The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1287 page)

They trudged over the lesser rises, tackled the hillside. Bottle moved up past Corabb and made the climb alongside Sergeant Tarr. ‘Listen, Sergeant…'

‘Now what, Bottle? Pull out your shovel – we got work to do.'

Soldiers were throwing down their kits on all sides, muttering and complaining about sore backs and aching shoulders.

‘It's this ground,' Bottle said, drawing close. ‘I need to talk to the captain.'

Tarr scowled at him, and then nodded. ‘Go on, but don't take too long. I don't want you dying 'cause you dug your hole too shallow.'

Bottle stared at the man, and then looked round. ‘They that close?'

‘How should I know? Care to risk your life that they aren't?'

Swearing under his breath, Bottle set out to where he'd last seen Fiddler – up near the crest of the hill. Hedge had gone up there as well.

Taking a narrow, twisted route between outcrops of bedrock, he heard boots behind him and turned. ‘Deadsmell. You following me for a reason or is it my cute backside?'

‘Your cute backside, but I need to talk to Fid, too. Two joys in one, what can I say?'

‘This hill—'

‘Barrow.'

‘Right, fine. Barrow. There's something—'

‘Sunk deep all the way round it, aye. Widdershins damn near shit himself the moment he hit the slope.'

Bottle shrugged. ‘Us other squaddies call him Widdershits, on account of his loose bowels. What about it?'

‘Really? Widdershits? That's great. Wait till Throatslitter hears that one. But listen, how come you're keeping secrets from us like that? Names like that? We wouldn't do it to you, you know.'

‘Stifflips and Crack? Scuttle and Corncob? Turd and Brittle?'

‘Oh, you heard them, huh?'

They reached the crest, stepped out on to level ground. Ahead, standing near a long sword thrust into the ground, Fiddler and Hedge. Both men turned as the soldiers approached, hearing the stones snapping underfoot.

‘Forgot how to dig holes, you two?'

‘No, Captain. It's just that we got us company.'

‘Explain that, Bottle. And be succinct for a change.'

‘There's a god here with us.'

Hedge seemed to choke on something and turned away, coughing, hacking and then spitting.

‘You idiot,' said Fiddler. ‘That's the whole fucking point.'

‘Not him, Captain,' said Deadsmell.

‘What do you mean, not him? Of course he's here – as much of him as there is, I mean. The Adjunct said this was the place.'

Deadsmell met Bottle's eyes, and after a moment Bottle turned away, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘Captain,' he said, ‘the Crippled God ain't here. We'd know it if he was.'

Fiddler gestured at the sword. ‘That's the Adjunct's, Bottle. Otataral, remember? Why should you think you'd be able to sense anything?'

Deadsmell was rubbing at the back of his neck as if he wanted to wear off two or three layers of skin, checking to see if he still had a backbone. Then he drew a fortifying breath and said, ‘He's foreign – we'd know it anyway, Captain.'

Fiddler seemed to sag.

Hedge clapped him on the back. ‘Relax, Fid, it's just the usual fuck-up. So we go through the motions anyway – you're still a damned sapper, you know. Who said you were supposed to be on the thinking side of things? We don't know that all this isn't how it's supposed to be right now, anyway. In fact, we don't know a damned thing about anything. The way it always is. What's the problem?' He faced Bottle then. ‘So which turd-chewing god's got the nerve to horn in our business?'

But Deadsmell was the first to respond. ‘Smells like old death.'

‘Hood? Wrong. Impossible.'

‘Didn't say that, did I?' Deadsmell retorted, scowling. ‘Just smells old and dead, right? Like brown leaves in a cold wind. Like a barrow's stone-lined pit. Like the first breath of winter. Like—'

‘Worm of Autumn,' growled Bottle.

‘I was working up to that, damn you!'

‘What does D'rek want with us?' Hedge demanded.

‘Doesn't matter,' said Fiddler, turning back to stare at the sword. ‘We've had that priest crouching on our shoulders ever since Malaz City. When we were here he said something about his god, I seem to recall. Wrapping round the base of the hill. Him and the Adjunct seemed to think we'd need help. Anyway, it's not like we can do anything about it. Fine, what you said, Hedge. We go through the motions. Deadsmell, is this place a barrow?'

‘Aye, but no longer sanctified. The tomb's been looted. Broken.'

‘Broken, huh?'

‘Trust the Adjunct,' said Hedge.

Fiddler rounded on him. ‘Was that you saying that?'

Hedge shrugged. ‘Thought it worth a try.' Then he frowned. ‘What's that smell?'

‘Probably Widdershits,' Bottle said.

‘Gods, downwind, damn him – always downwind!'

Masan Gilani threw herself down near Sinter and Kisswhere. ‘Balm just tried putting his hand down my breeches. Said he forgot where he was. Said he wasn't even looking. Said he thought he was reaching into his kit bag.'

Kisswhere snorted. ‘And with that sharpness of wit, Dal Honese men won an empire.'

‘I should've stayed with the cavalry.'

‘There was no cavalry.'

‘The Khundryl, then.'

Sinter slowly straightened, studied the darkening sky. ‘See any clouds?' she asked, slowly turning as she scanned the heavens.

‘Clouds? What's up, sister?'

‘Not sure. I keep expecting…'

‘Clouds?'

Sinter made a face. ‘You were the one asking me what I was seeing, remember? Now I'm telling you, I got something.'

‘Clouds.'

‘Oh, never mind.' She settled back down lengthways in the slit trench she'd hacked out of the stony barrowside. ‘But if anyone sees…'

‘Clouds, aye,' said Masan Gilani, rubbing at her eyes.

