A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

deep into exposed
flesh – bones snapping, screams—
    —the light dimmed, wavered, then contracted to a knot
of flames, filling an enormous gap in Y'Ghatan's wall,
almost dead-centre, and as Lostara – propped on one elbow,
braving the hail of stones – watched, she saw the flanks of
that huge gap slowly crumble, and, beyond, two three-storey
tenements folding inward, flames shooting up like
fleeing souls—
    Among the slowing rain, now, body-parts.
     
    Atop the palace tower, Corabb and the others had been
thrown down – the guard who had accompanied them cartwheeling
over the platform's low wall and vanishing with a
dwindling scream, barely heard as the tower swayed, as the
roar settled around them like the fury of a thousand
demons, as huge stones slammed into the tower's side,
others ricocheting off to crash among the buildings below,
and, now, a terrible cracking, popping sound that sent
Corabb clawing across the pavestones towards the hatch.
    'It's going down!' he screamed.
    Two figures reached the hatch before him – Leoman and
Dunsparrow.
    Cracking, sagging, the platform starting its inexorable
pitch. Clouds of choking dust. Corabb reached the hatch
and pulled himself into it headfirst, joining Leoman and
the Malazan woman as they slithered like snakes down the
winding steps. Corabb's left heel connected with a jaw and
he heard L'oric's grunt of pain, then cursing in unknown
languages.
    That explosion – the breach of the wall – gods below, he
had never seen anything like it. How could one challenge
these Malazans? With their damned Moranth munitions,
their gleeful disregard of the rules of honourable war.
    Tumbling, rolling, sprawling out onto a scree of rubble
on the main floor of the palace – chambers to their left had
vanished beneath the section of tower that had broken off.
Corabb saw a leg jutting from the collapsed ceiling,
strangely unmarred, free even of blood or dust.
    Coughing, Corabb clambered upright, eyes stinging,
countless bruises upon his body, and stared at Leoman, who
was already on his feet and brushing mortar dust from his
clothes. Near him, L'oric and Dunsparrow were also pulling
themselves free of bricks and shards of wood.
    Glancing over, Leoman of the Flails said, 'Maybe the tower
wasn't such a good idea after all. Come on, we need to saddle
our horses – if they still live – and ride to the Temple!'
    The Temple of Scadissara? But — what — why?
     
    The rattle of gravel, the thump of larger chunks, and gusts
of smoky, dusty heat. Bottle opened his eyes. Sebar husks,
hairy and leathery, crowded his vision, his nose filling with
the pungent overripe scent of sebar pulp. The fruit's juice
was considered a delicacy – the reek was nauseating – he
knew he'd never be able to drink the stuff again. A groan
from the rubbish somewhere to his left. 'Cuttle? That you?'
    'The numb feeling's gone. Amazing what a shot of terror
can do to a body.'
    'You sure the leg's still there?'
    'Reasonably.'
    'You counted down to eight!'
    'What?'
    'You said eight! Then – boom!'
    'Had to keep your hopes up, didn't I? Where in Hood's
pit are we, anyway?'
    Bottle began clawing his way free, amazed that he
seemed uninjured – not even a scratch. 'Among the living,
sapper.' His first view of the scene on the killing ground
made no sense. Too much light – it had been dark, hadn't
it? Then he saw soldiers amidst the rubble, some writhing
in pain, others picking themselves up, covered in dust,
coughing in the foul air.
    The breach on Y'Ghatan's south wall ran a full third of
its length, fifty paces in from the southwest bastion to well
beyond the centre gate fortifications. Buildings had
collapsed, whilst those that remained upright, flanking the
raging flames of the gap, were themselves burning,
although it seemed that most of that had come from the
innumerable burners among the sapper-kits left behind.
The fires danced on cracked stone as if seeking somewhere
to go before the fuel vanished.
    The light cast by the aftermath of the detonation was
dimming, shrouded by descending dust. Cuttle appeared at
his side, plucking scraps of rotted fruit from his armour. 'We
can head into that gap soon – gods, when I track down
Crump—'
    'Get in line, Cuttle. Hey, I see Strings ... and the squad
    ...'
     
    Horns sounded, soldiers scrambling to form up. Darkness
was closing in once more, as the last of the fires dwindled
in the breach. The rain of dust seemed unending as Fist
Keneb moved to the