‘What witchery is this?’ he murmured, his gaze slitted.
Yeull, he knew, was seeing the faint and wavering image of himself, Ussu, outlined by his aura energies. ‘I have news! A warning!’
‘A warning?’ The Overlord spread his arms. ‘Rather late it would seem.’
‘No! Worse — why are you still here? Why have you not struck inland?’
Yeull’s gaze became creamy with a kind of satisfied cunning and his mouth crooked up in a half-smile. ‘Best to give the Korelri a good scare, yes? They’ll appreciate us all the more once we’ve rescued them from these invaders…’
Ussu could not contain himself any longer. All he had endured from the man came rushing up, choking him like swallowed vomit. ‘You loathsome cretin! Because of your childish scheming-’
‘Hey? What’s that? Has the Lady driven you insane, man?’
‘Just listen to me and flee! Run! Order everyone to high ground! Abandon everything!’
Yeull scowled his confusion. ‘What’s that? Run? Whatever for?’
‘A huge wave! A flood-’ Ussu broke off as outside Ice Tower, just beneath his feet, another mage suddenly announced his presence by raising his Warren. ‘Just order everyone to run for high land! You are warned!’ And he broke away from Yeull as the man opened his mouth to ask for more explanation, or to object.
Drawing upon his and the Lady’s power and the life energy of his subject, Ussu quested passively down through the tower to find the mage. A practitioner of D’riss — and strong. Very well. I will have to strike hard, make sure of it immediately. He began drawing and coiling power, gathering it into one stored blast to unleash in a single gesture. When the potentiality was almost bursting beyond his control, he projected it down the tower and released it.
The blast shook him high in his chamber. The entire tower groaned and shifted. More dust rained down, and somewhere a beam shattered in an answering explosion.
Fingers decided he’d had enough of life without access to a Warren. These damned Stormguard had snapped the otataral wrist-torc on him and since then life had been nothing but one long indignity. They forced him out into the frigid cold to chase those damned Riders off the wall — nearly getting him run through! And all the while he was as sick as a dog and would like to die — if he could!
Then someone unleashes Burn’s own fury against the Stormwall and wearing this torc all he can do is watch while the tremor strikes, bringing down the tower around him. He’d be dead, he knew, if it weren’t for the Vow. Apparently the otataral does nothing to impede its effectiveness. He’s crawled over broken stones, up rubble-choked stairs, dragged himself over flattened burst bodies, and now he’s lying outside on the wall, smeared in crap, somewhere along this blasted wall, gods know where, stranded! Two broken legs and no way to bloody heal himself.
Panting, almost delirious with pain, he raised his head to study the belt-knife he’d taken from one of the corpses. Only thing for it… He pressed his right hand, palm up, to the frozen stone flagging and set the edge of the knife to the wrist. Goodbye hand! So much for rope climbing.
‘You really ought to be dead,’ someone rumbled over him.
Fingers peered up, blinking, close to passing out. ‘What?’ Whoever this was, he was a giant of a fellow, occluding almost all the sky.
‘You are a mage, yes?’
Swallowing, Fingers managed a faint ‘Yes.’ Then he cried out a yell, his vision blackening, as the big man yanked on his right hand.
‘You want this off, yes?’
Fingers could only hiss, ‘Yes.’
‘Very well. All others are dead, as far as I can see. Only we two survive here. I am leaving. But before I go, remember, I, Hagen of the Toblakai, rescued you.’
Fingers nodded. Yes, certainly, Hagen, yes. Whoever.
The giant twisted the torc and Fingers yelled again as the fellow nearly broke his wrist. Then it was free and Fingers felt his Warren blossom open to him once more. He sighed, almost ecstatic, and felt like hugging the great shaggy ape. But the fellow, Hagen, had merely pushed off, running for the rear of the wall. Fingers stared uncomprehending as the giant increased his pace, faster and faster, until one huge bounding leap took him up and over the rear of the wall to disappear.
He gazed for a time at the blank section of stone where the giant had jumped and thought, Was that really a Toblakai?
Then, blinking and shaking his head as if to awaken from a trance, he set about healing his legs so that he could at least stand — not that he had any feel at all for the tricky Denul Warren.
On the cluttered stone floor of the infirmary, amid the toppled beds, fallen instruments and shards of stone, Corlo lay staring up at a titanic wooden beam fully a foot wide and a foot thick, yet split right through and hanging directly overhead.
Someone was next to him, talking, but he ignored the man. Fall, he urged. Fall, you bastard! Cut me in half!
The fellow was saying something about a saw and cutting — Corlo just wished he’d go away.
Why by all the gods above and below am I still alive? What have I done that was so terrible to deserve such punishment? Why have I been singled out like this? Aren’t you done with me? What more could you possibly squeeze from me?
Something bit at his leg and he peered down. The man — Jemain! — was cutting off his leg at the knee. Jemain is cutting my leg off!
Corlo lunged for his neck. He hooked his fingers around Jemain’s throat but the fellow easily pushed him down — he was so weak! Why was he so weak? One arm pressing on Corlo’s chest, Jemain returned to sawing at the knee.
When the iron teeth slid under his kneecap Corlo passed out.
Shell awoke lying on her side. Her right arm was numb and it was an agony to breathe any deeper than the shallowest of gasps. Ribs broken. Only the instantaneous raising of Blues’ Warren had saved her life in that attack. As it was, she hadn’t fared so well. From where she lay she could see Lazar, close to the shattered crenellations, engaged in a duel with two Stormguard, both of whom carried the flaming aura of what they called the Lady’s Grace.
Possession would be her word for it.
On the far side of the wall, the escaped prisoners, Malazans mostly, fought Korelri holding the stairs, Wall Marshal Quint among them.
But at the centre of the marshalling walk Blues was taking terrible punishment from this new mage who had suddenly announced himself. A mage? She thought these Korelri had no mages. And of terrifying power, too!
The driving energies were pushing Blues back towards the crumbling forward edge of the wall. Beyond, the seas raged, frothing and tumbled — the tremor must have struck there as well, underwater. As for the Riders, they appeared too preoccupied to take advantage of the chaos here. Waves still struck, however, still overtopping in washes of bitingly chill waters with every other strike.
Around Blues all the ice sizzled and melted in the wash of energies unleashed by this mage. Steadily Blues was being pushed to the lip of the wall. Obviously, this Korelri meant to drive him over the edge. Gods! And she could not help! Just tensing her chest sent lances of agony through her and she winced, screwing shut her eyes, tears freezing on her cheeks.
Then a hand on her chest and relief — blessed easing. She sucked a shuddering breath deep into her lungs and opened her eyes to see Fingers kneeling next to her. He grinned his encouragement. ‘Looks like Blues has finally dug up a real threat.’
Drawing one more wonderful breath, Shell gave him a nod and together they threw all they could muster against the mage.
More of these enemy mages! Ussu was surprised, but with the resources now at his command he was more than ready for them. The wellspring of power that sustained this Avowed seemed limitless; while the Lady’s blessing, though thinning, continued. Along that flow of energies he sensed an awareness, the Lady herself perhaps, distracted, flailing, directing one quick vicious command his way: Slay them all!