The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1286 page)

‘I hear nothing,' Tulas said.

‘In my skull – I swear I could feel bones crack.'

‘Unsheathe it, friend.'

Silchas Ruin looked over with wide eyes, his expression filling with dread.

‘Grasp it when you veer.'

‘And what will that achieve?'

‘I don't know. But I cannot imagine that this gift was meant to torture you. Your only other choice, Silchas, is to discard it.' He gestured southward. ‘We are almost upon them – I am, frankly, astonished that she still lives. But if we delay here much longer…'

‘Tulas, I am afraid.'

‘Of dying? A little late for that.'

Silchas smiled, but it was more of a grimace. ‘Easy for you to say.'

‘I dwelt a long time in the House of Death, tormented by the truth that I failed to achieve what I most wanted in my life. That sense, of terrible incompleteness, overwhelmed me many times. But now I stand with you, my brother, and I will fall in your stead if I can in this battle to come. Oblivion does not frighten me – I see only its blessed release.'

Silchas Ruin studied him. Then he sighed and reached for the sword. Hand closing on its plain grip, he slid the weapon free.

The Hust sword bucked in his hand, voicing a deafening shriek.

Tulas Shorn was driven back a step, and he stared in shock as enormous ghostly chains appeared, writhing from the sword's patterned blade. Those chains seemed to be anchored deep into the ground, and suddenly the land beneath them was shaking, pitching them about as if the world was rolling its shoulders. From below, a rising thunder—

A blast of dirt and stone lifted skyward off to Tulas Shorn's left, and he bellowed in shock upon seeing a dragon clawing its way free of the steaming earth. And then, off to the right, another erupted in a shower of debris, and then a third – each one chained as it rose from the ground, wings hammering the dust-filled air.

Their roars – of release – ripped across the plain.

Silchas Ruin stood, both hands now on the sword, as the ethereal chains snapped taut, scissoring wildly above him like the strands of a wind-whipped thread.

Eloth. Ampelas. Kalse.

Tulas Shorn staggered forward. ‘Veer! Silchas Ruin – veer! We have our Storm! He has given us our Storm!'

Screaming, Silchas Ruin blurred, pungent clouds roiling out from him. Sword and chains vanished – yet the three dragons held close in the air above them.

Veering, Tulas Shorn launched himself into the sky.

Eloth's voice filled his skull.
‘Brothers! It is as Cotillion promised! We are freed once more!'

‘Only to die!'
cried another voice – Ampelas – yet there was nothing of frustration in its tone.

‘Should we prevail – Silchas Ruin, will you vow to break our chains?'

And Silchas replied,
‘Eloth, I so swear.'

‘Then we have a cause worth fighting for! He bargained true. He is a god with honour!'

The five Ancient Dragons wheeled then, climbing ever higher as they winged southward. The shadow cast down by one talon slash in the heavens above them marked their path, true as an arrow into the heart of the battle.

 

‘
My leg!
' Telorast shrieked. ‘Curdle! I am crippled! Help me!'

The other skeletal lizard halted so quickly it fell over, rolled once, twice, and then leapt back to its feet. ‘Aaii! See the shadow? It hunts us! It chases us! Webs across the sky! Telorast – you are doomed!'

‘I see Eleint! They are coming for us! This was a trap! A lie! A deceit! Betrayal! Bad luck! Help me, Curdle!'

Curdle leapt up and down as if eating flies on the wing. ‘They only pretended! Those two usurpers – they are venal and vicious, selfish! Not-Apsalar was their servant, was she not? She was! This has been planned from the very start – Telorast, I will weep for you. My sister, my lover, my occasional acquaintance – I promise, I will weep for you.'

‘You lying bitch! Carry me! Save me! I would save you in your place if I was you and you were me and I wanted to run because that's the smart thing to do – except when I'm me and you're you! Then it's not smart at all!' She clawed furiously at the ground, one leg kicking, trying to reach Curdle, her small hands clutching the air, her serrated jaws clacking in a manic frenzy. ‘Come closer, I beg you!'
Snap snap snap.
‘I only want to say goodbye, I swear it!'
Snap snap snap snap.

