A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

savage lateral tug freeing it, the rust-hued weapon
hissing into the path of an arm, slicing through flesh and
bone, the arm flying away—
    Kalam saw, in the heartbeat before he joined the fight,
T'amber reaching out with her free hand to take a Claw by
the throat, then pull the attacker into the air, pivoting to
throw the Claw against the stone wall. Even as the figure
repeatedly stabbed the woman in the chest, shoulders and
upper arms.
    Gods below!
    Kalam arrived like a charging bhederin, long-knives licking
out even as he hammered his weight into one Claw,
then another, sending both sprawling.
    There in the gloom before the wall of Raven Hill Park, a
savage frenzy of close-in fighting, a second Hand joining
what was left of the first. A dozen rapid heartbeats, and it
was over.
    And there was no time to pause, no time for a breath to
recover, as quarrels began pounding into the wall.
    Kalam waved mutely to run along the wall, westward,
and somehow – impossibly – T'amber once more took the
lead.
    Screams erupted behind them, but there was no time to
look. The wall curved southward, forming one side of the
street leading to Admiral Bridge, and there stood the stone
span, unlit, so buried in shadows that it might have been at
the base of a pit. As they drew closer, that sorcery wavered,
then died. Revealing ... nothing. No-one in sight.
    'T'amber!' Kalam hissed. 'Hold up!'
    Whatever had struck in their wake had snared the
attention of the pursuing Claws – at least for the moment.
    'Adjunct, listen to me. You and T'amber, get down into the
river. Follow it straight to the harbour.'
    'What about you?' Tavore demanded.
    'We haven't yet encountered a third of the Hands in the
city, Adjunct.' He nodded towards the Mouse. 'They're in
there. I plan on leading them a merry chase.' He paused,
then spat out a mouthful of phlegm and blood. 'I can lose
them eventually – I know the Mouse, Tavore. I'll take to
the rooftops.'
    'There's no point in splitting up—'
    'Yes, Adjunct. There is.' Kalam studied T'amber for a
moment. Yes, despite everything, not much longer for you. 'T'amber agrees with me. She'll get you to the harbour.'
    From the streets and alleys behind them, ominous
silence, now. Closing in. 'Go.'
    The Adjunct met his eyes. 'Kalam—'
    'Just go, Tavore.'
    He watched as they moved to the edge of the river, the
old sagging stone retaining wall at their feet. T'amber
climbed down first. The river was befouled, sluggish and
shallow. It would be slow going, but the darkness would
hide them. And when they get to the harbour ... well, it'll be
time to improvise.
    Kalam adjusted his grips on the long-knives. A last
glance behind him. Still nothing there. Odd. He fixed his
gaze on the bridge. All right. Let's get this over with.
     
    Lostara Yil made her way across the concourse, leaving
Rampart Way and the bodies at its foot behind her. The
sounds of rioting were still distant – coming from the
harbour and beyond – while the nearby buildings and
estates were silent and unlit, as if she had found herself in
a necropolis, a fitting monument to imperial glory.
    The small figure that stepped out before her was thus all
the more startling, and her disquiet only increased upon
recognizing him. 'Grub,' she said, approaching, 'what are
you doing here?'
    'Waiting for you,' the boy replied, wiping at a runny
nose.
    'What do you mean?'
    'I'll take you where you need to go. It's a sad night, but it
will be all right, you'll see that one day' With that he
turned around and headed off along the avenue, southward.
'We don't need to stay on the path, not yet. We can take
the first bridge. Lostara Yil—' a glance back, 'you're very
pretty.'
    Suddenly chilled despite the sultry air, she set off after
him. 'What path?'
    'Doesn't matter.'
    Skittering sounds in the shadows off to her left. She
closed a hand on her sword. 'Something's there—'
    'That's okay,' Grub said. 'They're my friends. There
won't be any trouble. But we should hurry.'
    Before long they reached the bridge leading into Centre
District, whereupon Grub angled them westward for a short
time, before turning south once more.
    They soon came upon the first of the bodies. Claws,
sprawled in small groups at first – where rats and wild dogs
had already come out to feed – and then, as they neared
Raven Hill Park, the street was literally filled with corpses.
Lostara slowed her pace as she approached the elongated
scene of slaughter – heading southward, as if a