Ian Esslemont - Return of the Crimson Guard

Urko cracked the knuckles of his large scarred hands. ‘I hear talk of defence. What about offence? I understand that thing must be closed. But just what is it?’

‘A rent,’ Shell answered. ‘Sources tell of the remnant of one in south Genabackis. There are others. They are tears in the fabric of the barriers between Realms. No sane theurgist would dare create one. Only the Great Matrons of the K'Chain Che'Malle could master them.’

That odd name, K'Chain Che'Malle, lowered a silence upon the gathered mages. Even Kyle felt within it echoes of the oldest of his people's legends: formless terrors of the night.

Pausing to be certain that point sank in, Shell continued, ‘This one appears to open upon Chaos. And it is growing. It may never stop. Yes, it must be closed, and at all cost.’

Urko grunted his understanding. ‘What's the plan?’

Shimmer's gaze lingered upon the east. ‘We understand a single mage is responsible and is feeding its growth. Right now it is not self-sustaining but time is running out. Killing the mage should cut it off.’

‘If he can be,’ the dour-looking Gwynn, near Kyle, commented beneath his breath.

The hill shook and everyone ducked as another lash of pulsing blue-black power hammered the grounds amid the Malazan lines. The distant shrieks and screams audible even through its roar made Kyle shiver. Urko's fists snapped up quivering as if he would break something or someone that instant. ‘Bastard!’ He pointed to the twins, ‘Make the arrangements!’ To Shimmer: ‘We're comin’ up!’ and he ran.

‘A large party would only attract attention,’ the girl, Nether, said.

Helmet under her arm, Shimmer pushed back her long, straight black hair, nodded curt agreement. ‘A small party.’

‘How to approach?’ asked the young male twin, Nil.

‘You will need the element of surprise,’ said a new voice from nearby. Everyone turned. There stood a slim fellow in dark clothes, a smirk on his narrow, pinched face. Shimmer raised a hand to forestall any action. ‘Possum. What word?’

‘For such a purpose I am empowered to offer Imperial cooperation.’

‘Such as?’ Smoky asked, his voice acid.

‘Passage through the Imperial Warren.’

‘That Warren is a death-trap,’ said Gwynn.

The smirk returned: ‘Only for those not authorized to access it.’

Heads among the mages turned, eyes narrowing. ‘Laseen …’ Smoky breathed.

The Claw sketched a courtly bow. ‘I am only a humble messenger.’

The Wickan twins, Nil and Nether, volunteered. After much debate among the Avowed mages it was decided that Gwynn and Smoky would go as their contribution. Possum would bring them through.

As the mages prepared themselves, Kyle went to Smoky's side. ‘Good luck.’

The mage smiled, showing his small, sharp, rat-like teeth. ‘Just like old times, eh? Speaking of that — let's see that new sword.’

Kyle drew it and held it out. Smoky went to take it but jerked his hands away. He stared, obviously amazed, raised his eyes to Kyle. ‘This blade is not metal. Wouldn't dare try to mark that. Take my word for it — don't show it to anyone.’

Kyle sheathed it. ‘Thank you. I'd come if I could.’

A snort, then the mage wiped a sleeve across his grimed brow. ‘Might have to. No one says we'll succeed.’ He waved goodbye. Kyle saw that Stalker had come to watch. He went to his side.

‘What do you think?’

Stalker was frowning beneath his sandy moustache. ‘We should all go. Hit whatever that is with everything we've got. Maybe then we'd stand a chance.’

Kyle stared up at the man as he stood watching the mages’ preparations, his frown turning ever more sour. Surely things could not be that desperate — could they?

Nait crawled on his belly from one pit to another. The flesh of his back writhed with the knowledge that energies that could evaporate iron crackled and thrummed just a stone's throw above him. Ants. Just us ants down here ‘s all. Finding the next pit, he flopped down into the hip-deep depression where soldiers on their knees frantically dug with those once maligned but now oh-so-valuable saboteur tools: shovels. He shouted over the avalanche churning of power: ‘Anyone here get a look at whoever the Abyss it is?’

The nearest answered: ‘Yeah. I seen ‘im. It's Hood himself come to get us!’ He gestured upwards. ‘Brought his gate with him!’

Nait pushed the laughing fellow aside, carried on.

‘It's a mage,’ one shouted into his ear as he passed. ‘Wrapped in flame. None of the bolts reached him — they burned. Even melted!’ Nait nodded his understanding.

‘Where is he now?’ he yelled. The fellow gestured ahead. ‘Thanks.’ Nait pointed back the way he'd come. ‘Dig back, link up!’ A nod of acknowledgement. Reaching the end of the pit, Nait edged up to slide out. The chest of his hauberk gouged the dirt as he pulled himself along by the insides of his arms and legs. Through the wind-lashed grass he saw the fellow — or what must be him. It was a swirling squat tornado of power inside which he could just make out a human-like silhouette, arms raised.

He turned his head to peer upward. It was misleading, but the summoning, or whatever it was, seemed to hover exactly above him. Its height was hard to guess — top of a tall tree maybe? Darkness tinged by grey boiled and stirred within. Around him dust and fragments of chaff floated upwards, drawn up on a gathering draught that appeared to lead into the thing. Abyss! And it might just be so, too.

Something touched his leg and his heart almost burst. He looked back: it was one of the Avowed, his face all purplish and bruised, one eye swollen shut. Blues, Ho had given his name as. The Avowed gestured him back. Nait waved him away: blasted fool! He'd almost made him jump up and run for it! The fellow gestured again, insistent. Fine! Nait pushed himself backwards.

They met all together in a rear trench. Urfa's and Nait's saboteurs worked around them deepening the earthworks. In attendance were the saboteur sergeants, the survivors of the wreck and two sergeants from stranded heavy infantry elements squatting in the grasses: Pellan, a Falaran, and Tourmaline, a Moranth. Nait was surprised and pleased to see Heuk as well. ‘What are you doing here?’ he shouted.

The old mage grimaced, scratched his patchy beard. ‘Bastards dropped me ‘n’ ran. Woke me up.’

After introductions, the Malazan heavy infantry sergeant, Pellan, spoke up: ‘What can we do? ‘Cept get our arses away from here?’

‘Can't move,’ Ho said. ‘Anything that moves gets hit, consumed to ashes.’

‘So what can we do?’ Pellan gestured angrily to the sky. ‘There ain't nothing we can do against that!’

Ho opened his mouth but the Gold Moranth spoke up: ‘It must be closed.’

Everyone turned to him — or her. ‘We know of these… things. A remnant of one still exists to the south of our lands. They are crimes against existence. They undermine the very ground upon which we live, the air we breathe. It must be destroyed at all cost.’

Pellan blinked, clearly impressed by such passion, but he pointed up again. ‘What? Way up there? There's nothin’ we can do — unless we jump that mage.’

‘No chance,’ Ho said. ‘Anyone coming close would be incinerated.’

Pellan threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Then you mages come up with something!’ and he waved to Heuk.

The grimed mage exchanged glances with Ho, the ones named Blues and Fingers, and the big, thick-armed female mage named Devaleth. The last of them, the old Wickan witch, had yet to recover with the aid of the sketchy healing that could be provided. They all still seemed a little punchy, but they were deadly serious; so much so Nait found himself wondering about their relationship with the source of this thing. If they were such enemies why were they all together on the same ship? And pretty much all of them mages, too. As far as he was concerned, you get that many mages, jammed together and things like this are practically guaranteed to happen.