Reaching the communication chamber he adjusted the flame to burn its highest then bashed open the west shutters. The frigid wind sliced into the chamber again but this time it did not snuff the flame. He lowered the metal sleeve, dug up a scoopful of the flaring dust and tossed it on to the flame. The dust burst into a hissing white glare that made him flinch away, covering his face. Hunched, head turned away, he worked the sleeve up and down, signalling the tower on top of the western pass.
Wind Tower: report.
Wind Tower was the westernmost of the main fortresses.
He waited. The request had to travel the entire length of the wall then back again. The answer came much more swiftly than he had anticipated; it seemed this tremor had put everyone on edge.
Wind Tower not responding.
That was the Tower of Ruel’s Tears, its eastern neighbour.
Tossing more dust on to the flame, Hiam signed: Status?
After a time the answer came: Ruel’s Tears not responding.
That was the Great Tower north of Elri, their main fortress on the Stormwall.
Disbelieving, Hiam threw more dust on to the flame, signed: Status! Status!
A long silence during which the wind moaned and gusted, seeming to mock him. Then, mystifyingly, from the neighbouring tower, the Tower of Stars: Pray!
Hiam threw himself to the western window, stared through the eternal blowing snow to the high pass where the glow of the guard tower shone like a beacon in the overcast gloom. While he watched, it was snuffed into darkness, and something billowed around it: something like a blizzard cascading down the pass along the wall, driving for this last reach of the wall and Ice Tower. Hiam clenched the window: Lady, what was this? A true catastrophe such as struck ages ago? Was this truly the end? Lady, what have we done that you should turn your face from us so?
Lady, forgive us…
The avalanche struck like a wall of white. Hiam was thrown to the floor, which bucked and hammered him. Enormous crackling fractured his hearing and he understood that the gargantuan shelves of blue-black ice that sheathed the tower were breaking off its sides. Further blows rocked and shuddered the tower as these shards, the size of wagons, came thundering down to slam bursting on to the top of the wall.
The quake passed quickly, the last of the shudders reverberating off into the distance like a passing storm, or rockfall. Unwilling to believe it was actually over, Hiam gingerly picked himself from the floor. He went to the window and peered out, half expecting a vista of ruination, but what he saw filled him with admiration and awe.
We still stand! The wall is intact!
Magnificent ancestors, you have not striven in vain! Lady, we have taken the worst and endured! Is this your message? If so, I am ashamed. How pathetic my faith.
Certainly, the damage was horrific. The worst of his imaginings… but nothing like a fracture or failure. Outer machicolations had fallen away; rear buildings had collapsed, coursework along the upper reaches appeared misaligned; cracks worked down the wall of the tower. But this was all merely cosmetic: the basic structural curve of the curtain wall appeared sound. Beyond that curve, however, the waters of the bay appeared unusually disturbed: great counter-waves slammed back and forth, and froth and spume jetted straight up in a clash of forces far out in the bay.
I’ll need to inspect the damage. He ran for the stairs, but before he got two full turns down he found the way jammed by fallen rubble. He stared at the barrier, almost uncomprehending. No! Not now! Not when I’m needed most! He threw himself at the great stone blocks, heaving, pulling.
Lady, no! Please! I beg you to forgive me!
Deep under Ice Tower in the holding cells Shell stood pressed up hard against a glacial wall. That first tremor had terrified her. Here she was far below a stone tower on an ancient crumbling wall perched above a cliff over a sea! And now, though she dared not raise her Warren, she could feel it twitching, pulling at her. Something was happening. Something shattering.
A contingent came filing down from standing the wall. Shell saw Blues among them. The man had a hand to his forehead, wincing. A regular guardsman urged him on with a poke of his sword. Seemingly without effort Blues yanked the blade from the man’s hand then clouted him on the side of his head and he fell senseless. The file of prisoners shuffled to a halt, completely uncertain what to do. Blues leaned against a wall, blinking and shaking his shaggy head.
‘You sense it?’ Shell called.
‘Sense it!’ the man groaned. ‘Gods! My head’s gonna explode. I’ve not felt this since Genabackis when we faced the Warlord… In fact, I would’ve sworn it was impossible…’
‘What?’
The man stared about, suddenly panicked. ‘Everyone, take cover! Get into doorways!
‘What is it?’
‘Quiet! Listen!’ The man backed into a cell doorway, gripped the edges.
Shell tried to still her breathing. She felt her Warren crackling with energy at her fingertips — just as during the worst magery engagements! Enormous power has been unleashed!
Then she heard it: a rumbling seeming to arise from beneath her feet. The wall struck her, slamming her across the cell into the sleeping ledge. Stone shrieked, grinding and hammering. Dust and dirt rained down, choking her breath and blinding her while the floor bashed her. She was going to die crushed like a beetle!
Eventually, though it seemed to last an eternity, the rumbling and up-and-down shaking passed away. Ominous groanings, creakings, and the cries of wounded filled the silence. The door to her cell burst into the chamber, iron bars rattling.
‘Shell!’ Hands pulled her up: it was Blues, the side of his head a dust-coated smear of blood. ‘Are you all right?’
She brushed at the pulverized rock dusting her clothes. ‘Yes… yes! I think so. Who else is here? Lazar?’
‘He’s up top last I saw. What about Bars? Corlo?’
‘They took him up the tower. Corlo… I can’t say.’
Blues helped her out. ‘Let’s see who’s here.’
Together they dug out all who could stand. They found a good many Malazan veterans, including Tollen. But no sign of Jemain or Corlo. For Bars’ sake she hoped they hadn’t been buried under tons of stone.
The Malazans formed into a party, headed by Tollen. They scavenged all the weapons they could find. ‘We’re heading up!’ Tollen called to Shell.
‘We should all go together,’ Blues said.
Tollen spat. ‘This tower won’t stand for ever. Gotta go.’
‘Good luck,’ Shell called.
Tollen raised a hand in what might be taken as an abbreviated version of the Guard salute, then nodded his party up the stairs.
‘One quick peep is all it would take to make sure no one’s left,’ she told Blues.
He frowned a negative. ‘Too early for that yet. No lower levels?’
‘Yes, but no prisoners down there.’
‘The infirmary then — where’s that?’
She nodded, suddenly certain. ‘Yes! The infirmary! Jemain is sure to be there.’
‘All right.’ Blues searched around and came up with two sticks, each about the length of his forearm. With these he headed up the stairs. Shell followed, unarmed as yet.
Fighting soon sounded from above. They passed three floors to find the way blocked by the Malazans. Tollen pushed his way down to them, spat again. ‘Blasted Stormguard’s blocking the way.’
‘Overbear them,’ Blues said. ‘What’s the matter with you marines?’
Tollen snorted, then drawled, ‘There’s just the one.’
‘One?’ Blues pushed past the bear of a fellow. ‘Let me through.’
Tollen offered Shell a wink. ‘This I gotta see. The Lady’s Grace is on this one… He won’t go down.’
‘The Lady’s Grace? What’s that?’