A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

till Antsy hears.'
    The wizard managed a smile. 'You tell him news only to see him squirm, don't you?'
    'Sure. The squad needs its entertainment, right?'
    The summit revealed yet another set of small cairns, scattered here and there on its weathered expanse. Tiny, long-legged grey birds hopped from their path as the soldiers marched on. Few words were wasted – the heat was oppressive, with half a day of sunlight remaining. Buzzing flies kept pace.
    The squad had seen no-one since Twist's visit at dawn. They knew the duel had taken place by now, but had no idea of its outcome. Hood, we could walk in to our own execution. Spindle and Quick Ben were next to useless, unable and unwilling to test the taste of their warrens, pallid and shaky and uncommunicative. Hedge's jaw was too swollen for him to manage anything more than grunts, but the looks he cast at Detoran's back as she walked point hinted at plans of murderous vengeance. Blend was scouting somewhere ahead, or behind – or maybe in my Hood-damned shadow – she glanced over her shoulder to check, but the woman wasn't there. Antsy, taking up the rear, kept up a private conversation with himself, his ceaseless mumbling a steady accompaniment to the droning flies.
    The landscape showed no life beyond the grasses cloaking the hills and the stunted trees occasionally visible in the valleys where seasonal streams hoarded water beneath the soil. The sky was cloudless, not a bird in sight to mar the blue vastness. Far to the north and east rose the white peaks of the Barghast Range, jagged in their youth and forbidding.
    By Twist's estimate, the Barghast gathering was in a valley four leagues to the north. They'd arrive before sunset, if all went well.
    Striding at her side, Quick Ben voiced a soft grunt, and the corporal turned in time to see a score of dirt-smeared hands closing around the wizard's legs. The earth seemed to foam beneath Quick Ben's boots, then he was being dragged down, stained, bony fingers clutching, tugging, gnarled forearms reaching upward to wrap themselves about the wizard's struggling form.
    'Quick!' Picker bellowed, flinging herself towards him. He reached for her, a look a dumb amazement on his face as the soil heaved around his waist. Pounding footsteps and shouts closed in. Picker's hand clamped on the wizard's wrist.
    The earth surged to his chest. The hands reappeared to grasp Quick Ben's right arm and drag it down.
    Her eyes met his, then he shook his head. 'Let me go, Corporal—'
    'Are you mad—'
    'Now, before you get my arm torn off—' His right shoulder was yanked beneath the soil.
    Spindle appeared, flinging himself forward to wrap an arm around Quick Ben's neck.
    'Let him go!' Picker yelled, releasing the wizard's wrist.
    Spindle stared up at her. 'What?'
    'Let him go, damn you!'
    The squad mage unlocked his arm and rolled away, cursing.
    Antsy burst among them, his short-handled shovel already in his hands as Quick Ben's head vanished beneath the earth. Dirt began flying.
    'Ease off there, Sergeant,' Picker snapped. 'You'll end up taking off the top of his damned head!'
    The sergeant stared at her, then leapt back as if standing on coals. 'Hood!' He raised his shovel and squinted at the blade. 'I don't see no blood! Anybody see any blood? Or – gods! – hair! Is that hair? Oh, Queen of Dreams—'
    'That ain't hair,' Spindle growled, pulling the shovel from Antsy's hands. 'That's roots, you idiot! They got 'im. They got Quick Ben.'
    'Who has?' Picker demanded.
    'Barghast spirits. A whole horde of 'em! We was ambushed!'
    'What about you, then?' the corporal asked.
    'I ain't dangerous enough, I guess. At least' – his head snapped as he looked around – 'I hope not. I gotta get off this damned barrow, that's what I gotta do!'
    Picker watched him scamper away. 'Hedge, keep an eye on him, will you?'
    The swollen-faced sapper nodded, trudged off after Spindle.
    'What do we do now?' Antsy hissed, his moustache twitching.
    'We wait a bell or two, then if the wizard ain't managed to claw his way back out, we go on.'
    The sergeant's blue eyes widened. 'We leave him?' he whispered.
    'It's either that or we level this damned hill. And we wouldn't find him anyway – he's been pulled into their warren. It's here but it ain't here, if you know what I mean. Maybe when Spindle finds his nerve he can do some probing.'
    'I knew that Quick Ben wasn't nothing but trouble,' Antsy muttered. 'Can't count on mages for nothing. You're right,