* * *
The Crippled God was able to turn his head, was witness to the savage, desperate defence from these two Malazans. He watched the enemy driven back in one instant, then pushing closer in the next. The sweat of one of his protectors had splashed his face when the man had sailed over him, and those droplets now ran down in trickles, leaving tracks that felt cool as tears.
It seemed that there would be no reinforcements to this modest engagement – the enemy was upon them on all sides. They had finally come within sight of his chained body – and now the Forkrul Assail understood the purpose behind all this. The Crippled God could feel the Assail’s hunger.
I am almost all here, within this bag of skin. And I remain in chains .
He can wound me. He can feed on my power for all time – and none could challenge him. He will unleash my poison upon the world .
The Malazan with the cut-off nose-tip staggered, pierced through by a sword, and then another. Only to then straighten, his axe lashing out. Bodies reeled, toppled in welters of gore. He stumbled forward, and the Crippled God saw his face in profile – and saw the man’s smile as he fell face first on to the ground.
Leaving but one defender, harried now by three Kolansii, with a fourth and fifth soldier appearing from behind them.
His lone stalwart marine cut one down with his singing blade. And then another – crippled by a thigh chopped down to the bone.
The axe that caught the marine was swung from the shield side – but the Malazan held no shield, could not block the swing. It cut clean through his left shoulder, severing the arm. Blood spraying, the man stepped back, his torso held pitched to one side, unbalanced. A second swing slashed through half his neck.
Somehow, the marine found the strength to drive the point of his sword into his killer’s throat, the tip bursting out below the back of the skull. The thrust toppled him forward, into the dying man’s arms. They fell as one.
Even as the remaining two Kolansii moved towards the Crippled God, weapons lifting, quarrels flashed in the air, knocked both men down.
The god heard the scuff and thump of boots, and then someone landed and slid up against him, and he turned his head to the kneeling saviour, looked up into Captain Fiddler’s eyes.
‘They reach you, Lord?’
The Crippled God shook his head. ‘Captain, your soldiers …’
As if the word alone wounded him, Fiddler looked away, and then scrambled back on to his feet, cranking back the claw on the crossbow, his eyes fixing on the breach. Those eyes then went wide. ‘Hedge!’ he screamed.
Hedge fell against the hacked bodies of Sweetlard and Rumjugs. The trail just below where the two women had fought was jammed with corpses – but beyond them he could see more Kolansii soldiers, dragging the way clear. They’d be through in moments.