The Bonehunters (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #6)

The Bonehunters (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #6) Page 122

Then… nothing.

Of course there was no wall. That had been simply a construct, a fashioning in Bottle's mind to manifest an idea into something physical. Something that he could then breach.

Simple, really. Just incredibly dangerous. We damned mages must be mad, to play with this, to persist in the conceit that it can be managed, shaped, twisted by will alone.

Power is blood.

Blood is power.

And this blood, it belongs to an Elder God…

A hiss from Cuttle. He blinked, then nodded as he began shaping the sorcery of Meanas. Mists, shot through with inky gloom, spreading out across the rough ground, snaking among the rubble, and the sappers set out, plunged into it, and moved on, unseen.

Bottle followed a few paces behind. The soldiers hiding in that magic could see. Nothing of the illusion confounded their senses. Illusions were usually one- or at best two-sided; seen from the other sides, well, there was nothing to see. True masters, of course, could cheat light in all directions, could fashion something that looked physically real, that moved as it should, casting its own shadow, even scuffing up illusional dust. Bottle's level of skill was nowhere near that. Balgrid had managed it – barely, it was true, but still… impressive.

But I hate this kind of sorcery. Sure, it's fascinating. Fun to play with, on occasion, but not like tonight, not when it's suddenly life and death.

They threw wagon-planks across the narrow moat Leoman's soldiers had dug, then drew closer to the wall.

Lostara Yil came to Tene Baralta's side. They were positioned at the picket line, behind them the massed ranks of soldiery. Her former commander's face revealed surprise as he looked upon her.

'I did not think to see you again, Captain.'

She shrugged. 'I was getting fat and lazy, Commander.'

'That Claw you were with is not a popular man. The decision was made that he was better off staying in his tent – indefinitely.'

'I have no objection to that.'

Through the gloom they could see swirling clouds of deeper darkness, rolling ominously towards the city's wall.

'Are you prepared, Captain,' Baralta asked, 'to bloody your sword this night?'

'More than you could imagine, Commander.'

Waves of vertigo rippled through Sergeant Hellian, nausea threatening as she watched the magics draw ever closer to Y'Ghatan. It was Y'

Ghatan, wasn't it? She turned to the sergeant standing beside her. '

What city is that? Y'Ghatan. I know about that city. It's where Malazans die. Who are you? Who's undermining the walls? Where are the siege weapons? What kind of siege is this?'

'I'm Strings, and you look to be drunk.'

'So? I hate fighting. Strip me of my command, throw me in chains, find a dungeon – only, no spiders. And find that bastard, the one who disappeared, arrest him and chain him within reach. I want to rip out his throat.'

The sergeant was staring at her. She stared back – at least he wasn't weaving back and forth. Not much, anyway.

'You hate fighting, and you want to rip out someone's throat?'

'Stop trying to confuse me, Stirrings. I'm confused 'nough as it is.'

'Where's your squad, Sergeant?'

'Somewhere.'

'Where is your corporal? What is his name?'

'Urb? I don't know.'

'Hood's breath.'

Pella sat watching his sergeant, Gesler, talking with Borduke. The sergeant of the Sixth Squad had only three soldiers left under his command – Lutes, Ibb and Corporal Hubb – the others either magicking or sapping. Of course, there were only two left to Gesler's Fifth Squad – Truth and Pella himself. The plan was to link up after the breach, and that had Pella nervous. They might have to grab anyone close by and to Hood with real squads.

Borduke was tugging at his beard as if he wanted to yank it off. Hubb stood close to his sergeant, a sickly expression on his face.

Gesler looked damn near bored.

Pella thought about his squad. Something odd about all three of them.

Gesler, Stormy and Truth. Not just that strangely gold skin, either…

Well, he'd stick close to Truth – that lad still seemed too wide-eyed for all of this, despite what he'd already gone through. That damned ship, Silanda, which had been commandeered by the Adjunct and was now likely north of them, somewhere in the Kansu Sea or west of it. Along with the transport fleet and a sizeable escort of dromons. The three had sailed it, sharing the deck with still-alive severed heads and a lot worse below-decks.