Return of the Crimson Guard (125 page)

‘And you.’

‘What news?’

‘It's ugly. Shimmer's gathered all the remaining mages. Good news is that Blues and Fingers are with us – they're battered but alive.’

K'azz froze, his smile faltering. ‘I … I didn't know they were missing.’

Smoky cursed himself. ‘Sorry—’

‘It's all right. I know I have a lot of catching up to do.’ He turned to Lean. ‘Well done. What do you think? Detail dismissed?’

Lean bowed, grinning. She raised her helmet and very slowly, and with great care, pulled it over her bloodied head. ‘Detail stand down!’

Cole scooped up Black in his arms. Amatt gently lifted Turgal. Lean gathered up gear, as did Stalker, Badlands and Coots. Smoky came to Kyle, looked him up and down while nodding his approval. ‘We owe you an apology and our gratitude.’ He held out a hand. Kyle took it, feeling self-conscious. ‘And we owe you more than we could ever repay.’

Kyle winced. ‘Don't say that.’

Smoky laughed. ‘Ah, yes, right. Very good. All the same, thank you.’ He returned to the swirling Warren portal, waved everyone through. Kyle came through last. As he lifted a foot in and leant forward all he had was a fleeting impression of bright blinding light, heated dry air, then he stepped down clumsily on to crackling, dry, trampled grasses. The noise of a crowded camp under siege assaulted him.

Dawn was just a short time away yet darkness clung to the battered and churned slopes around him. It seemed to be concentrated over the far side of the field, clinging to its edges as if reluctant to yield to the gathering light. Another smear or dark cloud occluded the centre. It hovered over ruins that appeared to have been tossed across the entire slope.

Kyle peered around, uncertain where to go or what to do. Everyone seemed to have disappeared. What he wanted to do was sleep, but it looked as if there was little chance of that for anyone. Ogilvy jogged up, a toothy grin twisting his round face. He grasped Kyle's shoulders and shook him. ‘Well done, lad! Well done. Glad to see you back with us!’

His old sergeant, Trench, appeared to wave him forward. The man squeezed his shoulder. ‘Sorry, lad – had no idea.’ Kyle waved it aside. ‘Anyway, you've been promoted. K'azz wants you. This way.’

Trench led him across the hill. As they walked a shout went up and the Crimson Guard soldiery hunched, ducking for cover. Kyle looked around, surprised, and saw an arcing blue catapult-like fireball or lance streaking for their position. Trench pulled him down. The assault appeared to have originated from the dark occlusion marring the air in the middle of the field.

The lightning, or whatever it was, hammered down just short of their position. It impacted, searing the ground, throwing up a storm of smoke and dust. It gouged through ranks of the besieging force, throwing bodies, doll-like, into the air, spinning to disappear consumed by its awesome raw energies. Its roaring assaulted Kyle's hearing like a firestorm and waterfall combined. Just as suddenly it snapped away, making Kyle stagger as he'd been bracing himself against it. It left behind a great ragged scar of burnt black ash and scoured dirt.
Great Spirits! What can one do against such an awesome thing? Was this the much vaunted Malazan firepower of which he'd heard so much?
Yet it had struck a Malazan entrenchment. As Kyle stared, another of the lashes arced out to the opposite side, descending to the far edge of the field. Trench touched
his elbow, starting him from his trance. The sergeant motioned ahead.

It was a meeting at which Kyle felt completely out of place. Stalker and the Lost brothers were gone – ducked out, probably. The only one he knew even vaguely was Smoky. It was a meeting of mages and commanders. Shimmer presided, K'azz next to her. Mages Kyle barely knew were in evidence. He learned names as they talked: Lor-Sinn, Shell and Opal, all female and hardened-looking veteran battle mages. Gwynn, also, whom Kyle knew as one of Skinner's mages. Bald with a goatee and gold earrings, all in black. Apparently he'd parted ways with his old commander. In all, some six Avowed mages.

Over the course of conversation it became clear that they were just holding their own. Deflecting the assaults was taking all their effort. In fact, Shimmer had made an overture to the Imperials regarding a pooling of resources and was expecting an answer. Seemed last night the Malazans had unveiled a High Mage whom no one had known of, but who had impressed everyone mightily.

A messenger ran up, spoke with Shimmer who nodded. She addressed the group: ‘The Malazan representatives.’ Room was made in the circle. The contingent was only three: two adolescents, skinny with long gangly limbs, long mussed black hair, almost identical. Twins? They were young, yes, but their lined guarded faces spoke of experiences and a maturity far beyond their years. The third was a broad, thickly-muscled older man with short grey hair bearing the bruising and gashes of many treated wounds. His wide brutal features were set in a savage scowl. K'azz, Shimmer and other Avowed all bowed to the man. ‘Commander Urko. Welcome.’

The older man gestured to his companions: ‘Nil and Nether. Now, what do you propose?’

‘Cooperation. Together we can defend all our people from these attacks. But we must pull together.’ Shimmer nodded to the youngsters. ‘You have two Wickans with you, what of your mage cadre?’

‘They defend the east redoubt and all the soldiers who have taken shelter there.’

‘I see. So, just us.’

Urko cracked the knuckles of his large scarred hands. ‘I hear talk of defence. What about offence? I understand that thing must be closed. But just what is it?’

‘A rent,’ Shell answered. ‘Sources tell of the remnant of one in south Genabackis. There are others. They are tears in the fabric of the barriers between Realms. No sane theurgist would dare create
one. Only the Great Matrons of the K'Chain Che'Malle could master them.’

That odd name, K'Chain Che'Malle, lowered a silence upon the gathered mages. Even Kyle felt within it echoes of the oldest of his people's legends: formless terrors of the night.

