A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

clang, a reverberation jolting up her right arm, and the sword's enervating weight was suddenly gone from her hand.
    Then something punched into her chest, a stunning blossom of cold fire piercing through flesh, bone – and then she felt a tug from behind, as if something had reached up, clasped her hauberk and yanked on it – but it was just the point, she realized. The point of Tavore's sword, as it drove against the underside of the armour shielding her back.
    Felisin looked down to see that rust-hued blade impaling her.
    Her legs gave way and the sword suddenly bowed to her weight.
    But she did not slide off that length of stained iron.
    Her body held on to it, releasing only in shuddering increments as Felisin fell back, onto the ground.
    Through the visor's slit, she stared up at her sister, a figure standing behind a web of black, twisted iron wire that now rested cool over her eyes, tickling her lashes.
    A figure who now stepped closer. To set one boot down hard on her chest – a weight that, now that it had arrived, seemed eternal – and dragged the sword free.
    Blood.
    Of course. This is how you break an unbreakable chain.
    By dying.
    I just wanted to know, Tavore, why you did it. And why you did not love me, when I loved you. I — I think that's what I wanted to know.
    The boot lifted from her chest. But she could still feel its weight.
    Heavy. So very heavy . . .
    Oh, Mother, look at us now.
     
    Karsa Orlong's hand snapped out, caught Leoman before the man fell, then dragged him close. 'Hear me, friend. She is dead. Take your tribes and get out of here.'
    Leoman lifted a hand and passed it across his eyes. Then he straightened. 'Dead, yes. I'm sorry, Toblakai. It wasn't that. She' – his face twisted – 'she did not know how to fight!'
    'True, she did not. And now she's dead, and the Whirlwind Goddess with her. It is done, friend. We have lost.'
    'More than you know,' Leoman groaned, pulling away.
    In the basin below, the Adjunct was staring down at Sha'ik's corpse. From both armies lining the ridges, silence. Karsa frowned. 'The Malazans do not cheer.'
    'No,' Leoman snarled, turning to where Corabb waited with the horses. 'They probably hate the bitch. We ride to Y'Ghatan, Toblakai—'
    'Not me,' Karsa growled.
    His friend paused and then nodded without turning around, and vaulted onto his horse. He took the reins from Corabb then glanced over at Toblakai. 'Fare well, my friend.'
    'And you, Leoman of the Flails.'
    'If L'oric returns from wherever he went, tell him ...' His voice trailed away, then he shrugged. 'Take care of him if he needs help.'
    'I shall, but I do not think we will see him again.'
    Leoman nodded. Then he said to Corabb, 'Tell the warchiefs to scatter with their tribes. Out of Raraku as fast as they can manage it—'
    'Out of the Holy Desert, Leoman?' Corabb asked.
    'Can't you hear it? Never mind. Yes. Out. Rejoin me on the western road – the ancient one that runs straight.'
    Corabb saluted, then pulled his horse round and rode off.
    'You too, Toblakai. Out of Raraku—'
    'I will,' Karsa replied, 'when I am done here, Leoman. Now, go – officers are riding to the Adjunct. They will follow with an attack—'
    'Then they're fools,' Leoman spat.
    Karsa watched his friend ride off. Then strode to his own mount. He was tired. His wounds hurt. But some issues remained unsettled, and he needed to take care of that.
    The Teblor swung himself onto Havok's back.
     
    Lostara walked down the slope, the cracked ground crunching underfoot. At her side marched Pearl, breathing hard beneath the weight of Korbolo Dom's bound, limp form.
    Tavore still stood alone on the flats, a few paces from Sha'ik's body. The Adjunct's attention had been fixed on the Dogslayer trenches, and on the lone, ragged standard rising from the highest ground at the central ramp's summit.
    A standard that had no right being here. No right existing at all.
    Coltaine's standard, the wings of the Crow Clan.
    Lostara wondered who had raised it, where it had come from, then decided she didn't want to know. One truth could not be ignored, however. They're all dead. The Dogslayers. All. And the Adjunct did not need to even raise a hand to achieve that.
    She sensed her own cowardice and scowled. Skittering away, again and again, from thoughts too bitter with irony to contemplate. Their journey to the basin had been nightmarish, as Kurald Emurlahn swarmed the entire oasis, as shadows warred with ghosts, and the incessant