standing, Ullen spared a glance from the field to see that the man had fashioned a sling to tie the dead meat that was his right arm to his chest. One of Cowl’s Veils, a tall slim woman with long white hair, had appeared out of nowhere, slaying guards and staffers, making for him until a saboteur sergeant briefing him, Urfa, had thrown something that burst a spray of razor fragments, some of which had lacerated his arm, slicing tendons and nerves. It left the Veil staggered, slashed in zig-zags of blood, then, and only then did a full Hand appear to jump her. The resulting mêlée had tumbled away into the night in a frenzy of leaping bodies, thrown blades and tossed Warren magics.
Ullen saw in that same all-encompassing glance that his command staff of relatively green lieutenants and messengers had been profoundly shaken. First time’s always the worst. He cleared his throat, drawing their attention from the night. ‘Now we know what a visit from Dancer must have been like, hey?’ and he offered a self-mocking, almost sad smile. The gathered men and women eyed one another; some wiped at their shining sweaty faces. Then: appreciative chuckles and even blown breaths.
A chorus of ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Reports, people! What’s going on?’
The Imperial lieutenant brushed at a trail of blood from a slashed cheek. ‘Reports are we’re losing ground in the west. Urko is pulling his people to the centre.’
‘I have unconfirmed accounts that the Sword is wounded, possibly fallen,’ added the Dal Hon lieutenant, Gellan.
‘Moranth and other elements remaining in the east are rallying to the redoubt,’ said another. ‘I have also had intelligence from the Claw that Skinner is leading a phalanx north, making for that very strongpoint.’
Gods, what a clash that will be. It could determine the victor. ‘And that darkness gath
ered there…?’
‘We have confirmation that it’s one of our own cadre mages, apparently,’ came the grudging admission.
Don’t count the mongrels out, you son of an aristocratic house. Even though they don’t have vaunted titles like High Mage many actually know their trade. ‘Very good. Have all broken elements assemble on the redoubt. Order the skirmishers to concentrate fire on that phalanx – grind them down!’
‘Aye.’
‘What of the Empress?’ a staffer asked. ‘If the Veils have—’
‘Never mind the Empress,’ Ullen replied, angered. ‘She is fighting her battles as we must fight ours.’ And if you think we’ve been cursed by Veils – you don’t want to be anywhere near her.
‘The Empress sends her compliments,’ said a new voice and Ullen turned, surprised – and pleased – to see the scarred figure of Captain Moss. He extended his left hand and they shook, awkwardly. ‘I have been seconded to your staff.’
‘You are most welcome.’
‘She bade me inform you that you have her fullest confidence. She commends your actions as field-commander.’
Ullen’s brows rose. Just what the Imperials on his staff needed to hear. Thank you, Moss. He cleared his throat into his left fist again. ‘Very good, Captain.’ He turned to his people. ‘What of the Kanese?’
‘They have attacked but Avowed still hold the bridge,’ said one.
‘How many?’
‘Reports are,’ and the fellow swallowed, his voice failing, ‘…five.’
‘Five? Five Avowed against twenty thousand?’
‘Ah, yes, sir.’
Hood – are you pleased? What a ferocious confrontation! He didn’t envy the Kanese the effort it would take to lever the Avowed from that narrow pass. And how many did they face – thirty? Forty? No, don’t go there! Avoid the scenarios of despair. At least these are in the open. These can be cut down from afar. ‘The Kanese will break through soon enough,’ he said. ‘We just have to hold on.’
The Malazan Empire Series: (Night of Knives, Return of the Crimson Guard, Stonewielder, Orb Sceptre Throne, Blood and Bone, Assail) (Novels of the Malazan Empire) Page 102