A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

that
witnessed such a thing. For with that was torn away all
hope, all faith.
    Koryk could save none of them. He could not give them
the chant, for they would not know what it meant, and
they had never spent a night in a coffin. And he knew, had
it gone on much longer, people would start dying, or the
madness would devour their minds, completely,
permanently, and that would kill everyone else. Everyone.
    The worms had retreated, and now all he could hear was
weeping – not the broken kind, but the relieved kind – weeping
and gibbering. And he knew they could taste it, could
taste what those worms had left behind, and they prayed: not
again. No closer, please. Never again. 'Corporal Shard?'
    'W-what, damn you?'
    'Limp. How is he? I keep kicking at him, hitting what I
think is an arm, but he's not moving. Can you climb ahead,
can you check?'
    'He's knocked out.'
    'How did that happen?'
    'I crawled onto him and pounded his head against the
floor until he stopped screaming.'
    'You sure he's alive?'
    'Limp? His skull's solid rock, Koryk.'
    He heard movement back there, asked, 'What now?'
    'I'll prove it to you. Give this broke leg a twist—'
    Limp shrieked.
    'Glad you're back, soldier,' Shard said.
    'Get away from me, you bastard!'
    'Wasn't me who panicked. Next time you think about
panicking, Limp, just remind yourself I'm here, right
behind you.'
    'I'm going to kill you someday, Corporal—'
    'As you like. Just don't do it again.'
    Koryk thought back to the babbling noises he'd heard
from Shard, but said nothing.
    More scuffling sounds, then a bundle of rope and leather
straps – most of them charred – was pushed into Koryk's
hands. He dragged it close, then shoved it out ahead to the
small boy huddled behind Tavos Pond. 'Push it on, lad,' he
said.
    'You,' the boy said. 'I heard you. I listened.'
    'And you was all right, wasn't you?'
    'Yes.'
    'I'll teach it to you. For the next time.'
    'Yes.'
     
    Someone had shouted back instructions, cutting through
the frenzy of terror, and people had responded, stripping
away whatever could be used as a rope. Chilled beneath a
gritty layer of sweat, Tarr settled his forehead onto the
stones under him, smelling dust mingled with the remnants
of his own fear. When the bundle reached him he drew it
forward, then struggled out of what was left of his own
harness and added it to the pathetic collection.
    Now, at least, they had a reason to wait, they weren't
stopped because Bottle had run out of places to crawl.
Something to hold onto. He prayed it would be enough.
    Behind him, Balgrid whispered, 'I wish we was marching
across the desert again. That road, all that space on both
sides ...'
    'I hear you,' Tarr said. 'And I also remember how you
used to curse it. The dryness, the sun—'
    'Sun, hah! I'm so crisp I'll never fear the sun again. Gods,
I'll kneel in prayer before it, I swear it. If freedom was a god,
Tarr...
    If freedom was a god. Now that's an interesting thought ...
     
    'Thank Hood all that screaming's stopped,' Balm said,
plucking at whatever was tingling against all his skin,
tingling, prickling like some kind of heat rash. Heat rash,
that was funny—
    'Sergeant,' Deadsmell said, 'it was you doing all that
screaming.'
    'Quiet, you damned liar. Wasn't me, was the kid ahead of
me.'
    'Really? I didn't know he spoke Dal Honese—'
    'I will skewer you, Corporal. Just one more word, I swear
it. Gods, I'm itchy all over, like I been rolling in Fool's
pollen—'
    'You get that after you been panicking, Sergeant. Fear
sweat, it's called. You didn't piss yourself too, did you? I'm
smelling—'
    'I got my knife out, Deadsmell. You know that? All I got
to do is twist round and you won't be bothering me no
more.'
    'You tossed your knife, Sergeant. In the temple—'
    'Fine! I'll kick you to death!'
    'Well, if you do, can you do it before I have to crawl
through your puddle?'
     
    'The heat is winning the war,' Corabb said.
    'Aye,' answered Strings behind him, his voice faint,
brittle. 'Here.'
    Something was pushed against Corabb's feet. He reached
back, and his hand closed on a coil of rope. 'You were
carrying this?'
    'Was wrapped around me. I saw Smiles drop it, outside
the temple – it was smouldering, so that's not a surprise ...'
    As he drew it over him, Corabb felt something wet,
sticky on the rope. Blood. 'You're bleeding out, aren't you?'
    'Just a trickle. I'm fine.'
    Corabb crawled forward – there was some space between
them and the next soldier, the one named