Gardens of the Moon

The four Barghast were lingering now, just out of bowshot range. Two still carried their lances; the other two gripped short axes. Then a voice cried out far to Lorn's right and she whirled to see a lance speeding towards her, and behind it a charging Barghast.



Lorn brought her blade across her body and dropped into a crouch as she raised the weapon over her head. Her sword caught the lance's shaft and even as it did so she was turning, pulling her weapon to one side.



The deflected lance sped past and cracked into the hillside off to her right.



Behind her she heard the crossbowman release a quarrel. As she spun back to the four charging Barghast there came a scream of pain from the other side of the mound. The soldier beside her seemed to have forgotten his wound, as he gripped his tulwar with both hands and planted his feet wide.



“Attend, Adjunct,” he said.



The Barghast off to the right cried out and she turned to see him spinning with the impact of a quarrel.



The four warriors before them were no more than thirty feet away.



The two with lances now launched them. Lorn made no move, realizing almost immediately that the one aimed at her would fly wide. The soldier beside her dropped away to his left, but not enough to avoid the lance as it thudded into his right thigh. It struck with such force as to drive right through his leg and embed itself in the earth. The soldier was pinned, but his only response was a soft gasp, and he raised his sword to parry an axe swinging at his head.



In this time Lorn had already closed with the Barghast rushing at her.



His axe was a shorter weapon, and she took advantage of this with a thrust before he came into his own range. He brought the coppersheathed haft up to parry, but Lorn had already flicked her wrist, completing the feint and dipping under the axe. Her lunge buried the sword point in the Barghast's chest, slicing the leather armour as if were cloth.



Her attack had committed her, and her sword was nearly wrenched from her hand as the savage toppled backwards. Off-balance, she staggered a step, expecting the crushing blow of an axe. But it didn't, arrive. Regaining her balance she spun round, to find her crossbowman now wielding his tulwar, engaging the other Barghast. Lorn snapped her attention to see how her other guard fared.



Somehow, he still lived, though he faced two Barghast. He'd managed to drag the lance out of the earth, but the weapon's shaft remained in his leg. That he was able to move at all, much less defend himself, spoke eloquently of Jakatakan discipline and training.



Lorn rushed to engage the Barghast on the man's right, nearest her. Even as she did so, an axe slipped past the soldier's guard and struck him across the chest. Scale snapped as the heavy weapon's edge ripped through armour. The soldier groaned and fell to one knee, blood sprurting on to the ground.



Lorn was in no position to defend him and could only watch in horror as the axe swung again, this time striking the man in the head. His helmet collapsed inward and his neck broke. He toppled sideways, laying at Lorn's feet. Her forward momentum carried her right over him.



A curse broke from her lips as she sprawled, crashing into the Bargh in front of her. She tried to bring the point of her sword up behind but he twisted lithely to one side and leaped away. Lorn took a swing at him, missing, even as she fell. She felt her shoulder dislocate as she hit the hard ground, and the sword dropped from her numbed hand. Now, she thought, the only thing left to do is die. She rolled on to back.



With a growl the Barghast was standing beside her, axe raised high. Lorn was in a good position to see the skeletal hand bursting from earth beneath the Barghast. It grasped an ankle. Bones snapped, the warrior screamed. Vaguely, as she watched, she wondered where the other two savages had gone. All sounds of fighting seemed to be stopped, but the ground rumbled with a growing, urgent thunder.



The Barghast stared down at the hand crushing his shin. He screamed again as the wide, rippled blade of a flint sword shot up between his legs. The axe left the warrior's hands as he frantically brought them down in an effort to deflect the sword, twisting to one side and kicking out his free leg. It all came too late. The sword impaled him, jamming against his hipbone and lifting him from the ground. His dying shriek rose ward.



Lorn climbed to her feet with difficulty, her right arm hanging useless at her side. She identified the thundering sound as the beat of hoofs, and turned in the direction from which they came. A Malazan. As that fact sank in, she swung her attention from the rider and looked around. Both her guards were dead, and arrows jutted from two Barghast bodies.



She took a shallow breath-all she could manage as pain spread across her chest-and gazed upon the creature that had risen from the earth. It was cloaked in rotting furs, and it stood over the warrior's body, one leg still clutched in its hand. The other hand gripped the sword, which had been pushed the length of the Barghast's body, the point emerging from his neck.