A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

the blade, the warrior screamed in pain, weapon flying from a spasming hand.
    Kalam thrust the long-knife into the man's chest, ducked and spun to evade a rushing attack from Bordu's guard. The move was a surprise, since the assassin had not expected to find much courage in the man. He came very close to dying then. Straightening inside the guard's reach was all that saved him. Kalam drove his dagger low, stabbing just under the man's belt buckle. Hot fluid gushed over the assassin's forearm. The guard shrieked, doubling over, trapping both knife and the hand gripping it.
    The assassin surrendered the weapon and stepped around the guard.
    The remaining two warriors crouched twenty feet away, loading their crossbows. The weapons were Malazan, assault-issue, and both men revealed a fatal lack of familiarity with the loading mechanisms. Kalam himself could ready such a crossbow in four seconds.
    He did not grant the warriors even that, closing with them in a flash. One still tried to lock the crank, his frantic terror undoing his efforts as the quarrel jumped from its slot and fell to the ground. The other man tossed his crossbow down with a snarl and retrieved his tulwar in time to meet Kalam's charge. He had advantage in both the reach and weight of his weapon, yet neither availed him when a sudden loss of courage froze him in his tracks.
    'Please—'
    The word rode his last breath as Kalam batted the tulwar aside and cross-swung his long-knife's razor-sharp edge, opening the warrior's throat. The swing continued, spinning to transform into a sideways thrust that pierced the other man's chest, through boiled leather, skin, between ribs and into the lung. Choking, the warrior crumpled. The assassin finished him with another thrust.
    Behind the moans of Bordu's guard lay silence. From a copse of low trees thirty paces down the river bed came the first peeps of birds awakening to dawn. Kalam dropped to one knee, sucking in lungfuls of sweet, cool air.
    He heard a horse descend the south bank and turned to see Minala. The crossbow in her hands pointed from one corpse to the next as she checked the clearing, then she visibly relaxed, fixing Kalam with wide eyes. 'I count eight.'
    Still struggling for breath, the assassin nodded. He reached out and cleaned his long-knife's blade and hilt on his last victim's telaba, then checked the weapon's edge before sheathing it at his side.
    Bordu's guard finally fell silent.
    'Eight.'
    'How's the captain?'
    'Awake. Groggy, maybe fevered.'
    'There's another clearing about forty paces east of here,' Kalam said. 'I suggest we camp there for the day. I need some sleep.'
    'Yes.'
    'We need to strip this camp ... the bodies...'
    'Leave that to Selv and me. We don't shock easily. Any more...'
    With a grunt the assassin straightened and went to retrieve his other weapons. Minala watched him.
    'There were two others,' she said.
    Kalam paused over a body, looked up. 'What?'
    'Guarding the horses. They look...' She hesitated, then continued grimly, 'They were torn to pieces. Big chunks ... missing. Bite marks.'
    The assassin voiced a second grunt, rose slowly. 'I hadn't had much to eat lately,' he muttered.
    'Maybe a plains bear, the big brown kind. Took advantage of the ruckus to ambush the two guards. Did you hear the horses screaming?'
    'Maybe.' He studied her face, wondering what was going on behind those almost silver eyes.
    'I didn't, but there were plenty of screams and sound does jump around in river beds like these. Anyway, it'll do as an explanation, don't you think?'
    'Just might.'
    'Good. I'll ride back for the others now. I won't be long.'
    She swung her mount around without using the reins, since she still held the crossbow in her hands. Kalam wasn't sure how she managed it. He recalled her crouch over one stirrup hours earlier, her dance across the saddles. This woman can sit a horse.
    As she rode back up the bank, the assassin surveyed the grisly camp. 'Hood,' he breathed, 'I need a rest.'
     
    'Kalam, who rode with Whiskeyjack across Raraku . . .' Captain Keneb shook his head and poked again at the fire.
    It was dusk. The assassin had just awakened from a long, deep sleep. His first hour was never a pleasant one. Aching joints, old wounds – his years always caught up with him while he slept. Selv had brewed a strong tea. She poured Kalam a cup. He stared into the dying flames.
    Minala said, 'I would never have believed that one man could kill eight, all within minutes.'
    'Kalam