A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

horse's sheaves of armour clattering, its hoofs
ringing sharp on cobbles, the Second saw what he sought,
and he swept his hand down—
    'I'll take that,' laughed a hollow, metallic voice. And the
lance was torn from Cutter's hand. In an array of flapping
tatters of hide, frayed straps and mangled buckles, the
undead Seguleh who had, long ago, once given him the
weapon, now readied the lance, even as the masked warrior
charged straight towards the white Hounds.
    'Skinner!' he roared. 'I'm coming for you! But first, these
guys . . .'
    Karsa Orlong sidestepped at the sudden arrival of some
armoured warrior riding a monstrous, dead horse. Seeing
the newcomer ride to meet the Hounds, he snarled and set
off after him.
    The lance angled down on the left side and so the
Toblakai went to the rider's right, eyes fixing on a
Hound that clearly intended an attack on the horseman's
unprotected side.
    Two beasts and two warriors all met at once.
    The rider's lance drove into a Hound's throat just beneath
the jaw, surging upward through the base of the
skull, severing the spinal cord on its way to obliterate the
back of the animal's brain. The serrated lance head erupted
from the skull in an explosion of grey pulp, blood and bone
shards.
    Karsa swung down, two-handed, as the other Hound
arrived alongside the rider and reared to close jaws on the
stranger's right thigh. Flint blade sliced down through the
spine, chopping halfway through a neck thick as a horse's,
before jamming – the Hound's forward momentum, now
pitching downward, dragged the weapon and Karsa with it
as the animal slammed the cobbles.
    At that instant the rider's Jaghut horse collided chest
to chest with a third hound. Bones shattered. The impact
sent the rider over his horse's head, dragging his lance free
as he went. He struck and rolled off the back of the Hound
– which seemed stunned, as the undead horse stumbled
back.
    Pulled down on to his knees, Karsa ducked the snapping
attack of another Hound – and then the beast was past,
as were all the others. The Toblakai rose, took two quick
strides and thrust his sword into the chest of the dazed
third Hound. Howling in pain, it staggered away from
Karsa's blade, blood fountaining out in the path of the
withdrawing sword. The stranger had recovered and he
now sank the lance into the gut of the writhing animal,
the lance head tearing messily through soft tissue, fluids
spilling down.
    Something flashed in the eye-holes of the twin-scarred
mask. 'Well done, Toblakai! Now let's chase down the
others!'
    The two warriors swung round.
    Cutter stared as seven Hounds swept round Karsa and the
Seguleh. Now he didn't even hold a lance – dammit – and
he unsheathed a pair of knives as one of the beasts made
straight for him.
    A hand grasped the back of his shirt and yanked him
back. Yelling in alarm, Cutter stumbled into someone's
short, brawny arms. He caught a momentary glimpse of
a weathered face, eyes bulging, red moustache twitching
beneath a bulbous nose—
    Do I know this man?
    And the one who had thrown him clear now lumbered
forward, lifting an enormous two-handed axe. Barathol—
    'Wrong place for us!' growled the man holding Cutter,
and they began backing up.
    Barathol recognized this beast – the one Chaur had
tangled with, the one that had broken his friend's skull.
He almost sang his joy as he launched himself into its path,
axe sweeping in a savage diagonal arc, low to high, as the
Hound arrived, snarling, monstrous—
    The axe edge bit deep into the beast's lower jaw – another
single instant's delay and he would have caught its neck. As
it was, the blow hammered the Hound's head to one side.
    The beast's chest struck Barathol.
    As if he'd been standing in the path of a bronze-sheathed
battering ram, he was flung back, cartwheeling
through the air, and was unconscious before he landed,
fifteen paces behind the body of Anomander Rake.
    The Hound had skidded, stumbled, wagging its head
– its right mandible was broken, a row of jagged molars jutting
out almost horizontal, blood splashing down.
    For this battle, the beast was finished.
    In the moment that Karsa and the stranger whirled round,
a shadow swept over them, and both flinched down in the
midst of a sudden wind, reeking of rot, gusting past—
    Tips of its wings clattering along the facings of buildings
to either side, a dragon sailed above the street, talons
striking like vipers. Each one closing round a Hound in
a crushing, puncturing