‘The shadow!' Curdle shrieked. ‘I've waited too long! Help!' She began running, leaping over tufts of dead grass, dodging boulders and small stones. Her rush startled a grasshopper into the air and she bit it in half in passing. ‘Did you see that? Telor—'

Both creatures veered. Chains cracked like lightning, lifting them skyward.

‘Storm! Five Ancients – now seven!'

‘Eloth greets you, betrayers! Telorast Anthras! Kerudas Karosias!'

‘Eloth! Ampelas! Kalse! They still hate us! Telorast, look what you've done!'

 

Korabas, the Otataral Dragon, was being driven earthward as dragon after dragon crashed down on her from above, their talons raking through her hide, flensing her wings. She had killed hundreds, but now, at last, she was failing. The land beneath her loomed, every detail a bitter language of death. She could no longer give voice to her fury, her crushing frustration, and was too exhausted to strike out at the Eleint harrying her on all sides.

Blood streamed down her flanks, rained like acid on the lifeless earth below.

The summons dragged her forward, but she was blind to its purpose. Perhaps nothing more than a lure. Yet the imperative was absolute and she would strive to answer it. With her last breath, she would seek that fated place.
A trap, or a promise? An answer to my prayers, or the making of my barrow? No matter. I fail. I would even welcome chains, but they will not grant me that mercy. I feel Mother awakening. I feel T'iam, so close now – the Storms gathered, the power building. She is coming – she will see me killed!

She pitched as yet another Eleint slammed down on her. With one last surge, she swung her neck round, lacerated jaws stretching wide—

And saw seven dragons, descending from high above the swarm surrounding her. Another Storm.
This ends it, then.

The creature clinging to her back tore itself away, flinching from her jaws – she caught a hind limb, ripped the flesh from the bone.

The seven Ancients plunged into the maelstrom – and suddenly Eleint were screaming in shock and pain, bodies twisting as they plummeted, blooms of blood like clouds—

They fight to save me! But why? Do not draw near, friends! I am poison!

But – more – do not die for me!

I, whose touch is death, beg you – do not die for me!

Yet on they fought, but now their foes were recovering, and scores lifted higher to close on them.

And should T'iam manifest – she will take even you.

East, the place of the summons, called to her. Torn fragments of meat falling from her jaws, Korabas fixed her gaze upon that beckoning horizon. Her allies had drawn away her assailants, won her a reprieve with fatal sacrifice. She did not understand, but she would honour them in the only possible manner available to her.

If this be a destiny offered me, I shall meet it. I shall face it, and, if I can, I shall speak to the world.

And if this be the place of my death, so be it.

I was free, even if only for a moment.

I was free.

 

He had pushed them hard, marching them through half the night and without pause through most of this day, and the marines and heavies were staggering as they came within sight of the hill. The muscles of his legs leaden, Fiddler angled towards it. Vast bands of shadow were still tracking the landscape, cast down by the Jade Strangers spanning the entire sky, leaving the captain with a sense that the world was unravelling before his very eyes.

He had worked hard not to think about the army they had left behind, and the fate that awaited them. Before the captain now was all that mattered. That forlorn hilltop with its fractured flanks, the lone sword of Otataral thrust deep into the ground at its very centre.

He feared that it would not be enough – they had all feared as much, those among them who understood what she was attempting here. The chains that bound the Crippled God had been forged by gods.
A single sword to shatter them all? Tavore, you must have believed it was possible. Or that some other force would awaken here, to lend us a blessed hand in this.

Without this – this breaking of chains – all that we do here is for naught.

Tavore, I am trusting you. With the lives of my soldiers – with the meaning to their deaths. I know, it's unfair, asking this of you. You're mortal, that and nothing more. But I know – I feel it – I am setting my weight upon your shoulders. We all are, whether we care to admit it or not.

And it's that unfairness that's tearing me apart.

