A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

other raking towards the K'risnan,
a glancing blow that flung him from the back of his bolting
horse, the claws catching the horse's rump before it could
lunge out of reach, the talons sinking deep, then tearing
free a mass of meat to reveal – in a gory flash – the bones of
its hips and upper legs.
    The horse crashed down in a twisting fall that cracked
ribs, less than three strides away from where Brohl was
lying. He saw the whites of the beast's eyes – shock and
terror, death's own spectre—
    The Overseer sought to rise, but something was wrong
with his left leg – drained of all strength, strangely heavy,
sodden in the tangled grass. He looked down. Red from the
hip down – his own scimitar had opened a deep, welling
gash at an angle over his thigh, the cut ending just above
the knee.
    A killing wound – blood pouring out – Brohl Handar fell
back, staring up at the sky, disbelieving. I have killed myself.
    He heard the thump of the demon's feet, swift, moving
away – then a deeper sound, the rush of warriors, closing
now around him, weapons drawn. Heads turned, faces
stretched as words were shouted – he could not understand
them, the sounds fading, retreating – a figure crawling to
his side, hooded, blood dripping from its nose – the only
part of the face that was visible – a gnarled hand reaching
for him – and Brohl Handar closed his eyes.
    Atri-Preda Bivatt sawed the reins of her horse as she came
between two units of her reserve medium infantry, Artisan
on her right, Harridict on her left, and beyond them, where
another Artisan unit was positioned, there was the
commotion of fighting.
    She saw a reptilian monstrosity plunging into their ranks
– soldiers seeming to melt from its path, others lifting into
the air on both sides, in welters of blood, as the beast's
taloned hands slashed right and left. Dark-hued, perfectly
balanced on two massive hind legs, the demon tore a path
straight to the heart of the packed square—
    Reaching out, both hands closing on a single figure, a
woman, a mage – plucking her flailing into the air, then
dismembering her as would a child a straw doll.
    Beyond, she could see, the southernmost unit, seven
hundred and fifty medium infantry of the Merchants'
Battalion, were a milling mass strewn with dead and dying
soldiers.
    'Sorcery!' she screamed, wheeling towards the Artisan
unit on her right – seeking out the mage in its midst –
motion, someone pushing through the ranks.
    Dust clouds caught her eye – the camp – the Edur legion
was nowhere in sight – they had rushed to its defence. Against more of these demons?
    The creature barrelled free of the Artisan soldiers south
of the now-retreating Harridict unit, where a second
sorceror stumbled into view, running towards the other
mage. She could see his mouth moving as he wove magic,
adding his power to that of the first.
    The demon had spun to its left instead of continuing its
attack, launching itself into a run, wheeling round the unit
it had just torn through, placing them between itself
and the sorcery now bursting loose in a refulgent tumult
from the ground in front of the mages.
    Leaning far forward, the demon's speed was astonishing
as it fled.
    Bivatt heard the ritual sputter and die and she twisted on
her saddle. 'Damn you! Hit it!'
    'Your soldiers!'
    'You took too long!' She spied a Preda from the Harridict
unit. 'Draw all the reserves behind the mages! North, you
fool – sound the order! Cadre, keep that damned magic at
the ready!'
    'We are, Atri-Preda!'
    Chilled despite the burgeoning heat, Bivatt swung her
horse round once more and rode hard back towards the
valley. I am outwitted. Flinching on every side, recoiling, reacting – Redmask, this one is yours.
    But I will have you in the end. I swear it.
    Ahead, she could see her troops appearing on the rise,
withdrawing in order, in what was clearly an uncontested
retreat. Redmask, it seemed, was satisfied – he would not be
drawn out from the valley, even with his demonic allies—
    The camp. She needed to get her soldiers back to that
damned camp – pray the Edur beat off the attack. Pray Brohl Handar has not forgotten how to think like a soldier.
    Pray he fared better than I did this day.
    The shore is blind to the sea. Might as well say the moon has for ever fled the night sky. Chilled, exhausted, Yan Tovis rode
with her three soldiers down the level, narrow road. Thick
stands of trees on either side, the leaves black where the
moon's