A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

anyway!' she said.
    'I don't know. That whole hill could come down—'
    'The caves! We go into the caves!'
    Die out here, or die in there. At least the caves offer us a tomb for our corpses. He gave a sharp nod.
    They half dragged Heboric between them. The cliff offered them a score of options with its ragged, honeycombed visage. They made no effort to select one, simply plunging into the first cave mouth they came to, a wide, strangely flattened tunnel that seemed to run level – at least for the first few paces.
    The wind was a hand at their backs, dismissive of hesitation in its unceasing pressure. Darkness swept around them as they staggered on, within a cauldron of screams.
    The floor had been sculpted into ridges, making walking difficult. Fifteen paces on, they stumbled into an outcropping of quartzite or some other crystalline mineral that resisted the erosive wind. They worked their way around it and found in its lee the first surcease from the Whirlwind's battering force in over seventy hours.
    Heboric sagged in their arms. They set him down in the ankle-deep dust at the base of the outcropping. 'I'd like to scout ahead,' Kulp told Felisin, yelling to be heard.
    She nodded, lowering herself to her knees.
    Another thirty paces took the mage to a larger cavern. More quartzite filled the space, reflecting a faint luminescence from what appeared to be a ceiling of crushed glass fifteen feet above him. The quartzite rose in vertical veins, the gleaming pillars creating a gallery effect of startling beauty, despite the racing wind's dust-filled stream. Kulp strode forward. The piercing shriek dimmed, losing itself in the vastness of the cavern.
    Closer to the centre of the cavern rose a heap of tumbled stones, their shapes too regular to be natural. The glittering substance of the ceiling covered them in places – a single side of their vaguely rectangular forms, the mage realized after a moment's examination. Crouching, he ran a hand along one such side, then bent still lower. Hood's breath, it's glass in truth! Multicoloured, crushed and compacted ...
    He looked up. A large hole gaped in the ceiling, its edges glowing with that odd, cool light. Kulp hesitated, then opened his warren. He grunted. Nothing. Queen's blessing, no sorcery – it's mundane.
    Hunching low against the wind, the mage made his way back to the others. He found them both asleep or unconscious. Kulp studied them, feeling a chill at the composed finality he saw in their dehydrated features.
    Might be more merciful not to awaken them.
    As if sensing his presence, Felisin opened her eyes. They filled with instant awareness. 'You'll never have it that easy,' she said.
    'This hill's a buried city, and we're under what's buried.'
    'So?'
    'The wind's got into one chamber at least, emptied it of sand.'
    'Our tomb.'
    'Maybe.'
    'All right, let's go.'
    'One problem,' Kulp said, not moving. 'The way in is about fifteen feet over our heads. There's a pillar of quartzite, but it wouldn't be an easy climb, especially not in our condition.'
    'Do your warren trick.'
    'What?'
    'Open a gate.'
    He stared at her. 'It's not that simple.'
    'Dying's simple.'
    He blinked. 'Let's get the old man on his feet, then.'
    Heboric's eyes were blistered shut, weeping grit-filled tears. Slow to awaken, he clearly had no idea where he was. His wide mouth split into a ghastly smile. 'They tried it here, didn't they?' he asked, tilting his head as they helped him forward. 'Tried it and paid for it, oh, the memories of water, all those wasted lives ...'
    They arrived at the place of the breached ceiling. Felisin laid a hand on the quartzite column nearest the hole. 'I'd have to climb this like a Dosii does a coconut palm.'
    'And how's that done?' Kulp asked.
    'Reluctantly,' Heboric muttered, cocking his head as if hearing voices.
    Felisin glanced at the mage. 'I'll need those straps from your belt.'
    With a grunt, Kulp began removing the leather band at his waist. 'Damned strange time to be wanting to see me without my breeches, lass.'
    'We can all do with the laugh,' she replied.
    He handed her the belt, and watched as she affixed the binding strips at each end to her ankles. He winced at how savagely she tightened the knots.
    'Now, what's left of your raincloak, please.'
    'What's wrong with your tunic?'
    'No-one gets to ogle my breasts – not for free, anyway. Besides, that cloak's a tougher weave.'
    'There was retribution,' Heboric said. 'A methodical, dispassionate