A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

Subsequent counterattacks had been so effective as to permit sorties beyond the gates, a vicious pursuit of fleeing Pannions. And, this day at least, none of the companies he'd sent out had gone too far. Discipline had held among the Capanthall, the Lestari and the Coralessian companies.
    The first day was over, and it belonged to Capustan's defenders.
    Itkovian stood on trembling legs, the coastal breeze building to dry the sweat from his face, sending cool tendrils through the half-visor's grille to brush his smoke-reddened eyes. As darkness closed around him, he listened to the rocks pounding the East Watch redoubt, and turned for the first time in hours to view the city.
    Entire blocks were aflame, the fires reaching into the night sky, lighting the underbelly of a turgid canopy of solid smoke. I knew what I would see. Why then does it shock me? Drive the blood from my veins? Suddenly weak, he leaned against the merlon behind him, one hand pressed against the rough stone.
    A voice spoke from the shadows of the tower's doorway. 'You need rest, sir.'
    Itkovian closed his eyes. 'Destriant, you speak the truth.'
    'But there will be no rest,' Karnadas resumed. 'The other half of the attacking force is assembling. We can expect assaults through the night.'
    'I know, sir.'
    'Brukhalian—'
    'Aye, it must be done. Come forward, then.'
    'Such efforts are increasingly difficult,' Karnadas murmured as he strode up to stand before the Shield Anvil. He laid a hand against Itkovian's chest. 'The illness of the warrens threatens me,' he continued. 'Soon it will be all I can do to fend against it.'
    The weariness drained from the Shield Anvil, vigour returning to his limbs. He sighed. 'I thank you, sir.'
    'The Mortal Sword has just been called to the Thrall to give account of the first day's battle. And no, we were not fortunate enough to hear of the Thrall's destruction beneath a few hundred balls of fire. It stands intact. However, given those that it now houses, we would no longer wish such a fiery end.'
    Itkovian pulled his gaze from the streets, studied the Destriant's red-lit face. 'Your meaning, sir?'
    'The Barghast, Hetan and Cafal, have taken up residence in the Main Hall.'
    'Ah, I see.'
    'Before he left, Brukhalian asked me to enquire of your efforts to discover the means by which the bones of the Founding Spirits will be spared the coming conflagration.'
    'I have failed, sir. Nor does it seem likely that I will have opportunity to renew my efforts in that direction.'
    'That is understandable, sir. I will convey to the Mortal Sword your words, if not your obvious relief.'
    'Thank you.'
    The Destriant strode to look out upon the east killing field. 'Gods below, do the Gidrath still hold the redoubt?'
    'Uncertain,' Itkovian murmured as he joined the man. 'At the very least, the bombardment has not ceased. There may be little but rubble there now – it's too dark to make out, but I believe I heard a wall collapse half a bell ago.'
    'The legions are marshalling once more, Shield Anvil.'
    'I need more messengers, sir. My last troop—'
    'Aye, exhausted,' Karnadas said. 'I shall take my leave and do as you ask, sir.'
    Itkovian listened to the man make his way down the ladder, but held his gaze on the enemy positions to the east and south. Hooded lanterns flashed here and there among what appeared to be troops arrayed in squares, the figures jostling and shifting behind wicker shields. Smaller companies of Scalandi skirmishers emerged, moving cautiously forward.
    Bootsteps behind the Shield Anvil announced the arrival of the messengers. Without turning, Itkovian said, 'Inform the captains of the archers and trebuchets that the Pannions are about to renew their assault. Soldiers to the walls and battlements. Gate companies assembled, full complement, including sappers.'
    A score of fiery balls rose skyward from behind the massed ranks of the Pannions. The missiles arced, their sizzling roar audible as they passed high over Itkovian's head. Explosions lit the city, shook the bronze-sheathed floorboards beneath his feet. The Shield Anvil faced his cadre of messengers. 'Go.'
     
    Karnadas rode his horse at a canter across Tura'l Concourse. The huge arch fifty paces to his left had just taken a hit on one corner of the pedestal, spraying broken masonry and burning pitch onto the cobbles and onto the rooftops of the scatter of tenements beside it. Flames billowed, and the Destriant saw figures pouring from the building. Somewhere