A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

fighting knives out and held in admirably relaxed grips, flanked Servant. Pust slunk along a step behind them.
    And this is what we are. This, and no more than this.
    He had paused before the bend in response to an instinctive hesitation that seemed to wrap an implacable grip around his spine. Go no farther. Wait. The sapper sighed. Wait for what?
    His eyes, still wandering over the group behind him, caught on something, focused.
    Rood's hackles had begun a slow rise.
    'Hood!''
    Movement exploded all around him, a massive shape barrelling into view directly ahead with a roar that turned Fiddler's marrow into spikes of ice. And above, a thudding flapping of leathery wings, huge talons darting down.
    The charging Soletaken was a brown bear, as big as a noble-born's carriage, both flanks brushing the root walls of the maze, where arms were pulled, stretched, hands closed on thick fur. The sapper saw one unhuman limb torn from the trio of joints that formed its shoulder, spurting old, black blood. Ignoring these desperate efforts as if they were no more than burrs and thorns, the bear lunged forward.
    Fiddler dropped to the root-bound floor – the bark hot and greasy with some kind of sweat – sparing no breath to shout even a warning. Not that it was needed.
    The bear's underside swept over him in a blur, the fur pale and smeared in blood, then it was past, even as the sapper rolled to follow its attack.
    The bear's attention was fixed exclusively on the blood-red enkar'al hovering before it – another Soletaken, shrieking with rage. The bear's paws lashed out, closing on empty air as the winged reptile darted backward – and into the reach of Mappo's club.
    Fiddler could not fathom the strength behind the Trell's two-handed, full-shouldered swing. The weapon's tusked head struck the enkar'al's ridged chest and plunged inward with a snapping of bones. The enkar'al, itself the size of an ox, seemed literally to crumple and fold around that blow. Wing bones broke, neck and head were thrown forward, eyes and nostrils spraying blood.
    The reptilian Soletaken was dead before it struck the root wall. Talons and hands received and held it.
    'No!' Mappo roared.
    Fiddler's gaze darted to Icarium – but the Jhag was not the cause of the Trell's cry, for the Hound Rood had attacked the massive bear, striking it from the side.
    With a scream the Soletaken lurched sideways, up against the root wall. Few were the reaching limbs that could hold fast such a beast, yet one awaited it, one wrapped its green-skinned length around the bear's thick neck, and that one possessed a strength beyond even the Soletaken's.
    Rood clamped a flailing paw in its jaws, crushing bones, then tore the appendage away with savage shakes of its head.
    'Messremb!' the Trell bellowed, struggling in Icarium's restraining grip. 'An ally!'
    'A Soletaken!' Iskaral Pust shrieked, dancing around.
    Mappo sagged suddenly. 'A friend,' he whispered.
    And Fiddler understood. The first friend lost this day. The first . . .
    Tremorlor laid claim to both shapeshifters as roots snaked out, wrapping around the newcomers. The two beasts now faced each other on their respective walls – their eternal resting places. The Soletaken bear, blood gushing from the stump at the end of one limb, struggled on, but even its prodigious strength was useless against the otherworldly might of the Azath and the arm that held it, now tightening. Messremb's constricted throat struggled to find air. The red rims around its dark-brown eyes took on a bluish cast, the eyes bulging from their damp, streaked nests of fur.
    Rood had pulled away and was placidly devouring the severed paw, bones and flesh and fur.
    'Mappo,' Icarium said, 'see that stranger's arm crushing the life from him – do you understand? Not an eternal prison for Messremb. Hood will take him – death will take him, as it did the enkar'al...'
    The entwining roots from the opposing walls reached out to each other, almost touching.
    'The maze finds a new wall,' Crokus said.
    'Quickly then,' Fiddler snapped, only now regaining his feet. 'Everyone to this side.'
     
    They moved on, silent once again. Fiddler found his hands trembling incessantly now where they gripped his pitiful weapon. The strengths and savagery he had witnessed minutes earlier clashed with such alarm that it left his mind numb.
    We cannot survive this. A hundred Hounds of Shadow would not be enough. Such shapeshifting creatures have arrived in their