Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

Antsy thumped Picker's other shoulder. 'Look! Further down! The legions at the back!'

She twisted. To see soldiers breaking formation, spreading out to disappear in the wooded hillside on either side of the ramp. 'Damn, someone got smart.'

'Smart ain't all — they're going to stumble right onto us!'

Paran saw Quick Ben reappear on the bank, stumbling from a warren, smoke streaming from his scorched leather armour. Moments earlier, the captain had thought the man annihilated, as a crackling wave of chaotic magic had hammered into the ridge of mounded earth that the wizard had chosen as his position. Grey-tongued fires still burned in the chewed-up soil around Quick Ben.

'Captain!'

Paran turned to see a marine scrabbling up the entrenchment's incline towards him.

'Sir, we've had reports — the legions are coming up through the trees!'

'Does the High Fist know?'

'Yes sir! He's sending you another company to hold this line.'

'Very well, soldier. Go back to him and ask him to get the word passed through the ranks. I've got a squad down there somewhere — they'll be coming up ahead of the enemy, likely at a run.'

'Aye, sir.'

Paran watched the man hurry off. He then scanned his dug-in troops. They were hard to see — shadows played wildly over their positions, filled the pits and the trenches linking them. The captain's head snapped round to Quick Ben. The wizard was hunched down, almost invisible beneath swirling shadows.

The ground below the embankment writhed and churned. Rocks and boulders were pushing up through the mulch, grinding and snapping against each other, the water on their surfaces sizzling into steam that cloaked the building mass of stone.

Two warrens unveiled — no, must be three — those boulders are red hot.

Shadows slipped down the bank, flowed between and beneath the gathering boulders.

He's building a scree — one that the enemy won't notice. until it's too late.

Down among the trees Paran could now see movement, ragged lines of Pannions climbing towards them. No shield-lines, no turtles — the toll among the Beklites, once they closed to attack, would be fearful.

Damn, where in the Abyss is Picker and the squad, then?

On the ramp, the first legion had reformed and were doggedly marching upward once more, three Seerdomin mages in the lead. Webs of sorcery wove protective cloaks about them.

In rapid succession, three waves of magic roared up the ramp. The first clambered towards Quick Ben, building as it drew near. The other two rolled straight at the lead trench — in front of which stood Captain Paran.

Paran wheeled. 'Everyone down!' he bellowed, then threw himself flat. There was little point, he well knew. Neither his shouted warning nor his lying low would make any difference. Twisting round through the damp mulch, he was able to watch the tumbling wave approach.

The first one, aimed at Quick Ben, should have struck by now, but there was no sound, no dreadful explosion-except far down the slope, shaking the ground, shivering through the trees. Distant screams.

He could not pull his gaze from the magic rushing up towards him.

In its path — only moments before it reached the captain and his soldiers — a flare of darkness, a rip through the air itself, slashing across the entire width of the ramp.

The sorcery plunged into the warren with a hissing whisper.

Another detonation, far below among the massed legions.

The second wave followed the first.

A moment later, as a third explosion echoed, the warren narrowed, then vanished.

Disbelieving, Paran twisted further until he could see Quick Ben.

The wizard had built a wall of heaving stone before him, and it began to move amidst the flowing shadows, leaning, shifting, pushing humus before it. Suddenly the shadows raced downslope, between the trees, in a confusing, overwhelming wave. A moment later, the boulders followed — an avalanche that thundered, took trees with it, pouring like liquid towards the ragged lines of soldiers climbing the slope.

If they saw what struck them, there was no time to so much as scream. The slide continued to grow, burying every sign of the Beklites on that flank, until it seemed to the Paran that the whole hillside was on the move, hundreds of trees slashing the air as they toppled.

Sharpers exploded on the opposite flank, drawing Paran's attention. The Beklites on that side had reached the entrenchment's bank. Following the deadly hail of sharpers, pikes rose above the trench's line, and the Malazans poured up the side to form a bristling line atop the bank. Among them, heavy-armoured marines with assault crossbows.

The Beklites struggled upward, died by the score.

Then, at almost point-blank range, sorcery lashed the Malazan line. Bodies exploded within the grey fire.

As the miasmic magic dwindled, Paran could see naught but mangled corpses on the bank. The Beklites swarmed upward. Overhead, a condor trailing grey flames climbed laboriously back into the sky.

A flight of thirty Black Moranth darted to meet it. A score loosed crossbow quarrels towards the huge bird. Grey lightning lashed out from the condor, incinerating the missiles. A writhing wave blighted the sky, swept through the Black Moranth. Armour and flesh exploded.

Quick Ben stumbled to Paran's side, frantically cleared the mulch away in front of the captain, until a patch of bare earth was revealed.

'What are you-'

'Draw that damned bird, Captain! With your finger — draw a card! '

'But I can't-'

'Draw!'

Paran dragged his gloved index finger through the damp earth, beginning with a rectangular outline. His hand shook as he attempted to sketch the basic lines of the condor. 'This is madness — it won't work — gods, I can't even draw!'

'Are you done? Is that it?'

'What in Hood's name do you want?'

'Fine!' the wizard snapped. He made a fist and thumped the image.

Overhead, the demonic condor had begun another dive.

Suddenly, its wings flapped wildly, as if it could find no air beneath them. The creature plummeted straight down.

Quick Ben leapt to his feet, dragging Paran upright with him. 'Come on! Pull out your damned sword, Captain!'

They sprinted along the bank, the wizard leading them to where the condor had landed just beyond the overrun trench.

Moments later, they were running through steaming shards of armour and smouldering flesh — all that was left of the company of Malazans. The first wave of Beklites had fought their way to the second trench and were locked in fierce battle with Dujek's heavy infantry. To Paran and Quick Ben's right, downslope, the second wave was less than thirty paces away.

'Another Seerdomin!' Quick Ben screamed, dragging Paran to the ground.

Sorcery leapt from the second line of Beklites, ripped straight for the two men.

Quick Ben twisted onto his side, cursing. 'Hold on, Captain!'

A warren opened around them.

And they were suddenly under water, armour pulling them down into darkness.

Grey light streaked wild and savage directly above, a thundering concussion visibly descending towards the two men.

Water exploded on all sides, hard roots cracking against Paran's ribs. Coughing, gasping, he clawed at mud.

A hand closed round a strap of his harness, began dragging him across the sodden forest floor. 'Where's your damned sword?'

Paran managed to pull his legs under him, stumbled upright. 'Sword? You bastard! I was drowning!'

'Damn!' the wizard swore. 'You'd better hope that bird's still stunned.'

A murderous glance revealed Quick Ben's sorry state — blood streamed from the man's ears, nose and mouth. His leather armour had split along every seam. Paran looked down to see that his own banded armour was similarly mangled. He wiped at his mouth — his gauntlet came away smeared red.