A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

by spears, legs kicking even as Theradas stepped in with his broad-bladed cutlass. Two more wolves were closing in, alongside them a half-dozen Jheck.
    Another score of the savages were ascending the slope.
    Trull readied his weapon.
    Nearby, Binadas was climbing free of a mound of corpses. He was sheathed in blood, favouring his right side.
    'Behind us, Binadas,' Fear commanded. 'Trull, get on my left. Quickly.'
    'Where is Rhulad?'
    Fear shook his head.
    As Trull moved to his brother's left he scanned the bodies sprawled on the snow. But they were all Jheck. Even so, the belief struck him hard as a blow to his chest. They were going to die here. They were going to fail.
    The savages on the slope charged.
    Antlers flew from their hands, dagger-sharp tines flashing as the deadly weapons spun end over end.
    Trull shouted, warding with his spear as he ducked beneath the whirling onslaught. One flew past his guard, a tine clipping his left knee. He gasped at the pain and felt the sudden spurt of blood beneath his leggings, but his leg held his weight and he remained upright.
    Behind the flung weapons, the Jheck arrived in a rush.
    A dozen heartbeats on the defensive, then the Edur warriors found openings for counter-attacks almost simultaneously. Sword and spear bit flesh, and two of the Jheck were down.
    A shriek from behind Trull and Fear, and the savages recoiled, then in unison darted to their right—
    —as Rhulad leapt into their midst, the long, bell-hilted sword in his hands.
    A wild slash, and a Jheck head pitched away from shoulders to bounce and roll down the slope.
    Another chop, a gush of blood.
    Both Fear and Trull rushed to close with the combatants—
    —even as stabbing spears found their way into Rhulad from all sides. He shrieked, blood-slick blade wavering over his head. Then he sagged. A shove toppled him onto his back, the sword still in his hands.
    The surrounding Jheck darted away, then ran down the slope, weapons dropping or flung aside in sudden panic.
    Trull arrived, skidding on the blood-slick ice, the wound in his leg forgotten as he knelt at Rhulad's side.
    'They're withdrawing,' Fear said between harshly drawn breaths, moving to stand guard before Trull and Rhulad.
    Numbed, Trull tore off a gauntlet and set his hand against Rhulad's neck, seeking a pulse.
    Binadas staggered over, settling down opposite Trull. 'How does he fare, brother?'
    Trull looked up, stared until Binadas glanced up and locked gazes.
    'Rhulad is dead,' Trull said, dropping his eyes and seeing now, for the first time, the massive impaling wounds punched into his brother's torso, the smear of already freezing blood on the furs, smelling bitter urine and pungent faeces.
    Theradas and Midik are coming,' Fear said. 'The Jheck have fled.' He then set off, round towards the back of the rise.
    But that makes no sense. They had us. There were too many of them. None of this makes sense. Rhulad. He's dead. Our brother is dead.
    A short time later, Fear returned, crouched down beside him, and tenderly reached out... to take the sword. Trull watched Fear's hands close about Rhulad's where they still clutched the leather-wrapped grip. Watched, as Fear sought to pry those dead fingers loose.
    And could not.
    Trull studied that fell weapon. The blade was indeed mottled, seemingly forged of polished iron and black shards of some harder, glassier material, the surface of both cracked and uneven. Splashes of blood were freezing black here and there, like a fast-spreading rot.
    Fear sought to wrench the sword free.
    But Rhulad would not release it.
    'Hannan Mosag warned us,' Binadas said, 'did he not? Do not allow your flesh to touch the gift.'
    'But he's dead,' Trull whispered.
    Dusk was swiftly closing round them, the chill in the air deepening.
    Theradas and Midik arrived. Both were wounded, but neither seriously so. They were silent as they stared down on Rhulad.
    Fear leaned back, having reached some sort of decision. He was silent a moment longer, slowly pulling on his gauntlets. Then he straightened. 'Carry him – sword and all – down to the sleds. We will wrap body and blade together. Releasing the gift from our brother's hands is for Hannan Mosag to manage, now.'
    No-one else spoke.
    Fear studied each of them in turn, then said, 'We travel through this night. I want us out of these wastes as soon as possible.' He looked down on Rhulad once more. 'Our brother is blooded. He died a warrior of the Hiroth. His shall be a hero's