The Malazan Empire, page 1037
I remember that world. I remember no other.
All of the brave soldiers, I am yours. I was always yours.
The Kolansii counter-attack from troops stationed in the next two trenches met the advance of Saphii and Evertine legionnaires in an avalanche of iron fury. Rolling down with the slope, along the wide descent tracks or up and over the berms, they slammed into the Bolkando forces like a storm of studded fists. For all the wild fury of the Saphii, they were not sufficiently armoured against heavy infantry, and the Evertine soldiers were unable to close a solid shieldwall with the Saphii in their midst.
The first lines were overwhelmed, driven underfoot, and the entire Bolkando front reeled back, yielding once more the second berm and then the first trench, and, finally, the first bank of earthworks. With the enemy gaining momentum, the legion was pushed back still further.
Almost none of the Saphii remained by this time, and as the Kolansii rolled out on to level ground they rushed across, only to collide with the legionnaires. They met a solid shieldwall. The impact sent bodies and weapons into the air and the crush made both sides recoil, before closing once more in savage fighting.
Queen Abrastal, still mounted, her sword and forearm painted with blood, forced her charger away from the inside edge of the Evertine line – the animal’s muzzle was gushing blood from a frenzied bite against a visored face and its hind flanks were slashed through the cladding, spattering blood with every muscle surge. But she could feel the pounding of its heart and she knew that her horse had never felt more alive than at this moment – it was impossible for her not to grin at the terrible joy in the beast she rode. Impossible to not find herself sharing it.
Still, they’d arrived upon the crux – and looking to the west, she saw the Letherii forces withdrawing from the assault, though their onager salvos continued unabated.
The Pure had done as she had expected – seeking to break her hold here, forcing the Letherii away from any hope of marching to the Spire by blocking the valley – but only if they could succeed in turning the Evertine Legion.
She rode hard round to the back of her legion.
Still held in reserve, the Barghast ranks were readying weapons, and Abrastal caught sight of Warchief Spax, standing atop a small hill of bundled supplies and straining to see over the Evertine ranks to the front of the battle. She saw him turn to her upon hearing her horse’s drumming hoofbeats.
She reined in before him.
‘I’ve never swum in a sea of blood before, Firehair. How was it?’
The queen glanced down to see herself lathered in gore. She shook her sword clear. ‘How fast were those Perish moving?’ she asked.
‘A good clip – almost as quickly as a band of White Faces on the raid. If they have anything left after tackling the valley side, they should be almost in position – but Highness, you’ve seen how many are headed their way.’ He shook his head.
‘Can they even slow them down?’
The Warchief shrugged. ‘Depends on the lay of the land, I suppose. If it’s a broad front they need to hold…no, they’ll barely slow ’em.’
Abrastal cursed under her breath as she swung her mount round. Thought furiously for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Very well. Warchief, take your warriors and the Teblor and move with all haste to support the Perish – whatever you can manage, understood?’
‘You send us to our deaths, Highness.’
‘Aye.’ She bared her teeth at him. ‘I show you my coin. You show me your love.’
‘I wasn’t complaining, just saying.’
‘We will screen you here.’
‘Highness, you can’t hold against this counter-attack – we can see that.’
‘We will screen you for as long as is needed,’ Abrastal said firmly. ‘Now get going, Warchief.’
‘If we do not meet again, Firehair, I should tell you’ – and Spax leapt down from the mound of supplies – ‘I went and knocked up your daughter.’
‘Gods below!’
‘You’ll have years of doting on that little runt – you’ll know it for mine ’cause it’s got my eyes.’
‘Just get going for Errant’s sake!’
Laughing, Spax raised his axe and waved it in a circle over his head.
As one, the White Faces lunged into motion – eastward.
Impressed in spite of herself, Abrastal watched in silence for a moment.
Spax was following her gaze. ‘Aye, we live for this, Firehair. We’ll give a good account of ourselves, I promise you.’ He looked up at her. ‘Sing songs about us, and remember to tell your court poets, that’s Gilk with one k.’
