A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

the shattered north gate. Unimpeded. The wall east of the gate was empty of mages, of anyone – stripped clean.
    Fires lit the city beyond the wall. The sky was filling with Black Moranth, Great Ravens – Kurald Galain spreading out, down, onto Coral—
    A true unveiling. All of the Tiste Andii, joined in ritual magic – the world has never known this – in all. the millennia since their arrival – never known this. Burn's heart, what will come of this
unveiling?
    He continued staring, overcome with a vast, soul-numbing helplessness.
     
    The power flowed towards Korlat. Her eyes flashed as she and her brother swept on the cold, familiar currents of Kurald Galain, towards Moon's Spawn.
    Oh, it was dying – she could see that. Dying, but not yet completed its dreadful, deadly task.
    She watched it moving, drawing closer to the keep's parapet – to where, she could now see, stood the Seer – the Jaghut, clutching the Matron's Finnest, staring upward, frozen, as the black, towering mountain inexorably approached.
    Darkness, come to this world. To this place, this city.
    Darkness, that would never dissipate.
    Coral. Black, black Coral...
     
    It took no more than a half-dozen heartbeats before Lady Envy realized – as she watched the Bridgeburners crumble before the Urdomen attack – that she had misunderstood Picker's last comment. Not confidence, not even bravado. Rather, a comment rife with fatalism, no doubt typical of these soldiers, but entirely new to Lady Envy.
    As comprehension struck her, she acted. A small gesture with one hand.
    Sufficient to rupture the flesh of the Urdomen warriors.
    They crumpled en masse.
    But the damage had already been done.
    Two Bridgeburners remained standing, and both bore wounds.
    She watched as they began checking their fallen comrades, finally gathering around one, pulling him clear. Only one among those fallen, then, who still breathed.
    Heavy boots down the hallway, fast approaching.
    Lady Envy scowled, raised her hand again—
    'Wait!' Picker screamed. 'That's Mallet! Spin! Over here, you bastards!'
    Behind the first two who had appeared – Mallet and Spin, she presumed – staggered two more soldiers in the garb of the Bridgeburners. All were terribly wounded – the Barghast in particular, whose armour was nothing more than fragments and whose body was a mass of cuts and gaping holes. Even as she watched, he staggered, sank to his knees, teeth bared in a smeared grin.
    And died.
    'Mallet!'
    The large man in the lead spun round, reeled at the sudden motion – and Lady Envy noted that he had taken a sword thrust that had gone right through him, just below the right shoulder. He stumbled back towards the Barghast.
    'It is too late for him, I am afraid,' Lady Envy called out. 'And you, Healer – Mallet – you are done with your warren and you know it. Gather to me, then, and I shall oblige. As for you, Picker, a more honest answer to my question earlier would have resulted in a far less horrible episode.'
    Wiping blood from her eyes, Picker simply stared.
    'Ah, well,' Lady Envy sighed, 'perhaps it is best that you have no recollection of that sardonic quip. Come forward all of you – oh!'
    She swung about suddenly, as sorcery descended – Kurald Galain – overwhelming in its power.
    'Down those stairs!' she cried. 'We must work clear of this! Quickly!'
    Four dragging one, the surviving Bridgeburners followed Lady Envy.
     
    Splinters of bone struck the wall. Tool staggered back, crashing against the stone, sword falling from his hands, ringing on the flagstones.
    Mok raised both weapons—
    —and flew to one side, through the air, spinning, weapons sailing from his hands – to collide with a wall, then slide in a heap among shattered wood and metal.
    Tool raised his head.
    A huge black panther, lips peeled back in a silent snarl, slowly padded towards the unconscious Seguleh.
    'No, sister.'
    The Soletaken hesitated, then glanced back.
    'No. Leave him.'
    The panther swung round, sembled.
    Yet the rage remained in Kilava's eyes as she strode towards Tool. 'You were defeated! You! The First Sword!'
    Tool slowly lowered himself to collect his notched sword. 'Aye.'
    'He is a mortal man!'
    'Go to the Abyss, Kilava.' He straightened, back scraping as he continued leaning against the wall.
    'Let me kill him. Now. Then once more you shall have no worthy challenger.'
    'Oh, sister,' Tool sighed. 'Do you not realize? Our time – it has passed. We must relinquish our place