The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1273 page)

An officer crowded close. ‘Sir, we have found you a horse – it would do the troops good to see you again as soon as possible.'

Brys shook his head. ‘Our Malazan guest has things well in hand, Lieutenant.'

‘He has issued orders in the prince's name, sir!'

‘A clever thing to do, under the circumstances. He may be young, but he does command a presence on the back of that lizard. From this moment forward, he is to be considered my second – make this clear to all the other officers.'

‘Yes sir.'

Brys glanced over to see that a horse had been brought forward.

Aranict spoke, ‘Still, beloved, it would be good for them to see you.'

‘I am tempted to place Grub in command of our relieving force,' he replied. When she stepped closer he held up a hand. ‘I am
not
recovered – I feel as likely to fall off that horse as stay on it. Oh, I'll mount up, and as long as the beast isn't moving under me, why, I should cut a strikingly inspiring figure.' He shot a look up at the imperial standard and winced. ‘So long as no one looks too carefully.' He reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘Aranict… I am glad you fought for me.'

‘It was Mael,' she said. ‘And Faint's blood. And then, if not for Amby Bole, we still would have failed.'

‘Will you think less of me if I choose to remain here, commanding these defences?'

‘Brys, if I had to, I'd have tied you down to keep you here. Close to me. We're not saving you just to see you fall to some errant arrow – no, you stay back, issue orders and leave the rest to everyone else.'

He smiled. ‘You have begun to show a stubborn side, Atri-Ceda.'

‘Idiot.' She lit a stick of rustleaf. ‘The only thing just begun is you noticing it – but that's what makes the first flush of love so dangerous, and once it fades and you start seeing clearly again, why, it's too late.'

Still smiling, he took the reins and set a foot in the stirrup, pulling himself up to slump in the saddle with a low groan.

From all sides voices rose upon seeing him. Grimacing, Brys straightened, and then raised one gauntleted hand. The roar redoubled in its intensity.

He saw Grub riding up the slope towards him. The boy didn't look much like a boy any longer. He was splashed with drying blood, and from somewhere he'd found a Bluerose lance, and its iron point had swum in blood not long past.

‘Prince Brys – I didn't know you— I mean—'

‘There is little time to waste,' Brys cut in. ‘I am placing you in command of the relief force. They're almost assembled – in fact' – he squinted eastward – ‘they can shake themselves out on the march – the Bolkando are losing ground. Lead them, Commander, and be quick about it.'

Grub saluted. ‘Sir, when we close, I may ride ahead.'

‘Would any of us expect otherwise?' Brys asked. ‘Just don't get yourself killed.'

Nodding, the Malazan youth kicked at the flanks of the Ve'Gath, and the huge beast wheeled round and set off.

 

Faint studied the defenders opposite, watching as they regrouped, drawing reinforcements down from the higher earthworks. ‘They're going to break cover,' she muttered. ‘They're going to charge us.'

Precious Thimble glanced over. ‘What? Why would they do that?'

‘Because most of us are headed east, down the valley – they can't let us chase after their own relieving force. They need to wipe out both the Letherii and the Bolkando.'

The witch's gaze was darting back and forth along the hasty defences thrown up by the Letherii. ‘We're badly outnumbered.'

‘Haven't you been paying attention? Assaulting costs dear – we're about to turn the tables on them, and they're not going to like it.'

‘It's only the mixed-bloods who're keeping them fighting at all,' Precious said under her breath.

‘What? What did you say?'

‘It's the mixed-bloods, feeding off this cursed warren – using it to bend the Kolansii to their will. I doubt they'd fight this hard without it.'

‘Now you say all this!' Faint looked about, saw the prince sitting on a horse twenty paces away, his back to them as he observed the departing companies. Stepping forward, Faint stumbled slightly, recovered. But her head was spinning. ‘What's wrong with me?'

‘Blood loss,' snapped Precious Thimble.

Hissing in frustration, Faint made her way – slowly – towards Brys Beddict.
Find the damned mixed-bloods. Aim a few onagers at them. Tear them to pieces. And this battle is done.
‘Prince Brys!'