She frowned down at him. ‘How else would it be, you fool?’
‘Fare you well, my queen,’ Spax said, bowing even as he turned away.
When he’d trotted a dozen paces Abrastal called out, ‘Spax!’
The Warchief glanced back.
‘Boy or girl, I’ll make sure it’s named after you – but that’s the only favour you’ll get!’
Smiling, the Barghast waved his weapon, and then was on his way again.
She watched the Teblor falling in alongside the mass of White Faces, and then she swung round to study her legion.
Sure enough, they were being driven back – these Kolansii heavies were anything but soft. Abrastal adjusted her grip on the sword in her hand, collected the reins once more. Let us make them remember us.
She was about to kick her horse forward when a rider thundered up on her left. ‘Highness!’
Abrastal stared. A damned Letherii! ‘That was a long ride – what news?’
The messenger – a Bluerose Lancer – saluted. ‘Felicitations from the prince, Highness—’
‘Felicitations? Gods take me – sorry, go on.’
‘Highness, the Pure Forkrul Assail is dead. Only mixed-blood Assail remain in command. The prince hereby informs you that he has disengaged his forces from the Kolansii positions. And that he has established dug-in defences along the onager line on the valley floor and will commit a third of his remaining forces there—’
‘Excuse me, a third?’
The Letherii nodded. ‘Prince begs to inform you, Highness, that he is on his way to your position.’
Abrastal looked round, and then cursed. ‘Take a moment to rest your horse, sir, and then ride with all haste back to Prince Brys. Inform him he’d better hurry.’
But the messenger wasn’t interested in resting, and he wheeled his weary horse round and set out at the gallop.
Damn but those lancers know how to ride. And damn me, young man – if we both survive this, I’m going to give you a ride you’ll never forget.
Abrastal sighed, and then shook herself. With a low growl, she kicked her horse forward. ‘My standard to the front! Get on with you – follow your damned queen!’
Someone had found clothing and armour for the prince. With Aranict close by his side, he stood on the high ground and watched his troops swarming to entrench all along the line of onagers. Lines of soldiers were moving the wounded back on stretchers, while still others retrieved serviceable weapons from the field. And overseeing it all, a young man riding a K’Chain Che’Malle.
Brys was still struggling to regain himself – he did not know how Aranict had managed to save him, or how she even survived her descent into that lifeless warren. While still only half conscious he had heard fragments of conversation, and it seemed that the three foreigners, Faint, Precious Thimble and Amby Bole, had all had a hand in his resurrection. And then he’d caught the name Mael.
Old man, we owe you so much. Why are we Beddicts so important to you? But…it wasn’t me you did this for, was it? It was for Tehol. Your chosen mortal, the one you would have wanted as your own son.
Rest assured, I’m not complaining.
Someone brought him a helm and he took it with a grateful nod. Tugged it on and fastened the clasp.
An officer crowded close. ‘Sir, we have found you a horse – it would do the troops good to see you again as soon as possible.’
Brys shook his head. ‘Our Malazan guest has things well in hand, Lieutenant.’
‘He has issued orders in the prince’s name, sir!’
‘A clever thing to do, under the circumstances. He may be young, but he does command a presence on the back of that lizard. From this moment forward, he is to be considered my second – make this clear to all the other officers.’
‘Yes sir.’
Brys glanced over to see that a horse had been brought forward.
Aranict spoke, ‘Still, beloved, it would be good for them to see you.’
‘I am tempted to place Grub in command of our relieving force,’ he replied. When she stepped closer he held up a hand. ‘I am not recovered – I feel as likely to fall off that horse as stay on it. Oh, I’ll mount up, and as long as the beast isn’t moving under me, why, I should cut a strikingly inspiring figure.’ He shot a look up at the imperial standard and winced. ‘So long as no one looks too carefully.’ He reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘Aranict… I am glad you fought for me.’
