A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

his shield
to fend off an out-thrust spear—
    All at once, soldiers were moving past him on either
side, a new shield-wall clashing closed in front of him.
    A chorus of screams as arrows whispered into the
heaving mob, thudding into flesh.
    Wheeling away, sword's point dragging then skipping
across the uneven cobbles, Koryk staggered back.
    The Perish.
    They're here.
    And that's that.
    Galt was laughing. 'Our first real scrap, Sergeant. And
it's against Malazans!'
    'Well,' Balm said, 'laughing's better'n crying. But shut
that mouth anyway.'
    As the fighting intensified at the foot of the jetty, the
marines sagged down onto the cobbles or staggered off in
search of water. Wiping spattered blood from his eyes,
Koryk looked round, bewildered, numbed. He saw two
cloaked figures standing near the plank to the Froth Wolf. The Wickan witch and her warlock brother.
    'Koryk of the Seti,' Nether said. 'Where is Bottle?'
    'No idea,' he replied, squinting at the young woman.
'Somewhere' – he nodded towards the city behind him – 'in
there.'
    Nil said, 'He cannot get back. Not through that horde.'
    Koryk spat onto the cobbles. 'He'll find a way,' he said.
    'No worries about that,' Smiles added, walking up to the
half-blood with a waterskin in her hands.
    Nether spoke: 'You are all very confident.'
    As Smiles handed Koryk the waterskin she said, 'Your
heart's desire will be fine, is what I'm saying, Nether. He
took his rat with him, didn't he?'
    'His what?'
    'Keeps it tucked in most of the time, it's true, but I seen
it out more than once—'
    'Enough,' Koryk growled under his breath.
    Smile made a face at him. 'Spoilsport.'
    'You two should get back onto the ship,' Koryk said to
Nil and Nether. 'It's safer there – any stray arrow—'
    'Soldier,' Nil cut in. 'You fight for the Wickans and for
the Khundryl Burned Tears this night. We choose to
witness.'
    'Fine, just do it from the deck. What's the point of all
this if you drop with an arrow through the throat?'
    After a moment, the brother and sister both bowed – to
Koryk and the other marines – then they turned about and
made their way back up the plank.
    Gods below, I've never seen them bow before. To anyone.
     
    'Mind that last step .. .'
    Kalam moved up directly behind the Adjunct. Twenty
steps remained. 'With six left,' the assassin murmured, 'slow
down and move to your left.'
    She nodded.
    The four moored dromons were off to one side, no guards
present on the jetties. Directly ahead, at the foot of
Rampart Way, stretched out a concourse. Opposite the
clearing stood three imperial buildings, one a blockhouse
and gaol, another a customs and tithes building and the
third a solid, heavily fortified armoury for the City Watch.
None of the usual guards were present, and the blockhouse
was unlit.
    Seven steps from the bottom. Kalam unsheathed his
long-knives beneath his rain-cape.
    The Adjunct edged to her left and hesitated.
    In a blur Kalam swept past her, leading with his otataral
weapon, and launched himself into the air, down, sailing
over the last six steps.
    Five figures seemed to materialize from nothing at the
base of Rampart Way. One was crouched in Kalam's path,
but twisted away to avoid a crushing collision. The otataral
long-knife slashed out, the edge biting deep into the Claw's
neck, dragging free to loose a jet of arterial blood.
    Landing in a crouch, Kalam parried an attack from his
left twice, as the Claw closed with a dagger in each hand.
Blackened iron flickered between them, the snick of blade
catching blade as, pivoting on his inside leg, Kalam
dropped lower, lashing out with his other leg to sweep the
Claw from his feet. The killer landed hard on his left hip.
Kalam locked both dagger blades hard against the hilts of
his long-knives, pushed them to either side, then drove his
knee down into the centre of the Claw's chest. The
sternum was punched inward with a sickening crunch, ribs
to either side bowing outward. Even as he landed, Kalam
threw his weight forward, over the downed man, the tip of
one of his long-knives sinking deep into the Claw's right
eye socket as he passed.
    He felt a dagger-blade cut through the rain-cape on his
back, then skitter along the chain beneath, and then he
was out of range, shoulder dipping, rolling back into a
crouch and spinning round.
    The attacker had followed, almost as quick, and Kalam
grunted as the Claw slammed into him. A dagger-point
plunged through chain links above his left hip and, twisting
hard, he felt a