A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

grunt, then charged forward. Legs and chest
battering bodies aside, Paran slashing right and left, seeing
limbs lopped off, skulls opened wide. Hands closed on the
shareholder and sought to pull her off. Twisting round,
Paran cut at them until they fell away.
    A beast landed in his lap.
    Hot breath, smelling distinctly of over-ripe peaches.
Hinged fangs spreading wide – the damned thing was
moments from biting off Paran's face.
    He head-butted it, the rim of his helm smashing nose
and teeth, blood gushing into Paran's eyes, nose and
mouth.
    The creature reeled back.
    Paran swung his weapon from above, hammering the
sword's pommel into the top of the creature's skull.
Punching through with twin sprays of blood from its tiny
ears. Tugging his weapon free, he shoved the dead beast to
the side.
    His horse was still pushing forward, squealing as talons
and fangs slashed its neck and chest. Paran leant over his
mount's neck, flailing with his sword in its defence.
    Then they were through, the horse lunging into a canter,
then a gallop. All at once, the carriage's battered, swaying
and pitching back reared up before them. Free of attackers.
Paran dragged on his reins until the horse slowed, and came
up alongside. He gestured at the nearest shareholder. 'She's
still alive – take her—'
    'Is she now?' the man replied, then turned his head and
spat out a gleaming red stream.
    Paran now saw that blood was spurting from the ragged
holes in the man's left leg, and those spurts were slowing
down. 'You need a healer and fast—'
    'Too late,' the man replied, leaning out to drag the
unconscious woman from the back of Paran's horse. More
hands reached down from above and took her weight, then
pulled her upwards. The dying shareholder sagged back
against the carriage, then gave Paran a red-stained smile.
'The spike,' he said. 'Doubles my worth – hope the damned
wife's grateful.' As he spoke he fumbled with the harness
buckle, then finally pulled it loose. With a final nod at
Paran, he let go, and fell.
    A tumble and a roll, then ... nothing.
    Paran looked back, stared at the motionless body on the
bridge. Beasts were swarming towards it. Gods, these people
have all lost their minds.
    'Stebar's earned the spike!' someone said from the
carriage roof. 'Who's got one of his chips?'
    Another voice said, 'Here, down the slot – how bad is
Thyrss?'
    'She'll make it, poor girl, ain't gonna be pretty no more.'
    'Knowing her, she'd have been happier with the spike—'
    'Not a chance, got no kin, Ephras. What's the point of a
spike with no kin?'
    'Funny man, Yorad, and I bet you don't even know it.'
    'What did I say now?'
    The carriage's wild careening had slowed as more and
more detritus appeared on the bridge's road. Pieces of
corroding armour, broken weapons, bundles of nondescript
clothing.
    Looking down, Paran saw a slab of wood that looked to
have once been a Troughs game-board, now splintered and
gnawed down one side as if some creature had tried to eat
it. So, here in this deathly underworld, there are things that still
need food. Meaning, they're alive. Meaning, I suppose, they
don't belong. Intruders, like us. He wondered at all those
other visitors to this realm, those who'd fallen to the horde
of ochre-hued beast-men. How had they come to be here?
An accident, or, like Paran, seeking to cross this damned
bridge for a reason?
    'Hedge!'
    The ghost, perched beside the driver, leaned forward.
'Captain?'
    'This realm – how did you know of it?'
    'Well, you came to us, didn't you? Figured you was the
one who knew about it.'
    'That makes no sense. You led, I followed, remember?'
    'You wanted to go where the ancient things went, so here
we are.'
    'But where is here?'
    Shrugging, the sapper leaned back.
    It was the one bad thing about following gut-feelings,
Paran reflected. Where they came from and what fed them
was anybody's guess.
    After perhaps a third of a league, the slope still perceptibly
climbing, the road's surface cleared, and although
the mists remained thick, they seemed to have lightened
around them, as if some hidden sun of white fire had lifted
clear of the horizon. Assuming there was such a horizon.
Not every warren played by the same rules, Paran knew.
    The driver cursed suddenly and sawed back on the
traces, one foot pushing the brake lever. Paran reined in
alongside as the train lurched to a halt.
    Wreckage ahead, a single, large heap surrounded by
scattered pieces.
    A carriage.
    Everyone was silent for a moment,