‘It was Mael,’ she said. ‘And Faint’s blood. And then, if not for Amby Bole, we still would have failed.’
‘Will you think less of me if I choose to remain here, commanding these defences?’
‘Brys, if I had to, I’d have tied you down to keep you here. Close to me. We’re not saving you just to see you fall to some errant arrow – no, you stay back, issue orders and leave the rest to everyone else.’
He smiled. ‘You have begun to show a stubborn side, Atri-Ceda.’
‘Idiot.’ She lit a stick of rustleaf. ‘The only thing just begun is you noticing it – but that’s what makes the first flush of love so dangerous, and once it fades and you start seeing clearly again, why, it’s too late.’
Still smiling, he took the reins and set a foot in the stirrup, pulling himself up to slump in the saddle with a low groan.
From all sides voices rose upon seeing him. Grimacing, Brys straightened, and then raised one gauntleted hand. The roar redoubled in its intensity.
He saw Grub riding up the slope towards him. The boy didn’t look much like a boy any longer. He was splashed with drying blood, and from somewhere he’d found a Bluerose lance, and its iron point had swum in blood not long past.
‘Prince Brys – I didn’t know you— I mean—’
‘There is little time to waste,’ Brys cut in. ‘I am placing you in command of the relief force. They’re almost assembled – in fact’ – he squinted eastward – ‘they can shake themselves out on the march – the Bolkando are losing ground. Lead them, Commander, and be quick about it.’
Grub saluted. ‘Sir, when we close, I may ride ahead.’
‘Would any of us expect otherwise?’ Brys asked. ‘Just don’t get yourself killed.’
Nodding, the Malazan youth kicked at the flanks of the Ve’Gath, and the huge beast wheeled round and set off.
Faint studied the defenders opposite, watching as they regrouped, drawing reinforcements down from the higher earthworks. ‘They’re going to break cover,’ she muttered. ‘They’re going to charge us.’
Precious Thimble glanced over. ‘What? Why would they do that?’
‘Because most of us are headed east, down the valley – they can’t let us chase after their own relieving force. They need to wipe out both the Letherii and the Bolkando.’
The witch’s gaze was darting back and forth along the hasty defences thrown up by the Letherii. ‘We’re badly outnumbered.’
‘Haven’t you been paying attention? Assaulting costs dear – we’re about to turn the tables on them, and they’re not going to like it.’
‘It’s only the mixed-bloods who’re keeping them fighting at all,’ Precious said under her breath.
‘What? What did you say?’
‘It’s the mixed-bloods, feeding off this cursed warren – using it to bend the Kolansii to their will. I doubt they’d fight this hard without it.’
‘Now you say all this!’ Faint looked about, saw the prince sitting on a horse twenty paces away, his back to them as he observed the departing companies. Stepping forward, Faint stumbled slightly, recovered. But her head was spinning. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘Blood loss,’ snapped Precious Thimble.
Hissing in frustration, Faint made her way – slowly – towards Brys Beddict. Find the damned mixed-bloods. Aim a few onagers at them. Tear them to pieces. And this battle is done. ‘Prince Brys!’
The man turned his head.
Faint hobbled forward. ‘A word with you, Highness…’
Ascending a valley side at the run and in full armour left the Perish staggering once they’d reached the top. Heart hammering in the cage of his chest, Syndecan pulled clear of the others and then halted, studying the lay of the land.
Shit. It’s all shit.
Forty paces away was a raised road, running parallel with the valley, its steep side facing them banked with water-worn stones. In between was a strip of furrowed field, left fallow for two years or more. Off to the right, a hundred paces along, rose a cluster of buildings – farmstead facing on to the field, public stables and inn facing the road.
Syndecan continued on, bleakly eyeing the sharp slope of the roadside. Reaching it, he sheathed his sword and scrambled his way to the top.
Beyond the road the unplanted fields stretched on for at least a third of a league, broken up by walled hedgerows forming a chaotic patchwork. ‘Now that’s better,’ he grunted. No army would be happy crossing that – the walls alone would slow them up, since they were as high as a man was tall. The Perish could break up into half-cohorts and contest one after another, and by the time the Kolansii won through the battle at the Spire would be long over.
