A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

muttered.
    'Another word from you, soldier,' Borduke growled, moving back into the circle, 'and I'll make you the only one smiling later tonight.'
    'Besides,' Balgrid said, 'it ain't the worst kind. Maternal haunting – now that's a killer. How long can a man stand being seven years old?'
    'Will you two be quiet!' Borduke snarled, his large-knuckled fingers clutching as if squeezing invisible throats.
    'We ready?' Fiddler quietly asked.
    'She'll hide, won't she?' Gesler demanded. 'Wait till the other two have chopped and stabbed each other up before pouncing on the mangled survivor! That's it, isn't it? Her jelly brains are purer than theirs, purer and smarter, aren't they?'
    Fiddler shrugged. 'Wouldn't know about that, Gesler. Are you done?'
    The bronzed-hued marine settled back, the muscles of his jaw bunching.
    'How's the word-line, Cuttle?'
    'Been repeating every word since we first settled, Fid,' the sapper replied.
    'And so legends were born,' Koryk rumbled with facetious portent.
    'Into the arena, then,' Fiddler instructed.
    The boxes were gingerly lifted and held over the arena.
    'Equidistant? Good. Tip 'em, lads.'
    Mangonel was the first to land, tail arched and pincers out as it scuttled close to the knife-edge barrier, upon which, a hair's breadth from the iron blades, it halted and then backed away, its carapace flushing red with its characteristic mindless rage. Clawmaster was next, seeming to leap down ready for war, fluids racing beneath its amber-tinted shell.
    Joyful Union came last, slow and measured, so low on the sand as to seem belly-down. Pincers tucked away, tail curled to port and quiescent. Dwarfed by the other two scorpions, its black shell somewhere between glossy and flat. Its multiple legs scuttled it forward slightly, then it froze.
    Gesler hissed. 'If she plucks a couple knives from the ring and uses 'em, I'm going to kill you, Fid.'
    'No need,' Fiddler replied, his attention divided between what was going on in the arena and Ibb's running commentary, the man's voice harsh with tension as he waxed creative in describing what had, up to now, been essentially nothing worth comment.
    That suddenly changed as three things occurred almost simultaneously. Joyful Union sauntered into the middle of the arena. Mangonel's assortment of natural weapons all cocked in unison, even as the creature began backing up, its shell turning fiery red. Clawmaster suddenly wheeled and darted straight at the nearest wall of blades, halting a moment before impact, pincers waving wildly.
    'He wants mommy, looks like, Hubb,' Koryk drily observed.
    Clawmaster's Holder softly whimpered in answer.
    Then, after a frozen moment from all three scorpions, Joyful Union finally lifted its tail.
    Upon which, all but Fiddler stared in utter disbelief, as Joyful Union seemed to ... split. Horizontally. Into two identical, but thinner, flatter scorpions. That then raced outward, one to Mangonel, the other to Clawmaster – each like a village mongrel charging a bull bhederin, so extreme their comparative sizes.
    Red-backed Bastard and In Out both did their best, but were no match in speed, nor ferocity, as tiny pincers snipped – audibly – through legs, through tail, through arm-joints, then, with the larger creature immobile and helpless, a casual, almost delicate stab of stinger.
    With In Out's translucent shell, the horrid bright green of that poison was visible – and thus described in ghastly detail by Ibb – as it spread out from the puncture until Clawmaster's once beautiful amber was gone, replaced by a sickly green that deepened before their eyes to a murky black.
    'Dead as dung,' Hubb moaned. 'Clawmaster ...'
    Mangonel suffered an identical fate.
    With its enemies vanquished, the two Birdshit scorpions
rushed back into each other's arms – and, in the blink of an eye, were as one once more.
    'Cheat!' Stormy bellowed, rearing to his feet and fumbling to draw his flint sword.
    Gesler leapt up and, along with Truth, struggled to restrain their raging comrade. 'We looked, Stormy!' Gesler yelled. 'We looked for anything – then we swore! I swore! By Fener and Treach, damn you! How could any of us have known "Joyful Union" wasn't just a cute name?'
    Glancing up, Fiddler met Cuttle's steady gaze. The sapper mouthed the words We're rich, you bastard.
    The sergeant, with a final glance at Gesler and Truth – who were dragging a foaming Stormy away – then moved to crouch down beside Ibb. 'All right, lad, what