A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

the Malazans on equal terms. And
    in such a contest, we can naught but win!
     
    In the dark, beyond the rough ground of the pickets, Bottle
crouched a few paces away from the handful of sappers he
had been assigned to protect. Cuttle, Maybe, Crump, Ramp
and Widdershins. Nearby was a second group being covered by
Balgrid: Taffo, Able, Gupp, Jump and Bowl. People he knew
from the march, now revealed as sappers or would-be sappers. Insane. Never knew there were so many in our company. Strings
was in neither group; he would be leading the rest of the
squads into the breach before the smoke and dust settled.
    Y'Ghatan's walls were a mess, tiered with older efforts,
the last series Malazan-built in the classic sloping style,
twenty paces thick at its base. As far as anyone knew, this
would be the first time the sappers would challenge the
engineering of imperial fortifications – he could see
the gleam in their eyes.
    Someone approached from his right and Bottle squinted
through the gloom as the man arrived to crouch down
beside him. 'Ebron, isn't it?'
    'Aye, Ashok Regiment.'
    Bottle smiled. 'They don't exist no more, Ebron.'
    He tapped his chest, then said, 'You got a squad-mate of
mine in your group.'
    'The one named Crump.'
    'Aye. Just thought you should know – he's dangerous.'
    'Aren't they all?'
    'No, this one especially. He was tossed out of the Mott
Irregulars back on Genabackis.'
    'Sorry, that don't mean nothing to me, Ebron.'
    'Too bad. Anyway, consider yourself warned. Might
think about mentioning it to Cuttle.'
    'All right, I will.'
    'Oponn's pull on you this night, lad.'
    'And on you, Ebron.'
    The man vanished into the darkness once more.
    More waiting. No lights visible along the city's wall, nor
the flanking corner bastions. No movement among the
battlements.
    A low whistle. Bottle met Cuttle's eyes, and the sapper
nodded.
    Meanas, the warren of shadows, illusion and deception.
He fashioned a mental image of the warren, a swirling wall
before him, then began focusing his will, watched as a
wound formed, lurid red at first, then a hole burning
through. Power poured into him. Enough! No more. Gods,
why is it so strong? Faint sound, something like movement,
a presence, there, on the other side of the warren's wall ...
    Then ... nothing.
    Of course there was no wall. That had been simply a construct,
a fashioning in Bottle's mind to manifest an idea into
something physical. Something that he could then breach.
    Simple, really. Just incredibly dangerous. We damned mages
must be mad, to play with this, to persist in the conceit that it
can be managed, shaped, twisted by will alone.
    Power is blood.
    Blood is power.
    And this blood, it belongs to an Elder God ...
    A hiss from Cuttle. He blinked, then nodded as he began
shaping the sorcery of Meanas. Mists, shot through with
inky gloom, spreading out across the rough ground, snaking
among the rubble, and the sappers set out, plunged into it,
and moved on, unseen.
    Bottle followed a few paces behind. The soldiers hiding
in that magic could see. Nothing of the illusion confounded
their senses. Illusions were usually one- or at best
two-sided; seen from the other sides, well, there was nothing
to see. True masters, of course, could cheat light in all
directions, could fashion something that looked physically
real, that moved as it should, casting its own shadow, even
scuffing up illusional dust. Bottle's level of skill was
nowhere near that. Balgrid had managed it – barely, it
was true, but still ... impressive.
    But I hate this kind of sorcery. Sure, it's fascinating. Fun to
play with, on occasion, but not like tonight, not when it's
suddenly life and death.
    They threw wagon-planks across the narrow moat
Leoman's soldiers had dug, then drew closer to the wall.
     
    Lostara Yil came to Tene Baralta's side. They were
positioned at the picket line, behind them the massed
ranks of soldiery. Her former commander's face revealed
surprise as he looked upon her.
    'I did not think to see you again, Captain.'
    She shrugged. 'I was getting fat and lazy, Commander.'
    'That Claw you were with is not a popular man. The
decision was made that he was better off staying in his tent
– indefinitely.'
    'I have no objection to that.'
    Through the gloom they could see swirling clouds of
deeper darkness, rolling ominously towards the city's wall.
    'Are you prepared, Captain,' Baralta asked, 'to bloody
your sword this night?'
    'More than you could imagine, Commander.'
     
    Waves of