Still leaves the road and this side, though. Narrow enough, but where do I weight my defence? Road or field? And what about this infernal stony bank? Can’t defend it worth a damn. That said, trying to breach along it would be a nightmare – until they won through. So I throw a cohort five steps back of the line, waiting for them. We bottle them up, don’t let them spill out to the sides. It’ll work. It’ll have to.
Hands on his hips, he turned round, looked down on his Grey Helms. Winded, most of them bent over, or on one knee, gulping air like beached carp. He pointed at the buildings. ‘Wounded go there. Cutters on your way – set up fast as you can. Rest of you, drink down the last of your water if you haven’t already. Chew on some food while you’re at it. We’re going to hold on the road and this side of it – mostly. I want two cohorts on the other side in case they send anyone that way. If they do, make them pay, brothers and sisters. Now, march to twenty paces from the buildings and form up there.’
Not a single groan as the Perish picked themselves up again and set off along the rippled, weed-knotted field.
Swinging round, Syndecan looked up the road.
Was that a glitter of pike points?
He glared back at his Grey Helms. ‘Step lively! Enemy sighted on the road!’ Wolves preserve us this day.
High Watered Festian gestured, watched as the columns plunged down off the road on the inland side, breaking up as they entered the hedgerow fields. He saw crews rushing ahead with picks to ensure that the passage gates through the walls were serviceable.
Seven hundred paces up the road he could see the cursed Perish – but they had fully discounted the enclosed fields.
Festian intended to lock fiercely with the Grey Helms, pushing forward with the weight of fifteen thousand Kolansii heavy infantry, and then send eight thousand through the enclosures, to take the road behind them. They would first crush the defenders on the road itself, and then drive the rest south across the field, to the very edge of the valley – where the only retreat was a deadly tumble down the steep valley side.
He intended to make quick work of this.
In the distance to the east, he could make out the top third of the Spire. Everything below that, on the ridged ascent of the isthmus, was obscured in clouds of dust or smoke. The sight chilled him.
And now Brother Diligence is dead. Slain by some foul trap of sorcery. It all falls to you, Sister Reverence. But we shall prevail. Justice is a sword without equal. I pray to you, Sister, hold on. We are coming.
Gillimada slowed her pace to match that of the Warchief, and he glared up at the huge woman as he struggled for breath.
‘I sent a scout up to the road – there are soldiers on it.’
Spax nodded but could manage little more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d led a raid, and while his warriors were thumping along in his wake with all the infernal ease of youth, his own legs were cramping, there was a stitch in his side, and sweat was stinging the vicious bite Abrastal’s daughter had delivered to his penis the night before. That she’d been trying to tear it off with her own teeth was only because of her frustration and anger at getting pregnant – nothing to do with him, really – and it was just his bad luck that his champion was the nearest thing at hand on which to vent all her anger and whatnot.
‘We could attack,’ suggested the Teblor in her stentorian voice. ‘A surprise!’
‘Can – can we overtake ’em?’
‘Teblor can – but not you. They are using the road. There is a road up there. My scout saw it and there were soldiers on it. Running.’
‘Did your scout – did your scout see – the Perish?’
‘No. Kolansii soldiers! On the road. Running!’
Oh, my cursed gods of the Barghast, am I wallowing in the muck with you? Feels like it! With some brainless backwoods harridan for company too! ‘Felled any trees lately, woman?’
‘What? No trees anywhere! I’d hit my head if there were trees. I’m glad there are no trees!’ And she bellowed a laugh, only to then shake her head. ‘Your language – it is so clumsy!’ She drew a sudden deep breath and out from her came a smooth flow of sounds Spax had not imagined possible from this Teblor.
‘What was that?’ he demanded when she’d finished.
‘I make up poem songs in my own language. I am famous for it, hah hah!’