The man turned his head.

Faint hobbled forward. ‘A word with you, Highness…'

 

Ascending a valley side at the run and in full armour left the Perish staggering once they'd reached the top. Heart hammering in the cage of his chest, Syndecan pulled clear of the others and then halted, studying the lay of the land.

Shit. It's all shit.

Forty paces away was a raised road, running parallel with the valley, its steep side facing them banked with water-worn stones. In between was a strip of furrowed field, left fallow for two years or more. Off to the right, a hundred paces along, rose a cluster of buildings – farmstead facing on to the field, public stables and inn facing the road.

Syndecan continued on, bleakly eyeing the sharp slope of the roadside. Reaching it, he sheathed his sword and scrambled his way to the top.

Beyond the road the unplanted fields stretched on for at least a third of a league, broken up by walled hedgerows forming a chaotic patchwork. ‘Now that's better,' he grunted. No army would be happy crossing that – the walls alone would slow them up, since they were as high as a man was tall. The Perish could break up into half-cohorts and contest one after another, and by the time the Kolansii won through the battle at the Spire would be long over.

Still leaves the road and this side, though. Narrow enough, but where do I weight my defence? Road or field? And what about this infernal stony bank? Can't defend it worth a damn. That said, trying to breach along it would be a nightmare – until they won through. So I throw a cohort five steps back of the line, waiting for them. We bottle them up, don't let them spill out to the sides. It'll work. It'll have to.

Hands on his hips, he turned round, looked down on his Grey Helms. Winded, most of them bent over, or on one knee, gulping air like beached carp. He pointed at the buildings. ‘Wounded go there. Cutters on your way – set up fast as you can. Rest of you, drink down the last of your water if you haven't already. Chew on some food while you're at it. We're going to hold on the road and this side of it – mostly. I want two cohorts on the other side in case they send anyone that way. If they do, make them pay, brothers and sisters. Now, march to twenty paces from the buildings and form up there.'

Not a single groan as the Perish picked themselves up again and set off along the rippled, weed-knotted field.

Swinging round, Syndecan looked up the road.

Was that a glitter of pike points?

He glared back at his Grey Helms. ‘Step lively! Enemy sighted on the road!'
Wolves preserve us this day.

 

High Watered Festian gestured, watched as the columns plunged down off the road on the inland side, breaking up as they entered the hedgerow fields. He saw crews rushing ahead with picks to ensure that the passage gates through the walls were serviceable.

Seven hundred paces up the road he could see the cursed Perish – but they had fully discounted the enclosed fields.

Festian intended to lock fiercely with the Grey Helms, pushing forward with the weight of fifteen thousand Kolansii heavy infantry, and then send eight thousand through the enclosures, to take the road behind them. They would first crush the defenders on the road itself, and then drive the rest south across the field, to the very edge of the valley – where the only retreat was a deadly tumble down the steep valley side.

He intended to make quick work of this.

In the distance to the east, he could make out the top third of the Spire. Everything below that, on the ridged ascent of the isthmus, was obscured in clouds of dust or smoke. The sight chilled him.

And now Brother Diligence is dead. Slain by some foul trap of sorcery. It all falls to you, Sister Reverence. But we shall prevail. Justice is a sword without equal. I pray to you, Sister, hold on. We are coming.

 

Gillimada slowed her pace to match that of the Warchief, and he glared up at the huge woman as he struggled for breath.

‘I sent a scout up to the road – there are soldiers on it.'

Spax nodded but could manage little more. He couldn't remember the last time he'd led a raid, and while his warriors were thumping along in his wake with all the infernal ease of youth, his own legs were cramping, there was a stitch in his side, and sweat was stinging the vicious bite Abrastal's daughter had delivered to his penis the night before. That she'd been trying to tear it off with her own teeth was only because of her frustration and anger at getting pregnant – nothing to do with him, really – and it was just his bad luck that his champion was the nearest thing at hand on which to vent all her anger and whatnot.

