A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

fool!
If they —
    Whispering a prayer, Bottle flung all his will at the High
Mage's conjuration – slower, you fool. Slower! Here, deepen
the hue, thicker, fling it out to the sides, it's just a reverse
mudslide, yes, all going back up the slope, flames like rain,
tongues of gold nastiness, yes, like that —
    No, stop fighting me, damn you. I don't care how terrified
you are – panic will ruin everything. Pay attention!
    Suddenly, filling Bottle's head, a scent ... of fur. The soft
brush of not-quite-human hands – and Bottle's flailing
efforts to quell Quick Ben's manic enthusiasm all at once
ceased to matter, as his will was brushed aside like a
cobweb—
     
    Kalam, crouched down on the forecastle's wooden steps,
watched as Quick Ben, legs spread wide, slowly lifted from
the deck, as if some outside force had closed invisible hands
on the front of his tunic, drawing him close, then giving
him a shake.
    'What in Hood's name—'
    The magic rising in answer to that grey seething storm
opposite was like a wall of earth, shot through with burning
roots, churning and heaving and tumbling back into itself,
its wild, explosive will bound tighter to something more
powerful – and when he releases it, into that other one ...
Hood below, nobody's going to survive this —
     
    Hanradi Khalag had stared, frozen in place for a dozen
heartbeats, as the wild chaos of Elder magic rose in
appalling challenge to that of the Edur warlocks – to that of nearly a hundred Edur warlocks – and, Samar Dev realized
as she stared at the lead Malazan dromon, all from that one
man, that black-skinned man floating above the ship's
prow, his limbs spread wide.
    The Preda seemed to stagger, then he straightened, and
screamed orders – the same phrase repeated, again and
again, as he lurched drunkenly towards his warlocks.
    They collapsed, flung to the deck as if knocked down
one after another by a giant's blows, then they lay writhing,
mouths foaming, liquids spilling from them—
    As the looming, roaring grey wall seemed to implode,
tendrils whipping off to vanish in the air or strike the now
churning surface of the sea, sending gouts skyward that shot
into view from clouds of billowing steam. The roaring
sound shattered, fell away.
    The sorcery collapsed, the chains linking wielders on
each ship flickering out, or breaking explosively as if they
were in truth links of iron.
    The deck pitched drunkenly beneath them, and all but
Karsa Orlong staggered.
    Samar Dev dragged her eyes away from him and looked out
once more upon that dark, earthen wall of magic – it too was
subsiding – yes, maybe these Edur fools feel no compunction
about unleashing such things when unopposed ... but the same
stupidity cannot be said of you, Malazan, whoever you are.
    Hanradi Khalag, ignoring the warlocks thrashing about
in their own filth, was calling out commands, and Letherii
sailors – white-faced and chanting prayers – scrambled to
bring the ship about, eastward.
    We're withdrawing. The Malazan called their bluff. He faced
them down – oh, wizard, I could kiss you – I could do more than
that. Gods, I'd —
    'What are the Edur saying?' Karsa Orlong demanded.
    The Taxilian, frowning, shrugged, then said, 'They're
disbelieving—'
    'Disbelieving?' Samar Dev croaked. 'They're shaken,
Taxilian. Badly'
    The man nodded, glancing over at Feather Witch, who
was watching all three of them. 'Toblakai, the Edur are saying
that these Malazans – they have a Ceda on board.'
    Karsa scowled. 'I do not know that word.'
    'I do,' Samar Dev said. She smiled as a sudden shaft of sunlight
    broke through the tumult overhead and bathed her face with unexpected warmth.
    'Tell them, Taxilian, that they are right. They do. A Ceda. The Malazans have
    a Ceda, and for all the Edur expected from this day, in their arrogance, these
    Malazans were not afraid. Tell them that, Taxilian. Tell them!'
     
    Kalam knelt beside Quick Ben, studied the man's face for a
moment, the slack expression, the closed eyes. Then he
slapped the wizard. Hard.
    Quick Ben swore, then glared up at the assassin. 'I should
crush you like a bug, Kalam.'
    'Right now, I think,' he rumbled in reply, 'a bug's fart
might blow you right off this ship, Quick.'
    'Be quiet. Can't I just lie here for a while longer?'
    'The Adjunct's coming. Slowly, I'll grant you. Idiot, you
gave too much away—'
    'Enough, Kalam. I need to think, and think hard.'
    'Since when did you play with Elder magic?'
    Quick Ben met