A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

on a rock and was stringing together an admirable list of Seti curses. The others had stopped to listen. On the northern edge of the island Gesler's squad was busy building a wall of rubble, which promptly toppled, the boulders tumbling down the far edge. Distant hoots and howls sounded from the tel across the way.
    'It won't be your usual battle, will it?' Bottle asked.
    Strings shrugged. 'There's no such thing, lad. There's nothing usual about killing and dying, about pain and terror.'
    'That's not what I meant—'
    'I know it ain't, Bottle. But wars these days are fraught with sorcery and munitions, so you come to expect surprises.'
    Gesler's two dogs trotted past, the huge cattle dog trailing the Hengese Roach as if the hairy lapdog carried its own leash.
    'This place is . . . complicated,' Bottle sighed. He reached down and picked up a large, disc-shaped rock. 'Eres'al,' he said. 'A hand-axe – the basin down there's littered with them. Smoothed by the lake that once filled it. Took days to make one of these, then they didn't even use them – they just flung them into the lake. Makes no sense, does it? Why make a tool then not use it?'
    Strings stared at the mage. 'What are you talking about, Bottle? Who are the Eres'al?'
    'Were, Sergeant. They're long gone.'
    'The spirits?'
    'No, those are from all times, from every age this land has known. My grandmother spoke of the Eres. The Dwellers who lived in the time before the Imass, the first makers of tools, the first shapers of their world.' He shook his head, fought down a shiver. 'I never expected to meet
one – it was there, she was there, in that song within you.'
    'And she told you about these tools?'
    'Not directly. More like I shared it – well, her mind. She was the one who gifted you the silence. It wasn't me – I don't have that power – but I asked, and she showed mercy. At least' – he glanced at Strings – 'I gather it was a mercy.'
    'Aye, lad, it was. Can you still ... speak with that Eres?'
    'No. All I wanted to do was get out of there – out of that blood—'
    'My blood.'
    'Well, most of it's your blood, Sergeant.'
    'And the rest?'
    'Belongs to that song. The, uh, Bridgeburners' song.'
    Strings closed his eyes, settled his head against the boulder behind him. Kimloc, that damned Tanno Spiritwalker in Ehrlitan. I said no, but he did it anyway. He stole my story — not just mine, but the Bridgeburners' — and he made of it a song. The bastard's gone and given us back to Raraku...
    'Go help the others, Bottle.'
    'Aye, Sergeant.'
    'And ... thanks.'
    'I'll pass that along, when next I meet the Eres witch.'
    Strings stared after the mage. So there'll be a next time, will there? Just how much didn't you tell me, lad? He wondered if the morrow would indeed be witness to his last battle. Hardly a welcome thought, but maybe it was necessary. Maybe he was being called to join the fallen Bridgeburners. Not so bad, then. Couldn't ask for more miserable company. Damn, but I miss them. I miss them all. Even Hedge.
    The sergeant opened his eyes and climbed to his feet, collecting
    then donning his helm. He turned to stare out over the basin to the northeast,
    to the enemy emplacements and the dust and smoke of the city hidden within
    the oasis. You too, Kalam Mekhar. I wonder if you know why you're
    here ...
     
    The shaman was in a frenzy, twitching and hissing as he scuttled like a crab in dusty circles around the flat slab of bone that steadily blackened on the hearth. Corabb, his mouth filled with a half-dozen of the scarab shells strung round his neck to ward off evil, winced as his chattering teeth crunched down on one carapace, filling his mouth with a bitter taste. He plucked the necklace from his mouth and began spitting out pieces of shell.
    Leoman strode up to the shaman and grabbed the scrawny man by his telaba, lifted him clear off the ground, then shook him. A flurry of cloth and hair and flying spittle, then Leoman set the shaman down once more and growled, 'What did you see?'
    'Armies!' the old man shrieked, tugging at his nose as if it had just arrived on his face.
    Leoman scowled. 'Aye, we can see those too, you damned fakir—'
    'No! More armies!' He scrabbled past and ran to the southern crest of the tel, where he began hopping about and pointing at the Malazans entrenching on the island opposite the old drainage channel.
    Leoman made no move to follow. He walked over to where Corabb and three other warriors crouched behind a low