A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

Sergeant?' With that
he snatched the satchel from Sands's hands and ran towards
the palace gates—
    Where Strings and Cuttle had been forced back – the
heat too fierce, the flames slashing bright arms out at them.
    'Damn him!' Gesler hissed. 'That was a different kind of
fire—'
    Bottle pulled loose from the sergeant's grip. 'We got to
get going! Away!'
    Moments later all were running – except Gesler, who
was heading towards the sappers outside the gate. Bottle
hesitated. He could not help it. He had to see—
    Truth reached Cuttle and Strings, tugged their bags
away, slung them over a shoulder, then shouted something
and ran towards the palace gates.
    Both sappers leapt to their feet, retreating, intercepting
Gesler – who looked determined to follow his young recruit
– Cuttle and Strings dragged the sergeant back. Gesler
struggled, turning a ravaged face in Truth's direction—
    But the soldier had plunged into the flames.
    Bottle ran back, joined with the two sappers to help drag
a shrieking Gesler away.
    Away.
    They had managed thirty paces down the street, heading
towards a huddled mass of soldiers shying from a wall of
flames, when the palace blew up behind them.
    And out, huge sections of stone flung skyward.
    Batted into the air, tumbling in a savage wind, Bottle
rolled in the midst of bouncing rubble, limbs and bodies,
faces, mouths opened wide, everyone screaming – in
silence. No sound – no ... nothing.
    Pain in his head, stabbing fierce in his ears, a pressure
closing on his temples, his skull ready to implode—
    The wind suddenly reversed, pulling sheets of flame after
it, closing in from every street. The pressure loosed. And
the flames drew back, writhing like tentacles.
    Then the air was still.
    Coughing, staggering upright, Bottle turned.
    The palace's heart was gone, split asunder, and naught
but dust and smoke filled the vast swath of rubble.
    'Now!' Strings shrieked, his voice sounding leagues away.
'Go! Everyone! Go!'
    The wind returned, sudden, a scream rising to a wail,
pushing them onward – onto the battered road between
jagged, sagging palace walls.
     
    Dunsparrow had been first to the temple doors, shoving
them wide even as explosions of fire lit up the horizon, all
round the city ... all within the city walls.
    Gasping, heart pounding and something like a knifeblade
twisting in his gut, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas
followed Leoman and the Malazan woman into the Temple
of Scalissara, L'oric two paces behind him.
    No, not Scalissara – the Queen of Dreams. Scalissara the
matron goddess of olive oil would not have ... no, she would
not have allowed this. Not ... this.
    And things had begun to make sense. Terrible, awful
sense, like chiselled stones fitting together, raising a wall
between humanity ... and what Leoman of the Flails had
become.
    The warriors – who had ridden with them, lived with
them since the rebellion first began, who had fought at
their side against the Malazans, who even now fought like
fiends in the streets – they were all going to die. Y'Ghatan,
this whole city, it's going to die.
    Hurrying down the central hallway, into the nave, from
which gusted a cold, dusty wind, wind that seemed to come
from nowhere and everywhere at once. Reeking of mould,
rot and death.
    Leoman spun to L'oric. 'Open a gate, High Mage!
Quickly!'
    'You must not do this,' Corabb said to his commander.
'We must die, this night. Fighting in the name of
Dryjhna—'
    'Hood take Dryjhna!' Leoman rasped.
    L'oric was staring at Leoman, as if seeing him, understanding
him, for the first time. 'A moment,' he said.
    'We've no time for that!'
    'Leoman of the Flails,' the High Mage said, unperturbed,
'you have bargained with the Queen of Dreams. A precipitous
thing to do. That goddess has no interest in what's
right and what's wrong. If she once possessed a heart, she
flung it away long ago. And now you have drawn me into
this – you have used me, so that a goddess may make use of
me in turn. I do not—'
    'The gate, damn you! If you have objections, L'oric, raise
them with her !'
    'They are all to die,' Corabb said, backing away from his
commander, 'so that you can live.'
    'So that we can live, Corabb! There is no other way – do
you think that the Malazans would ever leave us be? No
matter where or how far we fled? I thank Hood's dusty feet
the Claw hasn't struck already, but I do not intend to live
the rest of my life looking over my shoulder! I was a bodyguard,
damn you – it was her