A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

uncertain. He was drawing in great lungfuls of night air now, a burning sensation settling into his thighs and calves.
    Two thousand paces left, in so far as he could judge. The roar was fierce, and sheets of sand whipped around him from behind. He could feel the rage of the goddess in the air.
    Fifteen hundred remaining—
    A sudden hush – as if he'd entered a cave – then he was cartwheeling through the air, the contents of his pack loose and spinning away from the shredded remains on his back.
Filling his ears, the echoes of a sound – a bone-jarring impact – that he had not even heard. Then he struck the ground and rolled, knives flying from his hands. His back and shoulders were sodden, covered in warm blood, his chain armour shredded by the enkar'al's talons.
    A mocking blow, for all the damage inflicted. The creature could more easily have ripped his head off.
    And now a familiar voice entered his skull, 'Aye, I could have killed you outright, but this pleases me more. Run, mortal, to that saving wall of sand.'
    'I freed you,' Kalam growled, spitting out blood and grit. 'And this is your gratitude?'
    ' You delivered pain. Unacceptable. I am not one to feel pain. I only deliver it.'
    'Well,' the assassin grated as he slowly rose to his hands and knees, 'it comforts me to know in these, my last moments, that you'll not live long in this new world with that attitude. I'll wait for you other side of Hood's gate, Demon.'
    Enormous talons snapped around him, their tips punching through chain – one in his lower back, three others in his abdomen – and he was lifted from the ground.
    Then flung through the air once more. This time he descended from a distance of at least three times his own height, and when he struck blackness exploded in his mind.
    Consciousness returned, and he found himself lying sprawled on the cracked pan, the ground directly beneath him muddy with his own blood. The stars were swimming wildly overhead, and he was unable to move. A deep thrumming reverberation rang in the back of his skull, coming up from his spine.
    'Ah, awake once more. Good. Shall we resume this game?'
    'As you like, Demon. Alas, I'm no longer much of a plaything. You broke my back.'
    'Your error was in landing head first, mortal.'
    'My apologies.' But the numbness was fading – he could
feel a tingling sensation, spreading out through his limbs. 'Come down and finish it, Demon.'
    He felt the ground shake as the enkar'al settled on the ground somewhere to his left. Heavy thumping steps as the creature approached. 'Tell me your name, mortal. It is the least I can do, to know the name of my first kill after so many thousands of years. '
    'Kalam Mekhar.'
    'And what kind of creature are you? You resemble Imass ...'
    'Ah, so you were imprisoned long before the Nameless Ones, then.'
    'I know nothing of Nameless Ones, Kalam Me/char.'
    He could sense the enkar'al at his side now, a massive, looming presence, though the assassin kept his eyes shut. Then he felt its carnivore's breath gust down on him, and knew the reptile's jaws were opening wide.
    Kalam rolled over and drove his right fist down into the creature's throat.
    Then released the handful of blood-soaked sand, gravel and rocks it had held.
    And drove the dagger in his other hand deep between its breast bones.
    The huge head jerked back, and the assassin rolled in the opposite direction, then regained his feet. The motion took all feeling from his legs and he toppled to the ground once more – but in the interval he had seen one of his long-knives, lying point embedded in the ground about fifteen paces distant.
    The enkar'al was thrashing about now, choking, talons ripping into the bleached earth in its frenzied panic.
    Sensation ebbed back into his legs, and Kalam began dragging himself across the parched ground. Towards the long-knife. The serpent blade, I think. How appropriate.
    Everything shuddered and the assassin twisted around to see that the creature had leapt, landing splay-legged directly behind him – where he had been a moment ago. Blood was weeping from its cold eyes, which flashed in
recognition – before panic overwhelmed them once more. Blood and gritty froth shot out from between its serrated jaws.
    He resumed dragging himself forward, and was finally able to draw his legs up and manage a crawl.
    Then the knife was in his right hand. Kalam slowly turned about, his head swimming, and began crawling back. 'I have something for you,' he gasped.