A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

over to Heboric,
nudged him with a boot. 'Wake up.'
    The Destriant of Treach blinked open his eyes, then
sniffed the air and rose in a single, fluid motion.
    Cutter watched all this in growing alarm. Shit. He kicked
sand over the fire. 'Collect your gear, everyone.'
    Greyfrog paused in his circling and watched them. 'So
imminent? Uncertain. Troubled, yes. Need for panic?
Changing of mind? Foolishness? Uncertain.'
    'Why take chances?' Cutter asked. 'There's enough light
– we'll see if we can find a more defensible place to camp.'
    'Appropriate compromise. Nerves easing their taut sensitivity.
Averted? Unknown.'
    'Usually,' Heboric said in a rough voice, pausing to spit.
'Usually, running from one thing throws you into the path
of another.'
    'Well, thanks for that, old man.'
    Heboric gave Cutter an unpleasant smile. 'My pleasure.'
     
    The cliff-face was pocked with caves which had, over
countless centuries, seen use as places of refuge, as crypts for
internment of the dead, as storage chambers, and as
sheltered panels for rock-paintings. Detritus littered the
narrow ledges that had been used as pathways; here and
there a dark sooty stain marred overhangs and crevasses
where fires had been lit, but nothing looked recent to
Mappo's eye, and he recognized the funerary ceramics as
belonging to the First Empire era.
    They were approaching the summit of the escarpment,
Icarium scrambling up towards an obvious notch cut into
the edge by past rains. The lowering sun on their left was
red behind a curtain of suspended dust that had been raised
by the passing of a distant storm. Bloodflies buzzed the air
around the two travellers, frenzied by the storm's brittle,
energized breath.
    Icarium's drive had become obsessive, a barely restrained
ferocity. He wanted judgement, he wanted the truth of his
past revealed to him, and when that judgement came, no
matter how harsh, he would stand before it and raise not a
single hand in his own defence.
    And Mappo could think of nothing to prevent it, short
of somehow incapacitating his friend, of striking him into
unconsciousness. Perhaps it would come to that. But there
were risks to such an attempt. Fail and Icarium's rage would
burgeon into life, and all would be lost.
    He watched as the Jhag reached the notch and
clambered through, then out of sight. Mappo quickly
followed. Reaching the summit, he paused, wiping grit from
his hands. The old drainage channel had carved a channel
through the next tiers of limestone, creating a narrow,
twisting track flanked by steep walls. A short distance
beyond, Mappo could see the edge of another drop-off,
towards which Icarium was heading.
    Thick shadows within the channel, insects swarming in
the few shafts of sunlight spearing through a gnarled tree.
Three strides from reaching Icarium's side, and the gloom
seemed to explode around the Trell. He caught a momentary
glimpse of something closing on Icarium from the pinnacle of
stone to the Jhag's right, then figures swarmed him.
    The Trell lashed out, felt his fist connect with flesh and
bone to his left, the sound solid and crunching. A spatter of
blood and phlegm.
    A brawny arm snaked round from behind to close on his
neck, twisting his head back, the glistening skin of that
limb sliding as if oiled before the arm locked tight. Another
figure plunged into view from the front, long-taloned hands
snapping out, puncturing Mappo's belly. He bellowed in
agony as the claws raked across in an eviscerating slash.
    That failed, for the Trell's hide was thicker than the
leather armour covering it. Even so, blood sprayed.
The creature behind him tightened its stranglehold. He
could feel something of its immense weight and size.
Unable to draw a weapon, Mappo pivoted, then flung himself
backward into a rock wall. The crunch of bone and
skull behind him, a gasp from the beast that rose into a
screech of pain.
    The creature with its claws in Mappo's belly had been
dragged closer by the Trell's backward lunge. He closed his
hands round its squat, bony skull, flexed, then savagely
twisted the head to one side. The neck snapped. Another
scream, this time seeming to come from all sides.
    Roaring, Mappo staggered forward, grasping at the forearm
drawn across his neck. The beast's weight slammed
into him, sent him stumbling.
    He caught a glimpse of Icarium, collapsing beneath a
swarm of dark, writhing creatures.
    Too late he felt his leading foot pitch down over the
crumbled edge of the cliff-side, down into ... open