A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

his knees. Kalam's face thrust
close to his own, and in that face, Bottle saw pure terror.
    'The threads!' the assassin snarled.
    Bottle pushed the man's hands away, scanned the sandy
tableau, then grunted. 'Cut clean, I'd say.'
    Standing nearby, Fiddler said, 'Go get him, Bottle! Find
him – bring him back!'
    The young soldier stared at the two men. 'What? How
am I supposed to do that? He should never have gone in the
first place!' Bottle crawled over to stare at the wizard's
blank visage. 'Gone,' he confirmed. 'Straight into
Shadowthrone's lair – what was he thinking?'
    'Bottle!'
    'Oh,' the soldier added, something else catching his gaze,
'look at that – what's she up to, I wonder?'
    Kalam pushed Bottle aside and fell to his hands and
knees, glaring down at the dolls. Then he shot upright. 'Apsalar! Where is she?'
    Fiddler groaned. 'No, not again.'
    The assassin had both of his long-knives in his hands.
'Hood take her – where is that bitch?'
    Bottle, bemused, simply shrugged as the two men chose
directions at random and headed off. Idiots. This is what they
get, though, isn't it? For telling nobody nothing! About anything! He looked back down at the dolls. Oh my, this is going
to be interesting, isn't it ...?
     
    'The fool's gone and killed himself,' Captain Sweetcreek
said. 'And he took our best healer with him – right through
Hood's damned gate!'
    Hurlochel stood with crossed arms. 'I don't think—'
    'Listen to me,' Sweetcreek snapped, her corporal Futhgar
at her side nodding emphatically as she continued. 'I'm
now in command, and there's not a single damned thing in
this whole damned world that's going to change—'
    She never finished that sentence, as a shriek rang out
from the north side of the camp, then the air split with
thunderous howls – so close, so loud that Hurlochel felt as
if his skull was cracking open. Ducking, he spun round to
see, cartwheeling above tent-roofs, a soldier, his weapon
whipping away – and now the sudden snap of guy-ropes,
the earth trembling underfoot—
    And a monstrous, black, blurred shape appeared, racing
like lightning over the ground – straight for them.
    A wave of charged air struck the three like a battering
ram a moment before the beast reached them. Hurlochel,
all breath driven from his lungs, flew through the air, landing
hard on one shoulder, then rolling – caught a glimpse
of Captain Sweetcreek tossed to one side, limp as a rag doll,
and Futhgar seeming to vanish into the dirt as the midnight
creature simply ran right over the hapless man—
    The Hound's eyes —
    Other beasts, bursting through the camp – horses
screaming, soldiers shrieking in terror, wagons flung aside
before waves of power – and Hurlochel saw one creature – no, impossible —
    The world darkened alarmingly as he lay in a heap,
paralysed, desperate to draw a breath. The spasm clutching
his chest loosed suddenly and sheer joy followed the sweet
dusty air down into his lungs.
    Nearby, the captain was coughing, on her hands and
knees, spitting blood.
    From Futhgar, a single piteous groan.
    Pushing himself upright, Hurlochel turned – saw the
Hounds reach the wall of G'danisban – and stared, eyes
wide, as a huge section of that massive barrier exploded, stone and brick facing shooting skyward above a billowing
cloud of dust – then the concussion rolled over them—
    A horse galloped past, eyes white with terror—
    'Not us!' Sweetcreek gasped, crawling over. 'Thank the
gods – just passing through – just—' She began coughing
again.
    On watery legs, Hurlochel sank down onto his knees. 'It
made no sense,' he whispered, shaking his head, as buildings
in the city beyond rocked and blew apart—
    'What?'
    He looked across at Sweetcreek. You don't understand – I
looked into that black beast's eyes, woman! 'I saw ... I saw—'
    'What?'
    I saw pure terror —
    The earth rumbled anew. A resurgence of screams – and
he turned, even as five huge shapes appeared, tearing wide,
relentless paths through the encamped army – big, bigger
than – oh, gods below —
     
    'He said to wait—' Noto Boil began, then wailed as his
horse flinched so hard he would later swear he heard bones
breaking, then the beast wheeled from the temple entrance
and bolted, peeling the cutter from its back like a wood
shaving.
    He landed awkwardly, felt and heard ribs crack, the pain
vanishing before a more pressing distress, that being the
fish spine lodged halfway down his throat.
    Choking, sky