A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

lunged, prow plunging, into the
maelstrom of the massive gate. Beyond was a sky transformed,
steel, silver and grey, the tumult of atmospheric
convulsions seeming to tumble down, as if but moments
from crushing the score of ships already through. The scale
to Bottle's eyes was all wrong. Moments earlier their
warship had been but a cable behind the Froth Wolf, and
now the Adjunct's flagship was a third of a league distant,
dwarfed by the looming clouds and heaving swells.
    Huddled beside Bottle, hands gripping the rail, Fiddler
spat out the last of his breakfast, too sick to curse, too
miserable to even so much as look up—
    Which was likely a good thing, Bottle decided, as he
listened to other marines being sick all around him, and the
shouts – close to panic – from the scrambling sailors on
the transport wallowing in their wake.
    Gesler began blasting on that damned whistle as the ship
rose above a huge swell – and Bottle almost cried out to see
the stern of the Froth Wolf rearing immediately in front of
them. Twisting round, he looked back, to see the sorcerous
gate far away, its raging mouth filled with ships – that worked
clear, then plunged, suddenly close, behind the Silanda.
    By the Abyss! We're damned near flying here!
    He could see, to starboard, a mass of icebergs spilling out
from the white-lined horizon – a wall of ice, he realized.
Whilst to port rose a wind-battered coastline, thrashing
deciduous trees – oak, arbutus – and here and there clumps
of white pine, their tall trunks rocking back and forth with
every savage gust. Between the fleet and that shore, there
were seals, their heads dotting the waves, the rocky beaches
crowded with the beasts.
    'Bottle,' Fiddler croaked, still not looking up, 'tell me
some good news.'
    'We're through the gate, Sergeant. It's rough, and it looks
like we got a sea full of icebergs closing in to starboard – no,
not that close yet, I think we'll outrun them. I'll wager the
whole fleet's through now. Gods, those Perish catamarans
look like they were made for this. Lucky bastards. Anyway,
rumour is this won't be long, here in this realm – Sergeant?'
    But the man was crawling away, heading for the hatch.
    'Sergeant?'
    'I said good news, Bottle. Like, we're all about to drop off
the world's edge. Something like that.'
    'Oh. Well,' he called out as the man slithered across the
deck, 'there's seals!'
     
    The night of the green storm far to the north, four Malazan
dromons slid into the harbour of Malaz City, the flags upon
their masts indicating that they were from the Jakatakan
Fleet, whose task it was to patrol the seas from Malaz Island
west, to the island of Geni and on to the Horn of the mainland.
There had been clashes a few months past with some
unknown fleet, but the invaders had been driven away,
albeit at some cost. At full strength, the Jakatakan Fleet
sailed twenty-seven dromons and sixteen resupply ships. It
was rumoured that eleven dromons had been lost in the
multiple skirmishes with the foreign barbarians, although
Banaschar, upon hearing all this, suspected that the
numbers were either an exaggeration or – in accordance
with the policy of minimizing imperial losses – the
opposite. The truth of the matter was, he didn't believe
much of anything any more, no matter the source.
    Coop's was crowded, with a lot of in and out as denizens
repeatedly tramped outside to watch the northern night sky
– where there was no night at all – then returned with still
more expostulations, which in turn triggered yet another
exodus. And so on.
    Banaschar was indifferent to the rushing about – like
dogs on the trail, darting from master to home and back
again. Endless and brainless, really.
    Whatever was going on up there was well beyond the
horizon. Although, given that, Banaschar reluctantly concluded,
it was big.
    But far away, so far away he quickly lost interest, at least
after the first pitcher of ale had been drained. In any case,
the four dromons that had just arrived had delivered a score
of castaways. Found on a remote reef island southwest of
the Horn (and what, Banaschar wondered briefly, were the
dromons doing out there?), they had been picked up,
brought to Malaz Island with four ships that had been
losing a battle with shipping water, and this very night the
castaways had disembarked into the glorious city of Malaz.
    Now finding castaways was not entirely uncommon, but
what made these ones interesting was that only two of
them were