Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(112)

‘There’s a damned lot of them.’ Fisher waved Coots onward.

That dusk they were ready to stop for the night when the glow of flames shone through the forest far higher up the slope, while white smoke climbed into the purpling sky.

Fisher looked to Badlands. ‘Same ones, you think?’

‘Or others. Makes no difference.’

‘We should take a look.’

Badlands shrugged. ‘They’re lowlanders.’

‘We’ll go,’ Coots said from where he’d been working on starting a fire. He straightened, brushed his hands, and headed off.

Jethiss came to stand close to Fisher. He murmured, low, ‘What if …’

Fisher nodded curtly. ‘Yes, I know. I know … But I must know.’

They followed the brothers into the deep shadows of the forest. Coots and Badlands were, of course, master woodsmen and moved in utter silence from cover to cover. Fisher had once possessed the talent, but too long from the wilds had dulled his skills. Jethiss, however, was in no way hampered by the dark and he showed Fisher the way.

They came to the scene of a siege. Flames pillared into the dark behind a tall palisade of logs topped by a barrier of hung antlers. Archers lined the walls. They fired down upon a gang of raiders who jeered and answered the fire from the dark.

The sight of the antlers jogged a memory within Fisher and he recalled the name of a small settlement far to the east: the Keep of the Antlers.

From within the palisade came the scream of a woman – a terrified hopeless shriek of someone burning alive. Fisher bolted upright. Gods, women and children burning?

Yells of surprise tore from the night, followed by the ringing of iron. A man howled, wounded. Cursing, Fisher lunged forward, Jethiss with him. He drew as he ran. Jethiss, far surer of his way, outstripped him, and he followed. A bolt or arrow cut the air near him; he could not tell from which direction it came.

Four shapes charged Jethiss from the dark. The Andii met them at a full run; he ducked, spun, kicked one man down, took the top of the last’s head off in a wide swing. Fisher arrived to find all four dead or crippled. He eyed the Andii, amazed. ‘That was—’

But the Andii was off again. A bellow from the dark announced Coots. More iron rang and clashed. Curses and orders sounded out from a knot of men Jethiss was now closing upon. A line of raiders set shields as he came. The Andii jumped at the last instant, planted his feet square upon one shield and knocked its owner backwards. He fell within the knot and the line broke apart as the men turned for him. Fisher arrived and hacked down one fellow in an inelegant two-handed blow. Then all was the chaos of churning groups of men and women in the dark, some running, some closing upon him.

He fought using strong hacking blows that knocked aside shields and parrying swords – this was not a battle for the finer points of swordmanship. An axeman charged him, his two-handed double-edged weapon held high to split him in half. Arrows flashed between them, shot from both sides. Fisher sidestepped the blow then swung in to take the man at the back of his neck, severing his spine.

He spun then, turning to all sides: he recognized Genabackans together with a mishmash of others. Some looked like nothing more than casual bandits, while others were armed and armoured as mercenaries.

One of these, in thick layered leathers and iron helmet, charged him now, shield-bashing him. He took the blow but tripped, falling on to his back. The man raised his shortsword then coughed, hunching. Staring up at what he thought was his death, Fisher saw a dark wet arrowhead standing from the man’s chest. The fellow toppled on to him.

Fisher heaved the man off. Close now, face to face, he saw that the raider was of Lether. Stunned, he forgot the roaring and stamping feet surrounding him. Great Burn, no. Was this Teal’s work? Was the marshal somewhere among this force? Was … Malle? But no – they’d gone to such pains to remain friendly. Other adventurers from Lether must have arrived, surely.

Feet scuffed the dirt nearby and he started, twisting around. Jethiss stood over him scanning the dark. ‘You are hurt?’

Fisher climbed to his feet. ‘No.’ He peered around: the raiders were decamping, leaving dead and wounded to lie where they fell. Badlands came racing into sight as he chased after them into the woods. Fisher nodded to Jethiss. ‘You are good with those blades.’

The Andii was in no way flattered. He glanced away, troubled. ‘Not that I wish to be.’

Coots approached the main gate where the archers crowded, backlit by the burning keep. ‘Hello there!’ he shouted. ‘We’ve run them off! You can—’

‘Bastard Iceblood!’ someone shouted.

Bowfire sounded. Coots grunted and stepped backwards as if absorbing several blows.

Fisher charged for him, yelling, ‘No!’

‘Hey now,’ Coots slurred, almost chidingly, ‘that’s no way—’ More blows rocked the man. He half spun, fell to one knee. ‘That’s …’ The archers fired almost continuously now. Arrow after arrow punched into Coots. ‘Hey … now …’ he said, sounding very disappointed. He tumbled backwards.

A scream sounded from the woods. A harrowing call that raised Fisher’s hair in its elemental rage and hurt. Arrows whisked past Fisher as he was almost upon Coots. ‘Take his head!’ someone shouted from the palisade. ‘Take that Iceblood’s head!’