‘We could attack,' suggested the Teblor in her stentorian voice. ‘A surprise!'

‘Can – can we overtake 'em?'

‘Teblor can – but not you. They are using the road. There is a road up there. My scout saw it and there were soldiers on it. Running.'

‘Did your scout – did your scout see – the Perish?'

‘No. Kolansii soldiers! On the road. Running!'

Oh, my cursed gods of the Barghast, am I wallowing in the muck with you? Feels like it! With some brainless backwoods harridan for company too!
‘Felled any trees lately, woman?'

‘What? No trees anywhere! I'd hit my head if there were trees. I'm glad there are no trees!' And she bellowed a laugh, only to then shake her head. ‘Your language – it is so clumsy!' She drew a sudden deep breath and out from her came a smooth flow of sounds Spax had not imagined possible from this Teblor.

‘What was that?' he demanded when she'd finished.

‘I make up poem songs in my own language. I am famous for it, hah hah!'

‘Care to translate what you just said?'

‘No. Useless. You have one word for one thought. We have many thoughts for one word! You all speak too slow and we have to slow down too and we get bored talking to you humans!'

Gasping, Spax shook his head. ‘Right now – no more words from me – at all!'

‘I should carry you?'

Oh, and watch me try and live that down – in front of all my warriors? They'd die laughing, never mind enemy pikes and swords!
‘Don't even touch me!' he growled.

‘Hah hah hah!'

 

The Kolansii wasted little time, pouring down from the road to form up opposite the Perish on the field, and then, once the shields were locked and swords drawn, they advanced, matching step by step the troops remaining on the road.

Syndecan stood one row back from the front line. Much as he wanted to be with his fellow cutters amongst the buildings, he was now commanding and his place was here, with his brothers and sisters.

They were still winded, their legs sagging under them – he knew the signs of muscle exhaustion and there was no time to fully recover.
This is going to be unpleasant.

The Kolansii closed to within six paces and then charged.

 

Gillimada dropped back again. ‘There is fighting!'

‘For Hood's sake, Teblor – we may be slow but we're not deaf!'

‘Should we join them from here?'

‘Not unless you want to fight on the damned slope! No, we'll move past the whole mess and come up behind the Perish, and then move forward.'

‘But I want to kill the mixed-blood!'

‘Maybe you'll get a chance at that—'

‘No! I want to kill him right away! It's important!'

‘Fine! You can lead a counter-attack once we're up there, all right?'

Gillimada smiled broadly, her teeth even and white as snow. ‘And we will cut down every tree we see!'

He glared at her back as she loped ahead. His heart felt ready to burst and he wondered if it might, the moment he stepped up to fight – a sudden clenching in his chest, or whatever happened when the thing seized up. He was certain that it'd hurt. Probably a lot.

Glancing upslope to his left, he saw rising dust, and there – the flash of spears or perhaps pikes, or even swords. Ahead, the Teblor raised a shout – and Spax squinted to see bodies sliding down the slope, limbs flailing, weapons skirling away.

‘Go past! Go past!'

His warriors were pressing up behind him. Spax snarled. ‘Go round me then, damn you all! I'll catch up!' They poured past on either side in a clatter of armour and drawn weapons.

My beloved fools, all of you.

Forty more heaving paces, another ten, five, and then, looking up, he saw his Barghast scrambling in the wake of the Teblor, up the valley side, many of them using their hands where they could. And above them the Perish falling back, spinning away from blows, tumbling and skidding down into the midst of the climbing warriors.

Gods curse us all!

‘Climb! Get up there!'

He saw the Teblor reach the summit, saw them plunge forward and out of sight, weapons swinging. And then, behind them, the first of the Gilk, armour grey with dust, their white faces running with stained sweat.

Spax reached the base, clambered upward. His legs were half numb under him. Blisters roared with pain on his ankles, his heels. He coughed out dust, was almost knocked over by a descending corpse – a Perish, most of his face cut away – and struggled yet higher.

Is there no end to this damned hillside?