He glanced off to his left. Hedge walked there at the head of his own troop – Letherii and Khundryl cast-offs, a mix of half-bloods from a dozen subdued tribes of the Lether Empire. They'd had trouble keeping up, so loaded down were the soldiers – Hood knew why they'd felt the need to carry so much.
All those kittens, I expect. Hope they're worth it.

Hedge had been keeping his distance, and Fiddler knew why – he could feel his own face transforming whenever his friend drew near, becoming a mask, bleak and broken, and the anguish and dread clawed at him with a strength he could not match.
So much of this is unfair. So much.
But now Hedge shifted his track, came closer.

He pointed at the hill. ‘That's it? Damned ugly, Fid.'

‘We can defend it.'

‘We're too thin, even for a knoll as puny as that one. Listen, I'm breaking up my company. I ain't making too many big promises here, but my Bridgeburners got a secret—'

‘Kittens, aye.'

Hedge scowled at him. ‘You had spies! I knew it!'

‘Gods below, Hedge, never met anyone as hopeless with secrets as you.'

‘Go ahead and think that. You're in for a surprise, I promise you.'

‘Can they match the Moranth munitions, that's the only thing I need to know.'

But Hedge shook his head. ‘Not them. Never mind.' And then he shrugged, as if dismissing something. ‘You was probably too busy last time, but we made a mess of those Short-Tails.'

‘And you didn't use most of them up? That's not like you, Hedge.'

‘Bavedict concocted more – the man's a genius. Deranged and obsessive, the best kind of genius. Anyway, we're packing them all.'

‘I'd noticed.'

‘Sure, it's wore us out, all that stuff. Tell me, Fid, we going to get time to rest up first?'

‘Little late asking me that now.'

‘So what? I'm still asking you.'

‘To be honest, I don't know. Depends.'

‘On what?'

‘Whether the Spire's fallen to us. Whether they got the heart undamaged. Whether they managed to break its own set of chains, or whatever geas is protecting it – could be twenty Kenyll'rah demons for all we know, and imagine the scrap that'd be.'

‘Twenty Kenyll'rah demons? What is this, some bad fairy tale? Why not a demon king? Or a giant three-headed ogre with scorpion tails at the end of every finger, and a big one on his cock for added measure? Breathing fire outa his arse, too.'

‘Fine, so my imagination's failed. Sorry about that – I ain't no spinner of decent tales, Hedge.'

‘I'll say. What else should I know? We got to kiss that fucking heart awake once we get it? Put a hat on it? Dance in fucking circles round it? Gods, not more blood sacrifice – that stuff creeps me out.'

‘You're babbling, Hedge. It's what you always do before a fight – why?'

‘To distract you, of course. You keep chewing on yourself there'll be nothing left but wet gristle and a few pubic hairs I really don't want to see. Oh, and the teeth that did all the chewing.'

‘You know,' Fiddler said with a sidelong glance, ‘if you wasn't here, Hedge, I'd have to invent you.'

‘What's that?'

‘Just saying thanks, that's all.'

‘Fine. Now can I babble some more? 'Cause I'm terrified, y'see.'

‘This will work, Hedge. Get your kitten throwers spread out through my squads, and we'll make a mess of whoever tries to take us down.'

‘Exactly. Good idea. Shoulda thought of it myself.'

The man moved off again, and Fiddler's gaze tracked him until he reached his original position at the head of the Bridgeburners.
Bless ya, Hedge.
He swung round to face his troops. ‘That's the place, soldiers. That hill. Let's quick-time it now – only a bell or two before dusk and I want us digging and piling stones in a solid perimeter.'

‘Aye, Captain,' barked out a heavy. ‘Could do with some fucking exercise.'

Another soldier answered. ‘Knew I should never have carried you, woman!'

‘If you'd been carrying me, Reliko, I'd be pregnant by now – any chance y'get, right, you rat-eating piece of elephant dung.'

‘Maybe if I closed my eyes. But then, can a man even breed with a warthog?'

‘If anybody'd know the answer to that—'

‘Save your breaths, damn you,' growled Fiddler.