Pausing to be certain that point sank in, Shell continued, ‘This one appears to open upon Chaos. And it is growing. It may never stop. Yes, it must be closed, and at all cost.’

Urko grunted his understanding. ‘What's the plan?’

Shimmer's gaze lingered upon the east. ‘We understand a single mage is responsible and is feeding its growth. Right now it is not self-sustaining but time is running out. Killing the mage should cut it off.’

‘If he can be,’ the dour-looking Gwynn, near Kyle, commented beneath his breath.

The hill shook and everyone ducked as another lash of pulsing blue-black power hammered the grounds amid the Malazan lines. The distant shrieks and screams audible even through its roar made Kyle shiver. Urko's fists snapped up quivering as if he would break something or someone that instant.
‘Bastard!’
He pointed to the twins, ‘Make the arrangements!’ To Shimmer: ‘We're comin’ up!’ and he ran.

‘A large party would only attract attention,’ the girl, Nether, said.

Helmet under her arm, Shimmer pushed back her long, straight black hair, nodded curt agreement. ‘A small party.’

‘How to approach?’ asked the young male twin, Nil.

‘You will need the element of surprise,’ said a new voice from nearby. Everyone turned. There stood a slim fellow in dark clothes, a smirk on his narrow, pinched face. Shimmer raised a hand to forestall any action. ‘Possum. What word?’

‘For such a purpose I am empowered to offer Imperial cooperation.’

‘Such as?’ Smoky asked, his voice acid.

‘Passage through the Imperial Warren.’

‘That Warren is a death-trap,’ said Gwynn.

The smirk returned: ‘Only for those not authorized to access it.’

Heads among the mages turned, eyes narrowing.
‘Laseen
…’ Smoky breathed.

The Claw sketched a courtly bow. ‘I am only a humble messenger.’

The Wickan twins, Nil and Nether, volunteered. After much debate among the Avowed mages it was decided that Gwynn and Smoky would go as their contribution. Possum would bring them through.

As the mages prepared themselves, Kyle went to Smoky's side. ‘Good luck.’

The mage smiled, showing his small, sharp, rat-like teeth. ‘Just like old times, eh? Speaking of that – let's see that new sword.’

Kyle drew it and held it out. Smoky went to take it but jerked his hands away. He stared, obviously amazed, raised his eyes to Kyle. ‘This blade is not metal. Wouldn't dare try to mark that. Take my word for it – don't show it to anyone.’

Kyle sheathed it. ‘Thank you. I'd come if I could.’

A snort, then the mage wiped a sleeve across his grimed brow. ‘Might have to. No one says we'll succeed.’ He waved goodbye. Kyle saw that Stalker had come to watch. He went to his side.

‘What do you think?’

Stalker was frowning beneath his sandy moustache. ‘We should all go. Hit whatever that is with everything we've got. Maybe then we'd stand a chance.’

Kyle stared up at the man as he stood watching the mages’ preparations, his frown turning ever more sour.
Surely things could not be that desperate – could they?

* * *

Nait crawled on his belly from one pit to another. The flesh of his back writhed with the knowledge that energies that could evaporate iron crackled and thrummed just a stone's throw above him.
Ants. Just us ants down here ‘s all.
Finding the next pit, he flopped down into the hip-deep depression where soldiers on their knees frantically dug with those once maligned but now oh-so-valuable saboteur tools: shovels. He shouted over the avalanche churning of power: ‘Anyone here get a look at whoever the Abyss it is?’

The nearest answered: ‘Yeah. I seen ‘im. It's Hood himself come to get us!’ He gestured upwards. ‘Brought his gate with him!’

Nait pushed the laughing fellow aside, carried on.

‘It's a mage,’ one shouted into his ear as he passed. ‘Wrapped in flame. None of the bolts reached him – they burned. Even melted!’ Nait nodded his understanding.

‘Where is he now?’ he yelled. The fellow gestured ahead. ‘Thanks.’ Nait pointed back the way he'd come. ‘Dig back, link up!’ A nod of acknowledgement. Reaching the end of the pit, Nait edged up to slide out. The chest of his hauberk gouged the dirt as he pulled himself along by the insides of his arms and legs. Through the wind-lashed grass he saw the fellow – or what must be him. It was a
swirling squat tornado of power inside which he could just make out a human-like silhouette, arms raised.

He turned his head to peer upward. It was misleading, but the summoning, or whatever it was, seemed to hover exactly above him. Its height was hard to guess – top of a tall tree maybe? Darkness tinged by grey boiled and stirred within. Around him dust and fragments of chaff floated upwards, drawn up on a gathering draught that appeared to lead into the thing.
Abyss! And it might just be so, too.

Something touched his leg and his heart almost burst. He looked back: it was one of the Avowed, his face all purplish and bruised, one eye swollen shut. Blues, Ho had given his name as. The Avowed gestured him back. Nait waved him away: blasted fool! He'd almost made him jump up and run for it! The fellow gestured again, insistent. Fine! Nait pushed himself backwards.

They met all together in a rear trench. Urfa's and Nait's saboteurs worked around them deepening the earthworks. In attendance were the saboteur sergeants, the survivors of the wreck and two sergeants from stranded heavy infantry elements squatting in the grasses: Pellan, a Falaran, and Tourmaline, a Moranth. Nait was surprised and pleased to see Heuk as well. ‘What are you doing here?’ he shouted.

The old mage grimaced, scratched his patchy beard. ‘Bastards dropped me ‘n’ ran. Woke me up.’

After introductions, the Malazan heavy infantry sergeant, Pellan, spoke up: ‘What can we do? ‘Cept get our arses away from here?’

‘Can't move,’ Ho said. ‘Anything that moves gets hit, consumed to ashes.’