The Bonehunters
Page 415

Another sharper exploded, bodies whirling away in sheets of blood, the spray striking Koryk's face beneath the helm. He blinked stinging heat from his eyes, took a mace blow against his shield, then thrust upward from beneath it, the sword-point ripping into a groin. The shriek that exploded from the crippled attacker nearly deafened him. He tugged the sword loose.
There were shouts behind him, but he could make little sense of them.
With Uru Hela out of the fight, and Shortnose getting crippled by a sword through a thigh in the last rush, the front line was desperately thin. Both Galt and Lobe had joined it now. Deadsmell worked on Shortnose's bleeder, and Widdershins was frantically trying to deflect assaults of Mockra – the sorcerous attacks seeking to incite confusion and panic – and the squad mage was fast weakening.
What in Hood's name was Quick Ben up to? Where was he? Why hadn't he emerged onto the deck of the Froth Wolf?
Koryk found himself swearing in every language he knew. They couldn't hold.
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.