Reaper's Gale

Fiddler flung the man back down.



The wall heaved itself still higher.



The Tiste Edur along the western edge of the killing field were suddenly pulling back.



Cuttle yelled, ‘We need to go now! Fiddler! Now!’



Yet he could not move. Could not answer, no matter how the sapper railed at him. Could only stare, craning, ever upward. Too much magic. ‘Gods above,’ he muttered, ‘talk about overkill,’



Run away from this? Not a chance.



Cuttle dragged him round.



Fiddler scowled and pushed the man back, hard enough to make the sapper stumble. ‘Fuck running, Cuttle! You think we can out-run that1’



‘But the Edur-’



‘It’s going to take them too-can’t you see that?’ It has to-no-one can control it once it’s released-no-one. ‘Those Hood-damned Edur have been set up, Cuttle!’ Oh yes, the Letherii wanted to get rid of their masters-they just didn’t want to do it with us as allies. No, they’ll do it their way and take out both enemies at the same damned time…



Three hundred paces to the west, Hanradi stared up at that Letherii magic. And understood, all at once. He understood.



‘We have been betrayed,’ he said, as much to himself as to the warriors standing close by. ‘That ritual-it has been days in the making. Maybe weeks. Once unleashed…’ the devastation will stretch for leagues westward.



What to do?



Father Shadow, what to do? ‘Where are my K’risnan?’ he suddenly demanded, turning to his aides.



Two Edur hobbled forward, their faces ashen.



‘Can you protect us?’



Neither replied, and neither would meet Hanradi’s eyes.



‘Can you not call upon Hannan Mosag? Reach through to the Ceda, damn you!’



‘You do not understand!’ one of the once-young K’risnan shouted. ‘We are-all-we are all abandoned!’



‘But Kurald Emurlahn-’



‘Yes! Awake once more! But we cannot reach it! Nor can the Ceda!’



‘And what of that other power? The chaos?’



‘Gone! Fled!’



Hanradi stared at the two warlocks. He drew his sword and lashed the blade across the nearest one’s face, the edge biting through bridge of nose and splitting both eyeballs. Shrieking, the figure reeled back, hands at his face. Hanradi stepped forward and drove his sword into the creature’s twisted chest, and the blood that gushed forth was almost black.



Tugging the weapon free, Hanradi turned to the other one, who cowered back. ‘You warlocks,’ the once-king said in a grating voice, ‘are the cause of this. All of this.’ He took another step closer. ‘Would that you were Hannan Mosag crouched before me now-’



‘Wait!’ the K’risnan shrieked, suddenly pointing eastward. ‘Wait! One gives answer! One gives answer!’



Hanradi turned, eyes focusing with some difficulty on the Malazans-so overwhelming was the wave of Letherii magic that a shadow had descended upon the entire killing field.



Rising from that huddled mass of soldiers, a faint, luminous glow. Silver, vaguely pulsing.



Hanradi’s laugh was harsh. ‘That pathetic thing is an answer?’ He half raised his sword.



‘No!’ the K’risnan cried. ‘Wait! Look, you stupid fool! Look!’



And so he did, once again.



And saw that dome of silver light burgeoning, spreading out to engulf the entire force-and it thickened, became opaque-



The last K’risnan clutched at Hanradi’s arm. ‘Listen to me! Its power-Father Shadow! Its power!’



‘Can it hold?’ Hanradi demanded. ‘Can it hold against the Letherii?’



He saw no answer in the K’risnan’s red-rimmed eyes.



It cannot-look, still, it is tiny-against that evergrowing wave-



But… it need be no larger than that, need it? It engulfs them all.



‘Sound the advance!’ he shouted. ‘At the double!’



Wide eyes fixed on Hanradi, who pointed at that scintillating dome of ethereal power. ‘At the very least we can crouch in its shadow! Now, move forward! Everyone!’



Beak, who had once possessed another name, a more boring name, had been playing in the dirt that afternoon, on the floor of the old barn where no-one went any more and that was far away from the rest of the buildings of the estate, far enough away to enable him to imagine he was alone in an abandoned world. A world without trouble.



He was playing with the discarded lumps of wax he collected from the trash heap below the back wall of the main house. The heat of his hands could change their shape, like magic. He could mould faces from the pieces and build entire families like those families down in the village, where boys and girls his age worked alongside their parents and when not working played in the woods and were always laughing.