Steven Erikson - Reaper's gale

When the thing rolled forward and then crashed down, well, curses rang in the air, curses or prayers and sometimes both, and this, soldiers said, was worse even than Y’Ghatan, and those poor damned marines, always getting their teeth kicked in, only this time nobody was coming out. The only thing that’d be pushing up from the ground in a few days’ time would be slivers of burnt bone.

So the Bonehunters on the transports had been a mean-spirited bunch by the time they emptied the water out of their boots and picked up their weapons. Mean, aye, as that Letherii army could attest to, oh yes.

After the Letherii magic had faded, crashed away as if to nothing in the distance, there had been a cry from Sinn, and Balm had seen with his own eyes Grub dancing about on the foredeck. And then everyone else had seen that blue-white dome of swirling light, rising up from where the Letherii magic had come down.

What did it mean?

Cord and Shard had gone up to Sinn, but she wasn’t talking which was a shock to them all. And all Grub said was something that nobody afterwards could even agree on, and since Balm hadn’t heard it himself he concluded that Grub probably hadn’t said anything at all, except maybe ‘I got to pee’ which explained all that dancing.

‘Could it be that Letherii magic turned them all into dust?’ Throatslitter wondered now as he walked on the dew-laden field.

‘And left the grasses growing wild?’ Masan Gilani countered.

‘Something over here,’ Deadsmell said from ten or so paces on.

Balm and Throatslitter dismounted and joined Masan Gilani-slightly behind her to either side. And the three of them set off after Deadsmell, who was now fast disappearing in the gloom.

‘Slow up there, Corporal!’ It’s not like the Universal Lodestone is bouncing up there with you, is it?

They saw that Deadsmell had finally halted, standing before a grey heap of something.

‘What did you find?’ Balm asked.

‘Looks like a shell midden,’ Throatslitter muttered.

‘Hah, always figured you for a fisher’s spawn.’

‘Spawn, ha ha, that’s so funny, Sergeant.’

‘Yeah? Then why ain’t you laughing? On second thought, don’t-they’ll hear it in the city and get scared. Well, scareder than they already are.’

They joined Deadsmell.

‘It’s a damned barrow,’ said Throatslitter. ‘And look, all kinds of Malazan stuff on it. Gods, Sergeant, you don’t think all that’s left of all those marines is under this mound?’

Balm shrugged. ‘We don’t even know how many made it this far. Could be six of ‘em. In fact, it’s a damned miracle any of ‘em did in the first place.’

‘No no,’ Deadsmell said. ‘There’s only one in there, but that’s about all I can say, Sergeant. There’s not a whisper of magic left here and probably never will be. It’s all been sucked dry.’

‘By the Letherii?’

The corporal shrugged. ‘Could be. That ritual was a bristling pig of a spell. Old magic, rougher than what comes from warrens.’

Masan Gilani crouched down and touched a badly notched Malazan shortsword. ‘Looks like someone did a lot of hacking with this thing, and if they made it this far doing just that, well, beat-up or not, a soldier doesn’t just toss it away like this.’

‘Unless the dead one inside earned the honour,’ Deadsmell said, nodding.

‘So,’ Masan concluded, ‘a Malazan. But just one.’

‘Aye, just the one.’

She straightened. ‘So where are the rest of them?’

‘Start looking for a trail or something,’ Balm said to Masan Gilani.

They all watched her head off into the gloom.

Then smiled at each other.

Lostara Yil walked up to where stood the Adjunct. ‘Most of the squads are back,’ she reported. ‘Pickets are being set now.’

‘Has Sergeant Balm returned?’

‘Not yet, Adjunct.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘Fist Keneb would have sent a runner.’

Tavore turned slightly to regard her. ‘Would he?’

Lostara Yil blinked. ‘Of course. Even at full strength-which we know would be impossible-he doesn’t have the soldiers to take Letheras. Adjunct, having heard nothing, we have to anticipate the worst.’

During the battle, Lostara Yil had remained close to her commander, although at no point was the Adjunct in any danger from the Letherii. The landing had been quick, professional. As for the battle, classic Malazan, even without the usual contingent of marines to augment the advance from the shoreline. Perfect, and brutal.

The Letherii were already in poor shape, she saw. Not from any fight, but from a fast march from well inland-probably where the wave of sorcery had erupted. Disordered in their exhaustion, and in some other, unaccountable way, profoundly rattled.

Or so had been the Adjunct’s assessment, after watching the enemy troops form ranks.

And she had been proved right. The Letherii had shattered like thin ice on a puddle. And what had happened to their mages? Nowhere in sight, leading Lostara to believe that those mages had used themselves up with that terrible conflagration they’d unleashed earlier.

Moranth munitions broke the Letherii apart-the Letherii commander had sent archers down the slope and the Bonehunters had had to wither a hail of sleeting arrows on their advance. There had been three hundred or so killed or wounded but there should have been more. Malazan armour, it turned out, was superior to the local armour; and once the skirmishers drew within range of their crossbows and sharpers, the enemy archers took heavy losses before fleeing back up the slope.

The Malazans simply followed them.

Sharpers, a few cussers sailing over the heads of the front Letherii ranks. Burners along the slope of the far left flank to ward off a modest cavalry charge. Smokers into the press to sow confusion. And then the wedges struck home.

Even then, had the Letherii stiffened their defence along the ridge, they could have bloodied the Malazans. Instead, they melted back, the lines collapsing, writhing like a wounded snake, and all at once the rout began. And with it, unmitigated slaughter.

The Adjunct had let her soldiers go, and Lostara Yil understood that decision. So much held down, for so long-and the growing belief that Fist Keneb and all his marines were dead. Murdered by sorcery. Such things can only be answered one sword-swing at a time, until the arm grows leaden, until the breaths are gulped down ragged and desperate.

And now, into the camp, the last of the soldiers were returning from their slaughter of Letherii. Faces,drawn, expressions numbed-as if each soldier had but just awakened from a nightmare, one in which he or she-surprise-was the monster.

She hardens them, for that is what she needs.

The Adjunct spoke, ‘Grub does not behave like a child who has lost his father.’

Lostara Yil snorted. ‘The lad is addled, Adjunct. You saw him dance. You heard him singing about candles.’

‘Addled. Yes, perhaps.’

‘In any case,’ Lostara persisted, ‘unlike Sinn, Grub has no talents, no way of knowing the fate of Fist Keneb. As for Sinn, well, as you know, I have little faith in her. Not because I believe her without power. She has that, Dryjhna knows.’ Then she shrugged. ‘Adjunct, they were on their own-entirely on their own-for so long. Under strength to conduct a full-scale invasion.’ She stopped then, realizing how critical all of this sounded. And isn’t it just that? A criticism of this, and of you, Adjunct. Didn’t we abandon them?

‘I am aware of the views among the soldiers,’ Tavore said, inflectionless.

‘Adjunct,’ Lostara said, ‘we cannot conduct much of a siege, unless we use what sappers we have and most of our heavier munitions-I sense you’re in something of a hurry and have no interest in settling in. When will the rest of the Perish and the Khundryl be joining us?’