A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

world.
    And what does he do? He runs into a burning palace. With a
half-dozen cussers on his back. Gods, he was right on one thing,
though, the fire couldn't take him – he went way in, and that's
what's saved us ... so far. Blew that storm back. Saved us . ..
    Soldiers all round him were blistered, burned. They
coughed with every breath drawn into scorched lungs. But
not me. He could sense that godling, within that firestorm.
Could sense it, a child raging with the knowledge that it
was going to die all too soon. Good, you don't deserve nothing
more. Fire couldn't hurt him, but that didn't mean he had
to kneel before it in prayer, did it? He didn't ask for any of
this. Him and Stormy and Truth – only, Truth was dead,
now. He'd never expected ...
    'and I says oh I says that ole bridge
got feeta stone, and mortar white as bone
and the badgers dangle from the ledge
swingin' alla day alla way home
    oh we was pullin' vines from you know where
and stuffin' our ears with sweety sweet loam
jus t'get them badgers flyin' outa there
inta them cook pots in the hearthy home —
    and don't they taste sweet!
and don't they taste sweet!
sweet as peat, oh yes
sweet as peat —'
    When he got out of here, he was going to wring Crump's
scrawny neck. High Marshal? Gods below—
    'and I says oh I says that warlock's tower —'
     
    Corporal Tarr pulled on Balgrid's arms, ignoring the man's
squeals. How the mage had managed to stay fat through
that endless march was baffling. And now, all too likely to
prove deadly. Mind you, fat could be squeezed, when
muscled bulk couldn't. That was something, at least.
    Balgrid shrieked as Tarr dragged him through the
crevasse. 'You're tearing my arms off!'
    'You plug up here, Balgrid,' Tarr said, 'and Urb behind
you's gonna take out his knife—'
    A muted voice from the huge man behind Balgrid:
'Damn right. I'll joint you like a pig, mage. I swear it.'
    The darkness was the worst of all – never mind the
spiders, the scorpions and centipedes, it was the darkness
that clawed and chewed on Tarr's sanity. At least Bottle
had a rat's eyes to look through. Rats could see in the dark,
couldn't they? Then again, maybe they couldn't. Maybe
they just used their noses, their whiskers, their ears.
Maybe they were too stupid to go insane.
    Or they're already insane. We're being led by an insane rat —
    'I'm stuck again, oh gods! I can't move!'
    'Stop yelling,' Tarr said, halting and twisting round yet
again. Reaching out for the man's arms. 'Hear that, Balgrid?'
    'What? What?'
    'Not sure. Thought I heard Urb's knives coming outa
their sheaths.'
    The mage heaved himself forward, kicking, clawing.
     
    'You stop moving again,' Balm snarled to the child in front
of him, 'and the lizards will get you. Eat you alive. Eat us all
alive. Those are crypt lizards, you damned whelp. You know
what crypt lizards do? I'll tell you what they do. They eat
human flesh. That's why they're called crypt lizards, only
they don't mind if it's living flesh—'
    'For Hood's sake!' Deadsmell growled behind him.
'Sergeant – that ain't the way—'
    'Shut your mouth! He's still moving, ain't he? Oh yes,
ain't he just. Crypt lizards, runt! Oh yes!'
    'Hope you ain't nobody's uncle, Sergeant.'
    'You're getting as bad as Widdershins, Corporal, with
that babbling mouth of yours. I want a new squad—'
    'Nobody'll have you, not after this—'
    'You don't know nothing, Deadsmell.'
    'I know if I was that child ahead of you, I'd shit right in
your face.'
    'Quiet! You give him ideas, damn you! Do it, boy, and I'll
tie you up, oh yes, and leave you for the crypt lizards—'
    'Listen to me, little one!' Deadsmell called out, his voice
echoing. 'Them crypt lizards, they're about as long as your
thumb! Balm's just being a—'
    'I'm going to skewer you, Deadsmell. I swear it!'
     
    Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas dragged himself forward. The
Malazan in his wake was gasping – the only indication that
the man still followed. They had managed to drop one
of the copper panels over the pit, burning their hands – bad
burns, the pain wouldn't go away – Corabb's palms felt like
soft wax, pushed out of shape by the stones they gripped,
the ledges they grasped.
    He had never felt such excruciating pain before. He was
sheathed in sweat, his limbs trembling, his heart hammering
like a trapped beast in his chest.
    Pulling himself through a narrow space, he sank down
onto what seemed to be the surface of a street, although his
head scraped stone rubble above. He