A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

isn't any, Karsa.'
    'None that remains,' he said.
    Her frown deepened into a scowl. 'Are they swathed in
branches and leaves, then?'
    'There are other ways of hiding, woman.'
    'Such as?'
    Karsa shrugged off his fur cloak. 'Sorcery,' he said. 'Wait
here.'
    Like Hood I will. She set off after Karsa as the Toblakai,
sword held before him in both hands, moved forward in a
gliding half-run. Four strides later and she had to sprint in
an effort to keep up.
    The jog, silent, grew swifter. Became lightning fast.
    Gasping, she scrambled after the huge warrior, but he
was already lost to sight.
    At the sound of a sudden shriek to her left, Samar
skidded to a halt – Karsa had left the trail somewhere
behind her, had plunged into the forest, over jumbled,
moss-slick boulders, fallen trees, thick skeins of dead
branches – leaving in his wake no sign. More screams.
    Heart hammering in her chest, Samar Dev pushed into
the stand, clawing aside undergrowth, webs pulling against
her before snapping, dust and bark flakes cascading down—
    —while the slaughter somewhere ahead continued.
    Weapons clashed, iron against stone. The crunch of
splintered wood – blurred motion between trees ahead of
her, figures running – a body, cartwheeling in a mist of
crimson – she reached the edge of the encampment—
    And saw Karsa Orlong – and a half hundred, maybe
more, tall grey-skinned warriors, wielding spears, cutlasses,
long-knives and axes, now closing in on the Toblakai.
    Karsa's path into their midst was marked by a grisly
corridor of corpses and fallen, mortally wounded foes.
    But there were too many—
    The huge flint sword burst into view at the end of a
sweeping upswing, amid fragments of bone and thick,
whipping threads of gore. Two figures reeled back, a third
struck so hard that his moccasined feet flashed up and over
at Karsa's eye-level, and, falling back, dragged down the
spear-shafts of two more warriors – and into that opening
the Toblakai surged, evading a half-dozen thrusts and
swings, most of them appearing in his wake, for the giant's
speed was extraordinary – no, more, it was appalling.
    The two foes, weapons snagged, sought to launch themselves
back, beyond the reach of Karsa – but his sword,
lashing out, caught the neck of the one on the left – the
head leapt free of the body – then the blade angled down
to chop clean through the other warrior's right shoulder,
severing the arm.
    Karsa's left hand released its grip on his sword, intercepting
the shaft of a thrusting spear, then pulling both weapon
and wielder close, the hand releasing the haft to snap up
and round the man's neck. Fluids burst from the victim's
eyes, nose and mouth as the Toblakai crushed that neck as
if it were little more than a tube of parchment. A hard push
flung the twitching body into the pressing mass, fouling yet
more weapons—
    Samar Dev could barely track what her eyes saw, for even
as Karsa's left hand had moved away from the sword's grip,
the blade itself was slashing to the right, batting aside
enemy weapons, then wheeling up and over, and, while the
warrior's throat was collapsing in that savage clutch,
the sword crashed down through an up-flung cutlass and
into flesh and bone, shattering clavicle, then a host of
ribs—
    Tearing the sword loose burst the ribcage, and Samar stared
to see the victim's heart, still beating, pitch free of its broken
nest, dangling for a moment from torn arteries and veins,
before the warrior fell from sight.
    Someone was screaming – away from the battle – off to
the far left, where there was a shoreline of rocks, and,
beyond, open water – a row of low-slung, broad-beamed
wooden canoes – and she saw there a woman, slight,
golden-haired – a human – casting spells.
    Yet whatever sorcery she worked seemed to achieve
nothing. Impossibly, Karsa Orlong had somehow carved his
way through to the other side of the press, where he spun
round, his back to a huge pine, the flint sword almost contemptuous
in its batting aside attacks – as the Toblakai
paused for a rest.
    Samar could not believe what she was seeing.
    More shouts now, a single warrior, standing well beyond
the jostling mob, bellowing at his companions – who began
to draw back, disengaging from Karsa Orlong.
    Seeing the Toblakai draw a deep, chest-swelling breath,
then raise his sword, Samar Dev yelled, 'Karsa! Wait! Do
not attack, damn you!'
    The cold glare that met her gaze made Samar flinch.
    The giant gestured with the