A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

now. Claws. The alley was
filled with them.
    Ahead, Centre Docks, the clearing—
    Sudden detonations, rocking the buildings. Screams.
    At the alley mouth, between warehouses, Grub crouched
and waved her down to his side.
    People were fleeing – those still on their feet, and they
were scant few. At least two cussers had exploded in the
midst of the mobs. Cussers and sharpers, and there a Hooddamned
T'lan Imass, cutting down the last ones within
reach.
    'Gods,' Lostara muttered, 'there must be a thousand dead
out there.'
    'Yes. But look, you must see this.' He pointed to their
right, near the river.
    'What?'
    'Oh.' Grub reached out and settled a hand on her
forearm.
    And the scene seemed to somehow shift, a new illumination
– it was gathered about a single body, too distant to
make out details—
    T'amber,' Grub said. 'Only you and me can see. So
watch, Lostara. Watch.'
    The golden glow was coalescing, rising up from the
corpse. A faint wind flowed past Lostara and Grub, familiar
now, heady with the scent of savannah grasses, warm and
dry.
    'She stayed with us a long time,' Grub whispered. 'She used
T'amber. A lot. There wasn't any choice. The Fourteenth, it's
going to war, and we're going with it. We have to.'
    A figure now stood at a half-crouch over the body.
Furred, tall, and female. No clothing, no ornamentation of
any kind.
    Lostara saw the T'lan Imass, thirty or more paces away,
slowly turn to regard the apparition. And then, head
bowing, the undead warrior slowly settled onto one knee. 'I
thought you said we were the only ones who could see,
Grub.'
    'I was wrong. She has that effect.'
    'Who – what is she?'
    'The Eres'al. Lostara, you must never tell the Adjunct.
Never.'
    The Red Blade captain scowled. 'Another damned secret
to keep from her.'
    'Just the two,' Grub said. 'You can do that.'
    Lostara glanced over at the boy. 'Two, you said.'
    Grub nodded. 'Her sister, yes. That one, and this one.
Two secrets. Never to tell.'
    'That won't be hard,' she said, straightening. 'I'm not
going with them.'
    'Yes you are. Look! Look at the Eres'al!'
    The strange female was lowering her head towards the
body of T'amber. 'What's she doing?'
    'Just a kiss. On the forehead. A thank-you.'
    The apparition straightened once more, seemed to sniff
the air, then, in a blur, vanished.
    'Oh!' said Grub. Yet added nothing. Instead, taking her
hand in his. 'Lostara. The Adjunct, she's lost T'amber now.
    You need to take that place—'
    'I'm done with lovers, male or female—'
    'No, not that. Just ... at her side. You have to. She
cannot do this alone.'
    'Do what?'
    'We have to go – no, not that way. To the Mouse
Docks—'
    'Grub – they're casting off!'
    'Never mind that! Come on!'
     
    Deadsmell pushed Fiddler out of the way and knelt beside
the body of the Adjunct. He set a hand on her begrimed
forehead, then snatched it back. 'Hood's breath! She
doesn't need me.' He backed away, shaking his head,
'Damned otataral – I never could get that, what it does ...'
    Tavore's eyes opened. After a moment, she struggled into
a sitting position, then accepted Fiddler's hand in helping
her to her feet.
    The Froth Wolf was edging away from the jetty. The Silanda had pulled further out, the oars sweeping and
sliding into the water.
    Blinking, the Adjunct looked round, then she turned to
Fiddler. 'Sergeant, where is Bottle?'
    'I don't know. He never made it back. Seems we lost
Quick Ben, too. And Kalam.'
    At the last name, she flinched.
    But Fiddler had already known. The game ... 'Adjunct—'
    'I have never seen a man fight as he did,' she said. 'Him,
and T'amber, the two of them – cutting through an entire
city—'
    'Adjunct. There's signals from the other ships. Where
are we going?'
    But she turned away. 'Bottle – we have failed, Sergeant.
He was to retrieve someone.'
    'Someone? Who?'
    'It doesn't matter, now. We have failed.'
    All of this? All of the fallen this night – for one person? 'Adjunct, we can wait here in the bay until light, send a
detachment into the city looking—'
    'No. Admiral Nok's escorts will be ordered to sink the
transports – the Perish will intervene, and more will die.
We must leave.'
    'They can chase us down—'
    'But they won't find us. The Admiral has assured me of
his impending incompetence.'
    'So, we signal the others to ship their anchors and make
sail?'
    'Yes.'
    A shout from one of the crew. 'Ship closing to starboard!'
    Fiddler followed the Adjunct to the rail. Where Fist
Keneb already stood.
    A