The Nah’ruk had arrived.
Corabb had managed to reload. Lifting his head, he saw a giant lizard rising above the berm, maw tilting down as if grinning at him.
His quarrel vanished into its soft throat, punched out through the back of its skull. The creature wobbled. Flinging away the crossbow, Corabb drew his sword and scrambled to his feet. He swung at the nearest shin. The impact nearly broke his wrist and the weapon’s edge bit deep into bone and jammed there.
Still the creature stood, twitches rippling through its massive body.
Corabb struggled to pull loose his sword.
To either side, Nah’ruk clambered over the berm, leapt down into the trench.
The backswing lifted Sergeant Primly into the air, and he rode the iron blade, his blood spilling down as if from a bucket. Shrieking, Neller flung himself on to the lizard’s left arm, pulled himself higher and then forced the sharper down between the enamel chest-plate and the greasy hide. Jaws snapped, closed on his face. Phlegm like acid splashed his eyes and skin. Howling, Neller tightened his grip on the sharper and then drove the fist of his other hand against the armour, directly opposite the munition.
Mulvan Dreader, driving a spear into the lizard’s belly, caught the blast as the creature’s chest exploded. Ceramic shrapnel shredded Mulvan’s neck, punching red gore into the air behind him. Neller was flung back, his right arm gone, his face a slashed, melting horror.
Primly’s corpse landed five paces away, a flopping thing painted crimson.
The lizard toppled.
Two more appeared behind it, falchions lifting.
Stumbling, Drawfirst set her shield and readied her sword. As Skulldeath leapt past her, landing in between the two Nah’ruk.
A bolt sizzled close to her horse’s head. Its muzzle and mane burst into flame. Skin peeled and cracked from mouth to shoulders. The animal collapsed. Lostara Yil managed to roll clear. The heat had flashed against her face and she could smell the stench of scorched hair. Staggering to her feet, she looked over to see a dozen staff riders down, roasted in their armour. The Adjunct was lifting herself from the carnage, her otataral sword in one hand.
‘Get me Keneb-’
‘Keneb’s dead, Adjunct,’ Lostara replied, staggering over. The world spun and then steadied.
Tavore straightened. ‘Where-’
Lostara reached the woman, pulled her down to the ground. ‘You shouldn’t even be alive, Tavore. Stay here-you’re in shock. Stay here-I’ll find help-’
‘Quick Ben-the High Mage-’
‘Aye.’ Lostara stood over the Adjunct, who was sitting as would a child. The captain looked over to where she’d last seen Quick Ben.
He’d annihilated an entire phalanx, and where it had been the fires of superheated flesh, hide and bone still raged in an inferno. She saw him marching towards another phalanx, above him the sky convulsing, blackening like a bruise.
Sorcery erupted from the High Mage, struck the phalanx. Burning corpses lifted into the air.
‘I see him. Adjunct-I can’t-’
From the darkness in the sky a sudden glow, blinding, and then an enormous spear of lightning descended. She saw the High Mage look up, saw him raise his arms-and then the bolt struck. The explosion could have levelled a tenement block. Even the Nah’ruk in the phalanx thirty or more paces away were flattened like sheaves of wheat. Flanking units buckled on the facing sides.
The shock wave staggered Lostara, stole her breath, deafened her. Hands to her face, she slumped down, struck the ground hard.
Skanarow threw herself down into the second trench where the heavies were waiting. ‘The marines are overrun! Sound the fall-back-and make room for the survivors-let ’em through! Get ready to hold this trench!’
She saw a messenger, unhorsed, crouching behind the headless corpse of a heavy. ‘You-find Captain Kindly. I just saw the vanguard go down-and I don’t know where Blistig is, so as far as I’m concerned Kindly’s now in command. Tell him, we need to begin a retreat-we can’t hold. Understood?’
The young man nodded.
‘Go.’
Brys flinched as the Nah’ruk lines struck the Malazan defences. He saw the heavy falchions descending. Barely slowing, the lizards swarmed over the first trench and began closing on the next one.
‘Aranict-’
‘I think she lives, Commander.’
Brys swung round in his saddle, caught the eyes of his outriders. ‘We need to retrieve the Adjunct. Volunteers only.’
One rider pushed through the others. Henar Vygulf.
Brys nodded. ‘Get your spare horses, Lieutenant.’
The huge Bluerose saluted.
‘When you have them,’ Brys said before the man turned away, ‘ride for the supply train.’
The soldier frowned.
Brys gritted his teeth. ‘I will not stand here watching this slaughter. We will close with the enemy.’
They saw the impossibly thick bolt of lightning tear down from the dark stain ahead. As the shockwaves drummed through the ground, Warleader Gall raised an arm to signal a halt. He faced Kisswhere, his face ashen. ‘I am sending you to the Mortal Sword Krughava-tell her the Malazans are assailed, and that the Khundryl ride to their succour.’
She stared at the man. ‘Warleader-’
‘Ride, soldier-you are not Khundryl-you do not understand what it is to fight from a horse. Tell Krughava the gods were cruel this day, for she will not reach the Malazans in time.’
‘Who is their enemy?’ Kisswhere demanded. ‘Your shamans-’
‘Are blind. We know less than you. Ride, Kisswhere.’
She swung her horse round.
Gall rose in his stirrups and faced his warriors. He drew his tulwar and held it high. And said nothing.
In answer, six thousand weapons were freed and lifted skyward.
Gall pulled his horse round. ‘Ride ahead, Rafala, until you sight the enemy.’
The woman kicked her mount into a gallop.
After a moment, Gall led his army after her, at a quick canter, and the sound of thunder grew louder, and the yellow sky deepened to brown in which flashes bloomed like wounds.
He wondered what his wife was doing.
Worse than chopping down trees. Fiddler gave up trying to hack through legs and began hamstringing the bastards, ducking the slashes of notched weapons, dodging the downward swings. The surviving Malazans had been driven from the first trench, were now struggling to hold a fighting withdrawal across the ten paces to the heavies’ trench.
Crossbow quarrels and arrows spat out from the troops arrayed behind the heavies, winging at heights mercifully above the heads of the soldiers in their desperate retreat. Most missiles shattered against enamel, but a few were punching through, finding gaps in the Nah’ruk’s armour. Beasts were toppling here and there.
But not enough. The phalanx was a machine, devouring everything in its path.
Fiddler had lost his cusser and lobber in the first trench. The shortsword felt puny as a thorn in his hand. A glancing blow had sent his helm flying and blood streamed down the right side of his head.
He saw Koryk pushing his sword through a Nah’ruk’s neck; saw another lizard step in behind the man, halberd lifting high. Bolts punched into both armpits. The creature fell forward, burying Koryk. Smiles rushed over, diving and rolling to evade a lashing falchion.
Cuttle stumbled up against Fiddler. ‘Retreat’s sounded!’
‘I heard-’
‘Quick Ben’s been Rannalled, Fid-that giant strike-’
‘I know. Forget him-help me get the squad back-the heavies will hold, enough so we can regroup. Go on, I ain’t seen Corabb or Bottle-’
Nah’ruk and human corpses half-buried Bottle, but he was in no hurry to move. He saw more of the lizards marching past on all sides.
He could see a sliver of sky, could see the wyval wheeling round up there, eager to descend and feed.
He left his body, winged skyward.
Corabb yanked hard and dragged his sword from the Nah’ruk’s left eye socket, then he reached down to take up again Shoaly’s ankle-but the man had stopped screaming and as he looked he saw in the heavy’s face a slackness, a dullness to the staring eyes.