 

Rejoining his squad, Bottle glanced over at Shortnose. ‘Joined us again, have you?'

‘I brought a shield,' the heavy said.

‘Oh, that's nice.'

‘You need to tie it to my hand.'

‘What, now?'

‘Tie it so it doesn't come loose. Use…knots and things.'

‘With rawhide.'

‘And knots and things.'

Bottle moved over to the man, crouched down.

‘You do that,' Smiles observed, ‘and next he'll be asking you to give him a shake, too.'

‘Make sure it's after the little shudder,' Cuttle advised. ‘Else you get wet.'

‘I once shuddered so hard,' said Shortnose, ‘I shit myself.'

Everyone looked over, but it seemed that no one could think of a rejoinder to that.

Koryk had drawn his sword from its scabbard and now began running a stone down the length of the blade's edge. ‘Someone make us a fire,' he said. ‘We're facing east here – if they come in from the morning sun…I want charcoal under my eyes.'

‘Sound enough,' replied Cuttle, grunting to his feet. ‘Glad you're back thinking like a soldier, Koryk.'

The Seti half-blood said nothing, lifting the weapon to squint at its edge.

‘Once that's all done,' Tarr said, ‘eat, drink and sleep. Corporal, set the watch.'

‘Aye, Sergeant. Listen all of you! I can taste it in the air!'

‘That'd be Widdershins.'

‘No! It is glory, my friends. Glory!'

Koryk said, ‘If that's the smell of glory, Corabb, I knew an anaemic cat that was queen of the world.'

Corabb frowned at him. ‘I don't get it. Was it named Glory?'

Corporal Rim settled down beside Honey. ‘I can hold a shield,' he said. ‘I'll cover you one side.'

‘Not if it's going to get you killed.'

‘A soldier who's lost his weapon arm isn't much good to anyone. Just let me do this, will you?'

Honey's brow creased. ‘Listen, you've been moping ever since the lizards. It's obvious why, but still, show us a smile, will you? If you die here you won't be the only one, will you?'

‘So what's the problem if my guarding you gets me killed?'

‘Because I don't want it on me, right?'

Rim scratched at his beard. ‘Fine then, I'll shield-bash the fuckers.'

‘That's better. Now, I got a watch here – go to sleep, sir.'

 

Fiddler walked the crest of the hill, doing a full circuit, studying where his troops had dug in and fortified defensive positions using boulders and stones. Hedge was right, he saw. They were too thin, and the footing was precarious at best.
Should've brought spears – like those Bridgeburners did.

Admit it, Fid, having Hedge here may hurt like a stuck knife, but you're glad of it anyway.

He studied the sky – the setting of the sun had passed almost unnoticed, so bright were the Jade Strangers overhead. Sighing, the captain moved to find a place to sit, his back against a carved stela. He closed his eyes. He knew he should try to sleep, but knew as well that such a thing was impossible.

He'd never wanted any of this. Handling a single squad had been burden enough.
And now everyone here's looking to me. If only they knew, the fools. I'm as lost as they are.

In the ghoulish light he drew out the House of Chains. The lacquered wooden cards slipped about in his hands as if coated in grease. He squinted down at them, slowly worked his way through each one, studying it in turn. Seven cards. Six felt cool to his touch. Only one glistened with sweat.

Leper.

Aw, Hedge. I'm so sorry for that.

 

The Shi'gal Assassin had left a place of flame far behind him now. Flame and the blood of a slain god raining down from a tortured sky. He had witnessed the deaths of thousands. Humans, K'Chain Che'Malle, Imass. He had seen the fall of Forkrul Assail and Jaghut warriors. Toblakai and Barghast. All for the scarred thing he now clutched in his hands.

It dripped blood and there seemed to be no end to that flow, trickling down his fingers, painting his claws, spattering his thighs as the rhythmic beat of his wings carried him westward, as if chasing the sun's eager plunge beyond the horizon. The heart was once more alive, heavier than any stone of similar size – the weight of a skystone, such as fell from the sky. But that seemed an appropriate detail, since it belonged to the Fallen God.

Gu'Rull's mind tracked back to the last scene he had witnessed atop the Spire, moments after he had torn loose the heart from those dying chains. The body of the Mortal Sword lying so motionless on the blood-splashed platform. The dog guarding what had already left the world.

It is only the dumb beast that understands futile gestures – the cold necessity for them, in the face of all the hard truths. We who hold to the higher aspirations of the intellect, we surrender too quickly. And yet, in looking upon that dog – a creature knowing only loyalty and courage – we find flavours to wound our own souls.

I now wonder, is it envy we feel?

He had underestimated the Matron's choices. Destriant Kalyth, Shield Anvil Stormy and Mortal Sword Gesler – were these not worthy humans?
They have shown us a path, for all the children of Gunth Mach. Two are fallen. Two gave their lives, but one remains.

I am not likely to see her again. But in my mind, in this moment and all the moments that remain to me, I will honour her, as I honour Gesler and Stormy. They lived as brothers, they fell as brothers. I shall call them kin, and of the tasks awaiting me, I shall in turn strive to see this through.

Destriant, in your sorrow and grief – which I even now taste – I will seek to give meaning to their deaths.

His wings shifted slightly at a sudden twist in the currents, and all at once the air seemed to thicken around the Shi'gal Assassin, filling with a strange susurration – heavy whispers, a sudden darkness that swarmed and swirled, blotting out the entire sky.

And Gu'Rull realized that he would not be making this journey alone.