A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

poison from my veins – yet not once did I condemn you. Did you believe me ignorant of your efforts? And your most ancient secret – your flight from Dassem Ultor before the final battle, your betrayal of the cause – did you think I knew nothing of this? Nonetheless, I have need of you, for you are the lodestone of dissent, of those who would betray me. On your knees, bastard! She added a surge of power to the command, which drove the man down to the ground as if with an invisible giant hand. He squirmed on the soft sand, whimpering.
    Finally, we come to you, L'oric, my only true mystery. Your sorcerous arts are formidable, particularly in weaving an impervious barrier about you. The cast of your mind is unknown to me, even the breadth and depth of your loyalty. And though you seem faith' less, I have found you the most reliable. For you are a pragmatist, L'oric. Like Leoman. Yet I am ever on your scales, my every decision, my every word. So, judge me now, High Mage, and decide.
    He dropped to one knee, bowed his head.
    Felisin smiled. Half-measured. Very pragmatic, L'oric. I have missed you.
    She saw his wry answering smile there in the shadows cast by his hood.
    Finished with the three men, Felisin's attention returned to the crowd awaiting her next pronouncement. Silence gripped the air. What is left? 'We must march, my children. Yet that alone is not enough. We must announce what we are about to do, for all to see.'
    The goddess was ready.
    Felisin – Sha'ik Reborn – raised her arms.
    The golden dust twisted above her, corkscrewed into a column. It grew. The spout of raging wind and dust burgeoned, climbed skyward, drawing in the desert's gilded cloak, the breath clearing the vast dome on all sides, revealing a blue expanse that had not been seen for months.
    And still the column grew, surging higher, ever higher.
    The Whirlwind was naught but preparation for this. This, the raising of Dryjhna's standard, the spear that is the Apocalypse. A standard to tower over an entire continent, seen by all. Now, at last, the war begins. My war.
    Her head tilted back, she let her sorcerous vision feast on what was rising to the very edge of heaven's canopy. Dear sister, see what you've made.
     
    The crossbow jolted in Fiddler's hands. A gout of fire bloomed in the heaving mass of rats, blackening and roasting scores of the creatures.
    From point, the sapper had become rearguard, as the group retreated from Gryllen's nightmare pursuit. 'The D'ivers has stolen powerful lives,' said Apsalar, and Mappo, struggling to pull Icarium back, had nodded. 'Gryllen has never before shown such ... capacity ...'
    Capacity. Fiddler grunted, chewing at the word. The last time he'd seen this D'ivers, the rats had been present in their hundreds. Now they were in their thousands, perhaps tens of thousands – he could only guess at their numbers.
    The Hound Gear had rejoined them and now led their retreat down side tracks and narrow tunnels. They were seeking to circle around Gryllen – they could do naught else.
    Until Icarium loses control, and gods, he's close. Far too close.
    The sapper reached into his munitions, his fingers touching his last cusser, then brushing past, finding instead another flamer. No time to affix it to a quarrel, and he was running out of those anyway. The swarm's lead creatures, scampering towards him, were no more than half a dozen paces away. Fiddler's heart stuttered in his chest – Have I let them get too close this time? Hood's breath! He flung the grenado.
    Roast rat.
    Heaving bodies swallowed the liquid fire, rolled and tumbled towards him.
    The sapper wheeled and ran.
    He nearly plunged into Shan's blood-smeared jaws. Wailing, Fiddler dodged, spun, went sprawling among boots and moccasins. The group had come to a halt. He scrambled upright. 'We got to run!'
    'Where?' The question came from Crokus, in a dry, heavy tone.
    They were at a bend in the path, and at both ends swarmed a solid wall of rats.
    Four Hounds attacked the far mob, only Shan remaining with the group – taking the place of Blind, perilously close to Icarium.
    With a shriek of rage the Jhag threw Mappo from his shoulders with a seemingly effortless shrug. The Trell staggered, lost his balance and struck the root floor with a rattling thud.
    'Everybody down!' Fiddler screamed, his hand blindly reaching into the munitions bag, closing on that large, smooth object within.
    Keening, Icarium drew his sword. Wood snapped and recoiled in