Memories of Ice

wing dropped down into the streets, soldiers flinging themselves from the saddles and scrambling for cover.

The High Fist beckoned for a messenger.

'New orders to the officers — the companies are to take buildings — defensible ones. The keep will have to wait — I want roofs over us-'

Another message-bearer appeared. 'High Fist!'

'What?'

'The Pannion legions are assembling, sir — every street in a line from the north gate right up to the keep.'

'And we hold the west third of the city. They're coming to drive us out. All right.' He faced the first messenger and said, 'Let the officers know so they can adjust their defence-'

But the second message-bearer wasn't finished. 'High Fist, sir — sorry. There's K'Chain Che'Malle with those legions.'

Then where is Silverfox and her damned T'lan Imass? 'They could be dragons for all it matters,' he growled after a moment. 'Go,' he said to the first messenger. The soldier saluted and left. The High Fist glared at the other message-bearer, then said, 'Find Twist and inform him we'll need a pass of his heavies — east of our position — just one, though. Tell him that they probably won't make it back, so he'd better hold a wing in reserve.' Dujek raised his visor and studied the sky overhead. Dawn was arriving — the fifth and sixth wings had delivered their troops and were distant specks racing back towards the mountain. That's it, then, we're all in Coral. And if we don't get help soon we'll never leave. 'That's all.' He nodded to the soldier.

The condors circled above the rooftop, crying out to each other, dipping and diving then, wings thudding the air, lifting back towards the paling sky.

Paran stared up, disbelieving. 'They must be able to see us!' he hissed.

They crouched against a low wall beyond which was a parapet overlooking the harbour and Coral Bay, and the darkness that had swallowed them was fast fading.

'They can't see us,' Quick Ben muttered at his side, 'because I'm keeping them from seeing us. But they know we're here … somewhere.'

And that's why they're hanging around. Fine. Good. That means they're not busy annihilating Dujek's army.

The keep shook beneath them, rattling tiles. 'Hood's breath, what was that?'

The wizard at his side scowled. 'Not sure. That didn't sound like munitions … but I'd say the compound wall's been breached again.'

Again? By whom? The detonation had come from the harbour side, east. A billowing cloud of dust slowly lifted into view.

Paran cautiously lifted his head until he could see past the low wall.

Out over the bay, seagulls were screaming. The sea beyond, which seemed to be solid ice, was rumbling. Spouts exploded skyward along that south horizon. A storm was building out there. Let's hope it comes here — we could do with the confusion.

'Get your head down!' Quick Ben hissed.

'Sorry.'

'I'm having enough trouble as it is, Captain — we need to stay tight — stop kicking, Detoran — what? Oh. Captain, look north, sir! High up!'

Paran twisted round.

A wing of Moranth — no more than specks — were sailing over the city, east to west.

Six condors were climbing to meet them — but they had a long way to go.

Smaller specks dropped from the Moranth, down onto the east half of the city.

Their descent seemed to take for ever, then the first one struck the roof of a building. The explosion shattered the roof and upper floor. All at once, detonations trembled as cusser after cusser struck.

Sorcery swept from the six condors, raced up towards the distant Moranth.

Bombs expended, the wing scattered. None the less, more than a score did not escape the sorcerous wave.

Smoke and dust shrouded the east side of Coral.

Above the captain and the squad, the remaining condors screamed with rage.

'That worked, more or less,' Quick Ben whispered. 'Those streets were likely packed solid with Pannion soldiers.'

'Not to mention,' Paran gritted, 'the rest of the Bridgeburners.'

'They'd have withdrawn by now.'

Paran heard the effort in the wizard's hopeful tone.

A cusser had struck the street fifty paces behind Picker and her decimated squads, less than ten paces behind the K'Chain Che'Malle K'ell Hunter that had been closing on them. The undead creature was obliterated by the blast, its mass absorbing most of the lethal, flailing rain of shattered cobbles.

Fragments of withered skin, flesh and splinters of bone pattered down almost within reach of the Bridgeburners.

Picker raised a hand to call the soldiers to a halt. She was not alone in needing to catch her breath, to wait until her hammering heart slowed somewhat.

'That makes a damned change,' Blend gasped at the lieutenant's side.

Picker did not bother replying, but she could not help but agree with Blend's bitter comment. As Paran had instructed, they had indeed drawn the attention of at least some of the K'Chain Che'Malle.

And had paid for it.

Her last count had sixteen Bridgeburners capable of combat and six wounded, of whom three were at Hood's Gate. The K'Chain Che'Malle were more than fast, they were lightning. And relentless. Sharpers did little more than irritate them.

In any case, the munitions were gone. Picker had turned her soldiers back on one of the K'ell Hunters, to gauge their chances in a close-in fight. She would not do that again. They'd been lucky to disengage at all. Seeing friends on all sides cut into pieces where they stood was an image that would haunt her all her remaining days — days? I haven't got days. I'll be surprised if we live out this bell.

'Hood take us, another one!'

The lieutenant wheeled at the shout.

Another Hunter had appeared from a side alley, claws scraping on cobbles, head hunched low, blades out.

Less than fifteen paces away, head swinging to face them.

All right. heartbeats, then.

'Scatter!'

Even as the Bridgeburners began to bolt, a wall close to the K'Chain Che'Malle exploded onto the street. Another Hunter arrived within the dust and bricks that tumbled out, this one a chopped-up ruin, head swinging wildly — connected to neck by a thin strip of tendon — missing one arm, a leg ending in a stump at the ankle. The creature fell, pounded onto the cobbles, ribs snapping, and did not move.

The Bridgeburners froze in place.

As did the first K'Chain Che'Malle. Then it hissed and swung to face the ragged hole in the building's wall.

Through the dust stepped a T'lan Imass. Desiccated flesh torn, hanging in strips, the gleam of bone visible everywhere, a skull-helmed head that had once held horns. The flint sword in its hands was so notched it appeared denticulated.

Ignoring the Malazans, it turned to the other K'Chain Che'Malle.

The Hunter hissed and attacked.

Picker's eyes could not fully register the speed of the exchange of blows. All at once, it seemed, the K'Chain Che'Malle was toppling, a leg severed clean above what passed for a knee. A sword clanged on the cobbles as a dismembered arm fell. The T'lan Imass had stepped back, and now moved forward once more, an overhead chop that shattered bone down through shoulder, chest, then hip, bursting free to strike the cobbles in a spray of sparks.