A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

keep.'
    'It wouldn't have mattered, Lord,' Picker said, managing a shrug. 'From what I've heard, Dujek's companies weren't spared any for not being in the keep.'
    Anomander Rake glanced away for a moment, eyes tightening. 'A sad conclusion to the alliance.'
    The remaining Bridgeburners had drawn close, listening in silence. Picker was suddenly aware of them, of the words they had heard in this exchange, and the things left unsaid. 'That alliance,' she said, 'was solid as far as we were concerned.' We. Us. The ones now standing before you.
    Perhaps he understood. 'Then I would walk with my allies, Lieutenant, one more time.'
    'We would be honoured, sir.'
    'To the command position north of the city.'
    'Aye, sir.'
    The Lord of the Tiste Andii sighed. 'There is a fallen soldier to whom I would ... pay my respects . . .'
    Aye, the saddest news we've heard yet this day. 'As will we all, Lord.'
    Rake stayed at her side as she walked, the five surviving soldiers of the Bridgeburners falling in behind them.
     
    She came to his side, her eyes, like his, on the figures gathering on the hilltop around them. 'Do you know what I wish?'
    Gruntle shook his head. 'No, Stonny, what do you wish?'
    'That Harllo was here.'
    'Aye.'
    'I'd settle for just his body, though. He belongs here, with these other fallen. Not under a small pile of stones in the middle of nowhere.'
    Harllo, were you the first death in this war? Did our ragged troop represent the first allies to join the cause?
    'Do you remember the bridge?' Stonny asked. 'All busted down, Harllo fishing from the foundation stones. We saw Moon's Spawn, didn't we? South horizon, drifting east. And now, here we are, in that damn thing's shadow.'
    Caladan Brood and Dujek were approaching Korlat, who had remained standing over the three covered bodies. Two steps behind them, Tayschrenn, the sorcerous patina of youth gone from him.
    There was an unnatural hush in the dark air, through which their voices easily carried.
    Dujek had stepped past Korlat to kneel before the three fallen Malazans. 'Who was here?' he grated, hand reaching up to rub at his own face. 'Who saw what happened?'
    'Myself,' Korlat replied without inflection. 'And Tayschrenn. The moment Silverfox appeared, Kallor struck the two of us down first, ensuring that we would be incapable of reacting. I do not think he anticipated that Whiskeyjack and the two marines would step into his path. They delayed him long enough for Tayschrenn to recover. Kallor was forced to flee to his new master – the Crippled God.'
    'Whiskeyjack crossed swords with Kallor?' Dujek drew the rain-cape away from Whiskeyjack's body, silently studied his friend. 'This shattered leg – was it responsible ...'
    Gruntle saw Korlat – who still stood behind Dujek – hesitate, then she said, 'No, High Fist. It broke after the mortal blow.'
    After a long moment, Dujek shook his head. 'We kept telling him to have it properly healed. "Later," he'd say. Always "later". Are you certain, Korlat? That it broke after?'
    'Yes, High Fist.'
    Dujek frowned, eyes fixed on the dead soldier before him. 'Whiskeyjack was a superb swordsman ... used to spar with Dassem Ultor and it'd take a while for Dassem to get past his guard.' He glanced back over his shoulder, at Korlat, then at Tayschrenn. 'And with the two marines on his flanks. . . how long, High Mage, until you recovered?'
    Tayschrenn grimaced, shot Korlat a glance, then said, 'Only moments, Dujek. Moments ... too late.'
    'High Fist,' Korlat said, 'Kallor's prowess with the blade ... he is a formidable warrior.'
    Gruntle could see the frown on Dujek's face deepening.
    Stonny muttered under her breath, 'This doesn't sound right. That broken leg must've come first.'
    He reached out and gripped her arm, then shook his head. No, Korlat must have a reason for this. This . . . deceit.
    Stonny's eyes narrowed, but she fell silent.
    With a rough sigh, Dujek straightened. 'I have lost a friend,' he said.
    For some reason, the raw simplicity of that statement struck through to Gruntle's heart. He felt an answering stab of pain, of grief, within him.
    Harllo . . . my friend.
    Itkovian . . .
    Gruntle turned away, blinking rapidly.
    Anomander Rake had arrived, the Great Raven Crone flapping desultorily from his path. Beside the Son of Darkness, Picker. Gruntle saw other Bridgeburners behind them: Blend, Mallet, Antsy, Spindle, Bluepearl. Armour in tatters, old blood crusting them, and all the life gone from their eyes.
    On