Return of the Crimson Guard (114 page)

While Possum watched, revolted, the man upended the jug over his head. Thick fluid – clotted blood, he imagined – ran down over the man's hair, face and shoulders. Possum turned away, his gorge rising. Madness! Utter insanity. And the night had barely begun! At the base of the shallow rise he stopped short as cocked crossbows in the hands of tens of soldiers kneeling and lying in the grass jerked to train themselves upon him. He froze.

‘Lower your Warren,’ someone shouted. ‘Or die.’

Possum complied.
They see him. How could they see him?

‘Ach!’ someone snorted. ‘It's only a fucking Claw.’ The crossbows all swung away.

Feeling rather piqued, Possum sought out the owner of that voice. He found the man – a sergeant – in a trench arguing with a Moranth Gold who towered above. ‘I don't give a rat's ass,’ the sergeant was saying. ‘Your orders are to stay, so you stay!’

’Our brothers need us,’ the Moranth rumbled. They are sorely pressed.’

‘They've broken,’ Possum said. Both looked over, annoyed, it seemed to him, by his interruption. The sergeant made a tossing away gesture. ‘There you go.’

‘You could have them rally to this position,’ Possum suggested.

The Moranth swung his helm down to peer to the sergeant who glared at Possum then waved the Moranth away. ‘Fine!’ And he muttered under his breath, ‘Might as well paint fucking bull's-eyes on our heads.’

‘Too late for that, Sergeant … ?’

‘Nai—’ The man took a deep breath. ‘Jumpy. Sergeant Jumpy.’

Ah! Of course, the man crazy enough to go out into the night to try to stalk Ryllandaras. Who else would it be?
‘You already have the Guard's attention. I can guarantee you that. You have a lunatic mage, or priest, above your heads with delusions of omnipotence. And with the Moranth broken, yours and the centre are the last remaining Imperial strong-points in the field.’

The man was scanning the dark field before the trench where mixed Moranth and Malazan regulars held lines defending coalesced skirmishers against probing Guard infantry. ‘Then I guess you best run away,’ he said, offhanded.

Possum's mouth clamped shut; his hands twitched to fill themselves. ‘Do not presume to be beyond the reach of the Empress,’ he ground out.

‘Don't you presume yourself safe.’ And he pointed down the trench. Possum glanced aside: four saboteurs held crossbows trained upon him, each set with a sharper. ‘We're in the trench and you ain't,’ the sergeant observed laconically.

Possum straightened, carefully adjusted his dark-blue tunic. ‘Continue defending this position, Sergeant,’ and he stepped over the trench, raising his Warren to pass through the lines of assembling Imperials. The sergeant called after him, ‘No kidding! Like I was going to go for a blasted swim or something.’

Impertinent shit.
Possum calmed himself with the certainty that – even with the deluded priest's claims – they would all
be dead by the dawn. He just hoped they would savage the Guard brutally enough for the Claws to then at their leisure pick off the remaining exhausted and drained Avowed.

* * *

Her Blades found the west flank in a shambles. Shimmer sent her lieutenants ahead to organize what scattered forces remained. All that stopped a solid Imperial advance was the lack of support from the rest of the field – the Guard centre still held and the appalling display of battle magics on the east was a pause for every ordinary soldier.

Shimmer advanced with Greymane, Shell and Smoky, gathering to her a growing following of Avowed, most of which she sent ahead to help firm resistance. The closer they got to the front, or scattered sections of the front, the thicker became the punishing flights of crossbow bolts. Every Avowed, and many regular Guardsmen and women, had picked up a Malazan heavy infantryman's solid rectangular shield, which they hunched behind like moveable walls. Shimmer had to occasionally sweep away the bolts hammered into hers in order to keep it usable.

An Avowed, Daneth, waved her over to a pile of fallen Guardsmen. ‘Look at this.’ On her knees, she raised a corpse to rest its head on her lap. Despite the man's mangled features Shimmer recognized him as an Avowed, Longlegs. The body displayed a number of wounds, as one would expect, but what was surprising was that fatal head wound: it was singular. Someone, or something, had struck him a blow on the face shattering his nose and jaw, driving the fragmented bones back into his brain, killing him instantly. ‘A club or mace?’ Shimmer opined.

‘The heel of an open hand,’ Daneth said, her flat tone matching her set grim face.

‘What?
Who could possibly …’

‘Urko!’ Smoky gasped as if the name itself were a curse. ‘He's here.’

Urko – the man who needs no weapons. No wonder the west was in such disarray; no unit could hold against him.
She glanced around, caught the gaze of nearby Avowed. ‘Halfdan, Bower, Lucky! Find him and kill him.’

They three inclined their heads in concurrence, jogged off.

‘They won't find him,’ Smoky said aside.

‘No? Why not?’

‘He's probably standing in line like any other heavy infantryman. He's already hiding from the Veils. He could be any of them.’

‘Lucky is no fool. He'll wait and watch.’

A shrug. ‘I hope so.’ He motioned to Shell. ‘In any case, Shell and I have done a few head-counts and we think we have some thirty of our brothers and sisters.’

‘And Skinner?’

‘Slightly more.’

‘I see. So, we remain split in our sympathies.’ Again, doubt stabbed at her, squeezing her breath and churning her stomach almost to the point of retching.
What if she'd been dreaming? Hearing voices? It was Shadow after all.
She turned on Greymane, snapping angrily, ‘What of you? Are you a match for a man who breaks armour with his bare hands?’

