A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

'This battle is ours – we face it now or we face it later.'
    'You claim this fight in the name of the Malazan Empire?' the captain asked.
    'More than you know,' Traveller replied.
    The captain gestured to one of her marines. 'Gentur, get the others out here, but leave Mudslinger with the wounded. Then have the squads count quarrels – I want to know what we have.'
    The marine named Gentur uncocked his crossbow then slipped back into the cave. A few moments later more soldiers emerged, sixteen in all when counting those who had originally come out.
    Cutter walked up to the captain. 'There is one of power among you,' he murmured, casting a glance at the burned woman – who was leaning over and spitting out murky blood. 'Is she a sorceress?'
    The captain followed his gaze and frowned. 'She is, but she is dying. The power you—'
    The air reverberated to a distant concussion and Cutter wheeled. 'They've attacked again! With magic this time – follow me!' Without a backward look, the Daru set off down the trail. He heard a faint curse behind him, then the captain began shouting orders.
    The path led directly to the courtyard, and from the thundering detonations pounding again and again, Cutter judged the troop would have no difficulty in finding the place of battle – he would not wait for them. Apsalar was there, and Darist, and a handful of untrained Tiste Andii youths – they would have little defence against sorcery.
    But Cutter believed he did.
    He sprinted on through the gloom, his right hand closed about his aching left arm, seeking to hold it in place, though each jostling stride lanced pain into his chest.
    The nearest wall of the courtyard came into view. Colours were playing wildly in the air, thrashing the trees to all sides, deep reds and magenta and blues, a swirling chaos. The waves of concussions were increasing in frequency, pounding within the courtyard.
    There were no Edur outside the archway – an ominous sign.
    Cutter raced for the opening. Movement to his right caught his attention, and he saw another company of Edur, coming up from a coast trail but still sixty paces distant. The Malazans will have to deal with those . . . Queen of Dreams help them. The gate was before him, and he caught first sight of what was happening in the courtyard.
    Four Edur stood in a line in the centre, their backs to him. A dozen or more Edur warriors waited on each flank, scimitars held ready. Waves of magic rolled out from the four, pulsing, growing ever stronger – and each one flowed over the flagstones in a tumbling storm of colours, to hammer into Darist.
    Who stood alone, at his feet a dead or unconscious Apsalar. Behind him, the scattered bodies of Anomander Rake's grandchildren. Somehow, Darist still held his sword
upright – though he was a shredded mass of blood, bones visible through the wreckage of his chest. He stood before the crashing waves, yet would not take a single step back, even as they tore him apart. The sword Grief was white hot, the metal singing a terrible, keening note that grew louder and more piercing with every moment that passed.
    'Blind,' Cutter hissed as he closed, 'I need you now!'
    Shadows blossomed around him, then four heavy paws thumped onto the flagstones, and the Hound's looming presence was suddenly at his side.
    One of the Edur spun round. Unhuman eyes widened on seeing Blind, then the sorcerer snapped out something in a harsh, commanding tone.
    Blind's forward rush halted in a skid of claws.
    And the Hound cowered.
    'Beru fend!' Cutter swore, scrabbling to draw a knife—
    The courtyard was suddenly filled with shadows, a strange crackling sound ripping through the air—
    And a fifth figure was among the four Edur sorcerers now, grey-clad, gloved, face hidden in a rough hood. In its hands, a rope, that seemed to writhe with a life of its own. Cutter saw it snap out to strike a sorcerer in one eye, and when the rope whipped back out, a stream of blood and minced brains followed. The sorcerer's magic winked out and the Edur toppled.
    The rope was too fast to follow, as its wielder moved among the three remaining mages, but in its twisting wake a head tumbled from shoulders, intestines spilled out from a gaping rip, and whatever felled the last sorcerer happened in a blur that left no obvious result, except that the Edur was dead before he hit the ground.
    There were shouts from the Edur warriors, and they converged from both sides.
    It was then that the screams began.