A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

beyond,
somewhere in the corridor.
    She scrambled over the dead and dying on the landing,
pitched into the corridor and, seeing three assassins slowly
picking themselves up from the floor, charged forward.
    Short work cutting down the stunned attackers, with
Antsy guarding her back.
    Blend opened her eyes and wondered why she was lying on
the floor. She attempted to lift her left arm and gasped as
pain blossomed red and hot, leaving her half blind in its
aftermath. Oh, now she remembered. With a low moan,
she rolled on to her good side and worked herself into a
sitting position, blinking sweat and worse from her eyes.
    The bar door was open, one of the hinges broken.
    In the street beyond, she saw at least a half-dozen cloaked
figures, gathered and creeping closer.
    Shit.
    Desperate, she looked round for the nearest discarded
weapon. Knowing she wouldn't have time, knowing they
were going to cut her down once and for all. Still – she saw
a knife and reached out for it.
    The six assassins came at a sprint.
    Someone slammed into them from one side, loosing a
bellowing bawl like a wounded bull, and Blend stared as
the huge man – Chaur – swung his enormous fists. Heads
snapped back on broken necks, faces crumpled in sprays of
blood—
    And then Barathol was there, with nothing more than a
knife, slashing into the reeling assassins, and Blend could
see the fear in the blacksmith's eyes – fear for Chaur, dread
for what might happen if the assassins recovered—
    As they were now doing.
    Blend pushed herself to her feet, collecting the dagger
from the floor as she staggered forward—
    And was shoved aside by Antsy. Hacking at the nearest
assassin with his shortsword, a dented cauldron lid shielding
his left side.
    Chaur, his forearms slashed by desperate daggers, picked
up an assassin and threw him down on to the cobbles.
Bones snapped. Still bawling, he picked the broken form
up by an ankle and swung him into the air, round, then
loose – to collide with another assassin, and both went
down. Barathol was suddenly above the first man, driving
his boot heel down on his temple. Limbs spasmed.
    Antsy pulled his sword from an assassin's chest
and readied himself for his next target, then slowly
straightened.
    Leaning against the doorframe, Blend spat and said, 'All
down, Sergeant.'
    Barathol wrapped Chaur in a hug to calm the man
down. Tears streaked Chaur's broad cheeks, and his fists
were still closed, like massive bloody mauls at the ends of
his arms. He had wet himself.
    Blend and Antsy watched as the blacksmith hugged his
friend tightly, with need and with raw relief, so exposed
that both Malazans had to look away.
    Picker came up behind Blend. 'You gonna live?' she
asked.
    'Good as new, as soon as Mallet—'
'No. Not Mallet, love.'
    Blend squeezed shut her eyes. 'They caught us, Pick,' she
said. 'They caught us good.'
    'Aye.'
    She glanced over. 'You got 'em all in the taproom?
Damned impressive—'
    'No, I didn't, but they're all down. Four of 'em, right at
the foot of the stage. Looked like they rushed it.'
    Rushed it? But who was up there . . . 'We lose our bard,
then?'
    'Don't know,' Picker said. 'Didn't see him.'
    Rushed the stage . . .
    'We lost Bluepearl, too.'
    Blend slowly closed her eyes a second time. Oh, she was
hurting, and a lot of that hurt couldn't get sewn up. They
caught us. 'Picker.'
    'They slaughtered everyone, Blend. People with nothing
but bad luck being here tonight. Skevos. Hedry, Larmas,
little Boothal. All to take us down.'
    From up the street came a squad of City Guard, lanterns
swinging.
    For a scene such as Blend was looking out on right now,
there should be a crowd of onlookers, the ones hungry to
see injured, dying people, the ones who fed on such things.
But there was no one.
    Because this was Guild work.
    'Some of us are still breathing,' Blend said. 'It's not
good to do that. Leave some marines still breathing.'
    'No, it's not good at all.'
    Blend knew that tone. Still, she wondered. Are we
enough? Is there enough in us to do this? Do we still have
what's needed? They'd lost a healer and a mage this night.
    They'd lost the best of them. Because we were careless.
    Antsy joined them as the guards closed in round
Barathol and Chaur. 'Pick, Blend,' he said, 'I don't know
about you two, but right now, gods below, I'm feeling old.'
    A sergeant of the guard approached. 'How bad is it inside?'
    No one seemed eager to reply.
    Six streets away, a world away, Cutter stood in the front
yard