And who was playing that damned music, anyway?
He fought on.
And saw nothing of what was happening behind him, the sliding out of darkness of the enormous wolf-headed catamaran, closing on the end of the jetty. The broad platforms scraping outward, thumping down on the solid stone. Units of heavily armoured soldiers marching across those platforms, archers among them, long arrows nocked to bowstrings.
Koryk slashed with his sword, saw some poor Malazan citizen's face split in half, the jaw torn away, a torrent of blood – the white gleam of exposed bone beneath each ear – then, reeling away, eyes filled with disbelief, horrorKilling our own – gods below – our ownA sudden ringing command from Sergeant Balm behind him. 'Disengage!
Marines disengage!'
And discipline took hold – that command, echoing a hairy Master Sergeant's bawled orders on a drill field years ago – Koryk, snarling, lurched back, bringing up his shield to fend off an out-thrust spearAll at once, soldiers were moving past him on either side, a new shield-wall clashing closed in front of him.
A chorus of screams as arrows whispered into the heaving mob, thudding into flesh.
Wheeling away, sword's point dragging then skipping across the uneven cobbles, Koryk staggered back.
The Perish.
They're here.
And that's that.
Galt was laughing. 'Our first real scrap, Sergeant. And it's against Malazans!'
'Well,' Balm said, 'laughing's better'n crying. But shut that mouth anyway.'
As the fighting intensified at the foot of the jetty, the marines sagged down onto the cobbles or staggered off in search of water.
Wiping spattered blood from his eyes, Koryk looked round, bewildered, numbed. He saw two cloaked figures standing near the plank to the Froth Wolf. The Wickan witch and her warlock brother.
'Koryk of the Seti,' Nether said. 'Where is Bottle?'
'No idea,' he replied, squinting at the young woman. 'Somewhere' – he nodded towards the city behind him – 'in there.'
Nil said, 'He cannot get back. Not through that horde.'
Koryk spat onto the cobbles. 'He'll find a way,' he said.
'No worries about that,' Smiles added, walking up to the half-blood with a waterskin in her hands.
Nether spoke: 'You are all very confident.'
As Smiles handed Koryk the waterskin she said, 'Your heart's desire will be fine, is what I'm saying, Nether. He took his rat with him, didn't he?'
'His what?'
'Keeps it tucked in most of the time, it's true, but I seen it out more than once-'
'Enough,' Koryk growled under his breath.
Smile made a face at him. 'Spoilsport.'
'You two should get back onto the ship,' Koryk said to Nil and Nether.
'It's safer there – any stray arrow-'
'Soldier,' Nil cut in. 'You fight for the Wickans and for the Khundryl Burned Tears this night. We choose to witness.'
'Fine, just do it from the deck. What's the point of all this if you drop with an arrow through the throat?'
After a moment, the brother and sister both bowed – to Koryk and the other marines – then they turned about and made their way back up the plank.
Gods below, I've never seen them bow before. To anyone.
'Mind that last step…'
Kalam moved up directly behind the Adjunct. Twenty steps remained. '
With six left,' the assassin murmured, 'slow down and move to your left.'
She nodded.
The four moored dromons were off to one side, no guards present on the jetties. Directly ahead, at the foot of Rampart Way, stretched out a concourse. Opposite the clearing stood three imperial buildings, one a blockhouse and gaol, another a customs and tithes building and the third a solid, heavily fortified armoury for the City Watch. None of the usual guards were present, and the blockhouse was unlit.
Seven steps from the bottom. Kalam unsheathed his long-knives beneath his rain-cape.
The Adjunct edged to her left and hesitated.
In a blur Kalam swept past her, leading with his otataral weapon, and launched himself into the air, down, sailing over the last six steps.
Five figures seemed to materialize from nothing at the base of Rampart Way. One was crouched in Kalam's path, but twisted away to avoid a crushing collision. The otataral long-knife slashed out, the edge biting deep into the Claws neck, dragging free to loose a jet of arterial blood.
Landing in a crouch, Kalam parried an attack from his left twice, as the Claw closed with a dagger in each hand. Blackened iron flickered between them, the snick of blade catching blade as, pivoting on his inside leg, Kalam dropped lower, lashing out with his other leg to sweep the Claw from his feet. The killer landed hard on his left hip.
Kalam locked both dagger blades hard against the hilts of his longknives, pushed them to either side, then drove his knee down into the centre of the Claw's chest. The sternum was punched inward with a sickening crunch, ribs to either side bowing outward. Even as he landed, Kalam threw his weight forward, over the downed man, the tip of one of his long-knives sinking deep into the Claw's right eye socket as he passed.
He felt a dagger-blade cut through the rain-cape on his back, then skitter along the chain beneath, and then he was out of range, shoulder dipping, rolling back into a crouch and spinning round.
The attacker had followed, almost as quick, and Kalam grunted as the Claw slammed into him. A dagger-point plunged through chain links above his left hip and, twisting hard, he felt a shallow opening of his flesh, then the point struck more chain, and was suddenly snagged.
In the midst of this movement, and as the attacker seemed to bounce back from the impact – Kalam far outweighing him, or her – another dagger descended from overhead. An upward stop-thrust impaled that arm. The dagger spilled from a spasming hand. Leaving his long-knife there, Kalam slashed down against the other arm, severing tendons below the elbow. He then dropped that weapon as well, left hand inverting as it snapped up to grasp the front of the Claw's jerkin; his other hand closing on a handful down at me killers crotch – male – and Kalam heaved the figure upward, over his left shoulder, then, spinning round, he hammered the Claw headfirst onto the pavestones.
Skull and entire head seemed to vanish within folds of hood and cloak.
White matter spattered out.
Releasing the flopping body, Kalam collected both long-knives, then turned to face the last two of the Hand.
Both were already down. The Adjunct stood above one, her sword out and slick with blood. T'amber appeared to have closed to hand-to-hand with the other Claw, somehow breaking the man's neck even as he plunged both daggers into her. Kalam stared as she tugged the weapons free – lower right shoulder, just beneath a clavicle, and her right waist – and flung them aside as if they were mere slivers.
He met the young woman's eyes, and it seemed the gold flared for a moment, before she casually turned away. 'Stuff those holes,' Kalam said, 'or you'll bleed out.'
'Never mind me,' she replied. 'Where to, now?'
There was anguish on the Adjunct's face as she looked upon her lover, and it seemed she was struggling not to reach out.
Kalam collected his other long-knife. 'Where to now, T'amber? Ambushes set for every direct approach to Centre Docks. Let's force them to pull up and move to intercept us. West, Adjunct, deeper into the city.
