Orb Sceptre Throne

arms for their attention. ‘Rankers! You know me. Some of you knew me as Fist Aragan, some as Captain Aragan. Abyss — some of you old dogs even knew me as Sergeant Aragan! And what’s my point?’ He swept an arm behind to the Seguleh, now forming up in column. ‘You’ve all heard the stories about how these Seguleh have never been beaten. How they’ve slaughtered everyone who’s ever faced them. Well, look around … We’re still here! And now — now they’re offerin’ you a choice! All you have to do is drop your swords to surrender. That’s all. But if you do that I can promise you one thing … You ain’t gonna get another shot at the bastards! So what’s it going to be? Hey? What’s your answer?’

Silence. Aragan glared right and left, his heart hammering, gulping his breaths. Then at the far end of the line a hulking Dal Honese trooper drew his blade, held it out saluting, and bashed it to his shield twice. Hands went to sword-grips all up and down the lines. Swords hissed, drawing to clash in a great thunderous roar against shields, once, twice, then extending in the formal salute.

There’s your Malazan answer. Aragan’s vision blurred and he blinked to clear it. To all appearances the man was overcome. Inwardly he unclenched a nightmare of dread. Thank the gods they didn’t tell me to piss off.

He rejoined Fist K’ess in the lines.

‘Well done, sir,’ K’ess murmured. ‘Still not coming.’

Aragan squinted down on the gathered Seguleh, then up the mountain slope behind, sweeping on above to the distant snow-touched peaks, then back again. ‘They’re waiting …’ He cursed and slammed a fist to his armoured thigh.

K’ess glanced at him. ‘What?’

Aragan raised his hands as if clutching at the air. ‘We’re bait! Nothing more than Hood-damned bait!’

‘Bait? What do you mean?’

‘They don’t want us, man! They’ve never wanted us.’ He pointed to the mountains. ‘It’s the Moranth! They’re calling out the Moranth!’

K’ess rubbed his chin, nodding. Then he muttered darkly, ‘Knew we should’ve stayed at Dhavran.’

Shouts of alarm sounded and Bendan glanced up. The Seguleh had started up the valley. They came on at a slow jog, double-file. ‘Would ya look at that,’ Bone murmured from nearby. ‘Beautiful. Done for the Rhivi and now comin’ to finish us off.’

‘Shut up,’ Bendan snapped.

‘What’s that?’ Bone answered, grinning. ‘Thought you was all for butchery.’

‘Not like this.’

‘Aw. Not so pleasant when it’s you gettin’ pummelled, hey?’

‘I mean not like this!’ He thrust a hand behind them. ‘What’re we doin’ here? There’s nothing here but rocks. What’s the point?’

‘Point is we stood up,’ Hektar answered. Then he tilted his head, listening. ‘Swear I hear somethin’.’

*

Torvald held on for his life as the Silver sent her quorl stooping down the mountain slope, scudding over trees and stone outcroppings with barely an arm’s length to spare. They turned and the valley came into his sight ahead. The Seguleh were advancing in column on the Malazans, who had formed a new line, a much thinner line, along higher rough ground.

‘Open the satchel,’ Galene shouted over the wind tearing at them.

Arms wrapped in the leather strapping, his hands free, Tor reached for the heavy-duty leather pack tied to the saddle between them. He undid the metal clasps and opened the mouth of the pack. What he saw nestled within made him jump and the quorl jerked in answer, weaving unsteadily in its flight.

‘Careful!’ Galene called loudly, her voice pitched rather higher.

His gaze slit, Torvald peered down at the valley swooping up to meet them, the diminutive figures moving there, and he shook his head. ‘No. I won’t do it,’ he shouted.

Galene turned awkwardly in the saddle to glance back at him. ‘Take it out!’ she ordered, fierce.

‘No! How can you even consider-’ and he choked, his heart strangling him, as the quorl curved sideways, turning and diving as if meaning to smash into the valley floor below. Behind them, flight after flight of burdened quorl followed, all flitting downslope in a careering, rushing stream.

*

‘Night-damned arm,’ Bendan snarled, as he tried to raise his shield higher.

‘What’s that?’ Hektar asked.

‘Ach — took a slash on the shield arm. Now I can’t get it high enough!’

‘Use your belt. Strap it and tie it off.’

Bendan grunted. ‘Right. But then … what am I gonna do after?’

The big Dal Hon turned in his direction as if staring though his eyes were gone. Bendan ducked his head. ‘Ah. Right.’ Then he jerked, surprised. ‘Would ya look at that!’ He rose from his crouch pointing skyward where curve after curve of Moranth quorls came arching down the valley. They appeared to be swooping in on the closing Seguleh.

Bone straightened, shading his gaze. ‘Oh, no …’ he whispered.

‘What is it?’ Hektar asked, peering wildly about, his sword ready.

‘Moranth flyin’ in on their monster mounts,’ Bendan told him. ‘Gonna land and rush the Seguleh!’ He threw up his one good arm, shouting: ‘Yah!’

‘No, they aren’t,’ Bone said, his voice shaky. ‘Burn forgive us … The poor bastards …’

Bendan eyed him, frowning. ‘What’s that?’

The grizzled saboteur was hugging himself, backing away among the tall boulders. ‘Slaughter … Hood- damned slaughter!’

‘What’s the matter, man?’

The saboteur pointed to him. ‘Take cover,’ he ordered. ‘All o’ you take cover.’ He ran off up the lines, shouting as he went: ‘Get cover now, damn you all!’

Yet the lines were stirring, readying shields, regripping weapons. For the Seguleh were close now.

*

Galene reached behind herself one-handed to pull the fat oblong from its pack. Ducking from the driving wind, Tor grasped it in both hands, hugging it. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘It’s murder!’

‘Let go, fool!’ The quorl weaved drunkenly. Treetops slashed by beneath, almost striking Tor’s boots. The impossible storm of wind threatened to sweep him from the saddle. ‘This is war,’ she grated. ‘Our survival!’

‘But they stand no chance!’

She yanked the cusser free. ‘Then they should not have taken up the sword.’

The quorl dived even lower now. Tor rose off his seat in the descent. Just ahead the Seguleh column was spreading out. They now appeared so close, and he was rushing in upon them at such a ferocious speed, it seemed to him that they would collide. Before him the valley head rose rocky and steep, thin streams darkening the stone wall here and there. At its foot the Malazan line stood firm in their black surcoats, shields overlapping. Tor spared one quick glance back: line after line of quorl followed, their Silver drivers hunched forward as if racing, Red and Black passengers behind cradling the fat munitions in their arms.

Galene raised the cusser in both hands. The slashing wind snapped her flying jesses and straps about her armoured form.

*

Sword in hand, Aragan turned from the panting veteran saboteur to stare down into the valley. He took in the jogging Seguleh. Then, above, the swooping Moranth. And he felt as if he would faint. Oh, Hood, no … So close … He staggered forward, threw his arms out, bellowing: ‘Take cover now! Cover!’

Bendan felt himself bending backwards further and further as the Moranth quorl seemed to be coming straight for him personally. He saw riders throwing and dark objects tumbling through the air as the quorl tore overhead, so low it seemed he could stretch up and touch their delicate thrumming wingtips. He yanked Hektar — the only man still standing — down among the rearing jumbled boulders and bellowed in his ear over the roaring: ‘Shield!’

An enormous invisible wall struck Bendan, smashing him down into the rocks. His shield bashed him in the