A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

embrace, lifting the screaming
animals into the air. The dragon's head snapped down,
jaws engulfing another—
    And then the dragon thundered its wings and lifted skyward
once more, carrying away three Hounds.
    The creature's attack had lasted but a handful of heartbeats,
in the moment that Cutter was dragged back into
Antsy's arms – the Falari half carrying him in his charge
towards the door of the shopfront to the right – and Barathol,
his gaze fixed solely upon the hated Hound attacking
him, swung his axe.
    These three did not even see the dragon.
    Samar Dev stared wide-eyed at the dragon as it heaved
back into the sky with its three howling, snarling victims.
    She was crouched over the motionless form of Traveller,
Dassem Ultor, wielder of Vengeance, slayer of the Son of
Darkness, who now lifted a sorrow-wracked visage, bleak,
broken – and then reached out and grasped her, tugged her
close.
    'Not my choice! Do not blame me, woman! Do you hear? Do
not!'
    Then his eyes widened and he dragged her down on to
the cobbles, covered her with his own body.
    As two behemoths collided not three paces distant.
    A white Hound.
    And a bear, a god, a beast forgotten in the passing of the
world.
    It had arrived a moment after the Hound, and its massive
forearms wrapped round in a crushing embrace, lifting the
Hound into the air – and clear of Samar Dev and Dassem
– before both creatures slammed into and through the
building's front wall.
    Rubble crashed down, tumbling chunks of masonry
striking Dassem's broad back as he pulled himself and Samar
away from the collapsing façade. Somewhere within
that building, bear and Hound fought in a frenzy.
    Leaving, now, two Hounds of Light, unopposed, and they
reached the corpse of Anomander Rake. Jaws closed about
a thigh and his body was dragged upward. The second
beast circled, as if contemplating its own bite – but the
sword still lodged in the Tiste Andii's skull was pitching
about as the first animal sought to carry away its prize, and
wise caution kept it back.
    The Seguleh threw his lance from fifteen paces away.
The weapon sank into the side of the circling Hound,
knocking it down – to be up again in an instant, snarling
and snapping at the jutting shaft.
    Karsa, whose longer strides had sent him ahead of the
Second, voiced a Teblor battle cry – an ancient one, heard
only when the elders spun their tales of ancient heroes
– and the Hound gripping Rake's corpse flinched at the
sound.
    Releasing its hold on that torn, gashed leg, it lunged
towards the attacking Toblakai.
    Two javelins struck the animal from its left. Neither
lodged, but it was enough to sting its attention, and
the Hound's head pitched round to confront the new
attackers.
    Two young Teblor women stood on the other side of the
avenue, each calmly readying another javelin in her atlatl.
Between them stood a large, mangy dog, tensed, fangs
bared, its growl so low it might as well have been coming
up from the earth below.
    The Hound hesitated.
    Karsa charged towards it, blade whistling through the
air—
    The beast broke and ran – and the Toblakai's sword
sliced off its stubby tail and nothing else.
    The Hound howled.
    Shifting round, Karsa advanced on the other animal – it
had dragged the lance loose and now it too was fleeing,
leaving a trail of blood.
    The Seguleh reclaimed his gore-smeared weapon.
    Karsa hesitated, and then he moved to stand over the
body of Anomander Rake. 'They are beaten,' he said.
    The masked face swung round. Dead eyes in rimmed slits
regarded him. 'It has been a long time since I last heard
that war cry, Toblakai. Pray,' the warrior added, 'I never
hear it again!'
    Karsa's attention, however, was drawn to the Teblor
women, and the dog that now advanced, its own stubbed
tail wagging.
    Staring at the animal, watching its limping approach,
Karsa Orlong struggled against a sob. He had sent this dog
home. Half dead, fevered and weak from blood loss, it had
set out – so long ago now, so long ago. He looked up at
the Teblor girls, neither of whom spoke. It was difficult to
see through the tears – did he know these two? No, they
looked too young.
    They looked . . .
    Down the side street, the five Hounds of Shadow had
been driven back, unable to hold their ground against the
combined sorceries of Spite and Envy. The magic slashed
their hides. Blood sprayed from their snouts. And on all
sides, forces sought to crush them down, destroy them
utterly.
    Writhing, battered, they fell