Nearby eruptions from a wave of tossed munitions shot dust and dirt over everyone. Greymane hefted his scavenged shield, shook dirt from his shoulders. ‘I've never met him,’ he shouted. ‘But from what I've heard – no.’

‘No?’ She was incredulous. ‘Just like that – you admit you could not defeat him. Is this a refusal to fight?’ All remaining nearby Avowed turned to watch warily.

‘I did not say that, Shimmer,’ Greymane said calmly, his hands kept loose at his sides. ‘I merely said there would be no match between us.’

‘So, all you have heard of him leads you to fear him that much.’

‘No, Shimmer. All that I have heard leads me to admire him that much. But I will say this. I vow that I would give my life in defence of you.’

Shimmer remained motionless for a number of heartbeats, her dark gaze slitted on Greymane's own pale unguarded eyes. She let her shield fall then hiked it up again as a crossbow bolt sang past, biting at the crimson silk tail that hung from her helmet's wrapping. She let go a snarled exhalation through clenched teeth. ‘Damn you, Greymane. Must you always walk the knife's edge?’

‘I must be true to myself.’

And look at what it has brought you, renegade!
But she left the retort unsaid. The man seemed all too desolately aware of it. She gripped her sheathed Napan whipsword. ‘Then I'll have to take you up on your offer and head to the front ranks until we find our friend …’

He rubbed his broad, flattened nose, wincing. ‘I was worried you'd propose that.’

‘Father Light preserve us!’ Smoky breathed, suddenly fixed upon the east. Shell too stared, speechless. Her hands rose as if to fend off what she was seeing. Shimmer squinted but could only make out a darker patch against the general night. ‘What is it?’

Eyes still on the far edge of the field, Smoky murmured, almost inaudibly, ‘The impossible.’

‘Explain yourself, mage,’ Shimmer snapped.

Blinking, the man turned back to her, ran his soot-blackened hands up through his tangle of wild hair. ‘Someone has unveiled Kurald Galain here on the battlefield. And whoever that mage is, he or she ain't one of ours.’

‘Kurald Galain?’

‘The Tiste Andii Warren of Elder Darkness,’ Shell explained. ‘Home of their Goddess, Mother Dark.’

Shimmer eyed the coalescing, gently turning smear of darkness low over the field. ‘But there are no Tiste Andii here …’

‘Exactly. The impossible.’

Buffets of wind announced the arrival of mages through Warren: Opal, Lor-sinn and Toby. The gathered Avowed mages all cast taut glances to Smoky who agreed with a tart downturn of his mouth to whatever had been communicated. He faced Shimmer. ‘The escalation in magery has begun. Skinner's invoked ritual magics, the Imperials have responded. We, all five of us, together with the recruited mages, Twisty, Palla and whoever else – we'll probably all be needed here.’

‘All
of you?’

Smoky dragged a hand across his face. ‘Whoever raised that, Shimmer, is beyond me.’

Shimmer forced herself to remain rigid. Show nothing! They are all looking to you!
Could no battle go as planned? We expected sword and shield to settle this engagement. Now Smoky claims things have spiralled to a clash such as the sorcerous conflagrations of old. Well, so be it. Short of the appearance of Tayschrenn she was confident of the Guard's mage cadre. At least that thing, whatever it was, was now Skinner's concern as it stood directly between him and the Imperial pavilion. K'azz, if you really are close – we need you,
‘Very well.’ She nodded to the sergeant with her, Trench, who raised a hand signing ‘advance’.

‘For'ard!’

Greymane followed Shimmer, obviously meaning to guard her back, while the assembled mages flanked her. The Avowed of her command spread out through the phalanx of second and third
investiture men and women, rallying all the disparate knots into one swelling, widening wedge of shielded soldiers.

* * *

‘Great Goddess protect us,’ Liss murmured, her head turning abruptly to the east. The three brothers, Hurl noted, had all turned as well.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Amazing … Like nothing I have ever seen, nor expected to see.’

‘What, dammit!’

‘Elder Darkness, Night Eternal, unveiled there on the battlefield.’ She pulled her gaze from the silhouetted hills to look down to Hurl who stood next to her mount. ‘Things, Hurl, are rapidly sliding out of control out on that field. Forces are being summoned that would give even Ryllandaras pause. He is, after all, just one creature.’ She pointed. ‘But out there, magery such as that which consumed armies is being primed for wielding.’

‘So?’

‘So – we must find him before we ourselves are consumed.’

‘Let us …’ said one brother.

‘Leave him …’

‘To die,’ finished the last.

Liss turned on them. ‘He's too cunning. He will flee. I intend to make sure of it!’

‘I, as well,’ Rell added.

The three shrugged, their indifference raising the hairs of Hurl's neck. They moved not one after the other, or raggedly, but identically, at exactly the same moment in exactly the same way despite the sagging paralysis of shoulders, lips and arms. It was as if they were one. And there had always been something eerie about them. Something unsettling. Everyone felt it. For Hurl it was a prickling that struck right at the very centre of her being but which she couldn't exactly pin down. Intuitive. Something was very wrong about them.

Yet what could she do? They'd done nothing suspicious. Nothing to call them on. Quite the opposite, in fact. They'd been vital to the city's defence. And so she was stuck with them. Like horses, she reflected, sourly. They made themselves useful so you couldn't just kill them all. But she knew their true side – she was on to them. ‘So?’ She sighed. ‘What do you suggest?’