A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

of
the hoses was snaked out to see how much more water was
seeping back in. After fifty or so paces they were ankledeep
in icy water and flows slicked the side walls and drops
rained down from the ceiling. The farther in they went,
the more cracks they saw – everywhere, all sides, above and
below – proof that they were reaching the Settle, where
half a cliff was sinking towards the lake. The rumours were
that it was only days from collapse.
    The tunnel descended in irregular shelves, and now the
water was at Harllo's thighs, numbingly cold. Both were
gasping.
    'Bainisk – will this go back up?'
    'It will, if the water's not too deep, it will, I promise.'
    'Why – why are you doing this? You should've just
handed me over.'
    Bainisk was some time before answering. 'I want to see
it, Harllo.'
    'You want to see what?'
    'The city. I – I just want to see it, that's all. When I
heard, well, it was as if everything fell into place. This was
the time – our best chance – this close to the Settle.'
    'You'd been thinking about this.'
    'Yes. Harllo, I never stop thinking about this.'
    'The city.'
    'The city.'
    Something clanged somewhere behind them – still
distant, but closer than expected.
    'Venaz! They're after us – shit – come on, Harllo, we got
to hurry.'
    The water reached Harllo's hips. He was having trouble
working his legs. He kept stumbling. Twice he almost let
his lantern sink down too far. Their desperate gasping
echoed on all sides, along with sloshing water.
    'Bainisk, I can't—'
    'Drop your light – just take hold of my shirt – I'll pull
you. Don't let go.'
    Groaning, Harllo let the lantern sink into the water. A
sudden hiss, something cracking. When he released the
handle the lantern vanished into the blackness. He took
hold of Bainisk's ragged shirt.
    They continued on, Harllo feeling his legs trailing behind
him but only from the hips – below that there was
nothing. A strange lassitude flowed into him, taking away
the icy cold. Bainisk was chest-deep now, whimpering as he
sought to keep the lantern held high.
    They stopped.
    'The tunnel goes under,' said Bainisk.
    'Issallright, Bainisk. We gan stop now.'
    'No, hold on to this ledge. I'm going under. I won't be
long. I promise.'
    He set the lantern on a narrow ledge. And then he sank
down and was gone.
    Harllo was alone. It would be much easier to let go, to
relax his aching hands. Venaz was coming, he'd be here
soon. And then it would be over. The water was warm
now – that might be one way to escape them. Do what
Bainisk had just done. Just sink away, vanish.
    He wasn't wanted, he knew. Not by his mother, not by
anyone. And the one who'd come to find him, well, that
man had died for that. And that wasn't right. Nobody
should go and die for Harllo. Not Gruntle, not Bainisk, not
anybody. So, no more of any of that – he could let go—
    Foaming water, thrashing, gasps and coughs. An icy
hand clutched at Harllo.
    'We can get through! Harllo – the tunnel on the other
side – it slopes upward!'
    'I can't—'
    'You have to! The city, Harllo, you have to show it to me
– I'd be lost. I need you, Harllo. I need you.'
    'All right, but . . .' He was about to tell Bainisk the
truth. About the city. That it wasn't the paradise he'd
made it out to be. That people starved there. That people
did bad things to each other. But no, that could wait. It'd
be bad to talk about those things right now. 'All right,
Bainisk.'
    They left the lantern. Bainisk uncoiled some of the
rope and tied the end about Harllo's waist, fumbling with
numbed hands on the knot. 'Take a few deep breaths first,'
he said. 'And then one more, deep as you can.'
    The plunge into the dark left Harllo instantly disoriented.
The rope round his waist pulled him down and then into
the face of the current. He opened his eyes and felt the
thrill of shock from the icy flow. Strange glowing streaks
flashed past, possibly from the rock itself, or perhaps they
were but ghosts lurking behind his eyes. At first he sought
to help Bainisk, flailing with his arms and trying to kick,
but after a moment he simply went limp.
    Either Bainisk would pull them both through, or he
wouldn't. Either way was fine.
    His mind began to drift, and he so wanted to take a
breath – he couldn't hold back much longer. His lungs were
burning. The water would be cool, cool enough to quench
that fire for ever more. Yes, he could do that.
    Cold bit into his right hand – what? And then his head
was lifted above the