[Riot]

Splinter swung his arm and released the Cusser, the ball of munitions flowing evenly through the air before descending with abrupt acceleration.
‘MUNITIONS!’ Lore roared, amusingly watching the curve of the clay shell as it fell into a gathering of Hatra soldiers off towards his right.
His amusement soon turned to astonishment as he saw as a single soldier below caught hold of the Cusser. His shock soon turned to cold piecing fear as he saw the soldier stare expressionlessly at the clay munitions before hoisting it up above his head. The Hatra soldier than began to creep forward, slowly increasing in his pace as he sped forward, sped nearer towards the fort.
‘Shit!’ Lore lost all form of amusement, instead he was deflated, any sense of humour misplaced as he watched the nearing enemy.
Along the line, he could see that the normal state of fighting was commencing, no-one else had witnessed what was approaching. Both Splinter and Creases were staring at him, their faces blank.
‘GET AWAY FROM THE WALL!’ Lore finally found his voice, and ignoring the confused expressions which marked his two new sappers, he indicated for them to move. Pushing at them both, he jostled them towards the steps which led down.
Content that they were on their way, he shouted full pitch towards the Captain,
‘GATES ABOUT TO COME DOWN!’ he shouted ‘MOST OF THE WALL WITH IT!’
Candle glanced his way, yet was still actively fighting, slicing his sword against the brow of the nearest opponent.
‘Shit!’ Lore again cursed.
Glaring briefly towards Prime’s position, he saw that the young Corporal had heard his warning, had in fact seen the Hatra solider below who had only seconds to go before his deadly package released its worth of flame and explosion.
Content that Prime would do her part, Lore attempted to make his way towards the Sergeant who was further along the wall and who appeared to have not heard his voiced concerns.
He was half way towards Legit when the world seemed to not only shift alarmingly, but also forced out his entire breath, as well as bathe the world in scenes of absorbing reds and misting yellows. Flung by the energy which was created by the blast, his last thoughts as he flew through the air was of friends on other continents and of deaths which were largely unfair in their creation.
The dust which was swept about him blinded him to the ground, and when he struck he lost his entire senses altogether.

[Riot]

Prime slashed out at a enemy who was attempting to push his entire weight against one of her colleagues, when she heard Lore’s call of warning. Sensing that it was a call of distress directed to the entire wall, she finished her attack and looked off towards his position.
The old Sapper was looking downwards, and following his sight, she could see the lone figure who was racing through the ranks of the Hatra army. The singular soldier was rushing forward, his own colleagues launching themselves out of his way.
Looking at what he held up high, Prime could suddenly understand why. He held in his hands a munitions, and the manner in which he ran forward suggested that he was in no way going to stop any time soon, not before the munitions detonated near the wall anyway.
‘Get back!’ she warned. Knowing that there was not enough time, she still pulled back upon the nearest guard, jabbing him towards the possible route towards safety.
‘FULL BACK!’ she shouted, betraying with her full voice that the command needed to be obeyed. Her soldiers expressed confusion, but they followed her words, and quickly began to flee backwards.
Her back was turned to the explosion when it came, and she felt as if heat was malleable, so strong was its baring as it forced uncontrolled warmth across her back. Forced forward by its overzealous embrace, she was thrown, striking her head off against the nearest wall.
Dazed, she shook her head, finding that it did no good. Pulling off her helm, she choked and reared off to her right, so to be sick.
Her sight was still blurry as she lifted her head, wiping at her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. With slow movements, she turned her head about, careful to not move too suddenly as she still felt stunned by the blast.
Looking off towards her left, she could see that most of the wall had disappeared, now only the vacant remains of rubble and the conscious wonderment of dust swirling through the air was evident. Sensing that she was alone upon this structure of standing wall, she looked towards where she had directed the soldiers who had served under her.
The steps for which they had taken had been blown apart, only a cluster of bricks remained, grouped as they were near to her own location. The soldiers she had ushered ahead were no more, caught by the blast and destroyed when the steps had crumbled beneath them.
Repressing the need to be sick once more, Prime remained where she was, so shocked was she to know what else to do.
Disorientated by how events had played out, she limply looked about her, wondering who else had survived the incredible explosion.

[Riot]

Spider coughed with ranking breaths, her lungs struggling to find clear air amongst the foul substances which littered the dust and clogging atmosphere. Flapping with her hands before her face, she continued to bark out with her venting pants, desperate to find some form of reassurance in the fashion of fresh air.

Her sight was lost, dissolved by the aggressive clutter of air-born particles which attacked at her eyes. Tears were born in over abundance droves, mixing with the grime so to congeal and worsen her sight further.

Her mouth was full of the blasted sandstone and mottled particles of powder, born from when the explosion had wrecked its path throughout her world. The foul taste coated the entirety of her mouth, and it only went further to hamper her recovery for breath.

Of all her senses, it was her ears which seemed to disorientate her the most. Sounds were devoid of understanding, almost carried under by the wrath of what had reared all about her.

On her knees as she was, Spider was unsure where she truly was. The last she could remember was standing beside Molehill as he hacked at the nearest opponent. The end of the world had than sounded, and lifted her easily from her feet. In flight, her sword had flown from her grip, and unarmed as she was, she began to pant and panic further, realising that in the state that she was in, that she was an easy target for any overzealous Hatra soldier.

Scrambling to right herself, she continued to cough and splutter about, her throat rasping with a terrible sound of burden. Finding her feet, she still had trouble seeing through the clotted mist which consumed her eyes, but she was beginning to discern sounds about her.

Her ears produced a roaring rumble, but she could hear enough so to distinguish a voice calling aloud.

‘Spider…here…!’ the words were clouded by the constant ringing which seemed to swell within her head.

Standing perfectly still, arms held out beside her so to help maintain her balance, she closed her eyelids and concentrated with all of her might.

‘Over here!’ the words crept forth, and she recognised them as belonging to Molehill.

‘I can’t see,’ she called back, surprised by how raw her voice sounded.

‘…coming over…’ Molehill’s voice drifted to her.

Feeling terribly exposed, Spider waited, finding that her breath was now more restrained, even if the foul taste still lingered over her tongue.

Finally sounds of steps came from before her, and she attempted to open her eyes once more.

‘I’m here!’ Molehill stated, his hands coming down upon her shoulders.

‘…ucky astard…’ she attempted.

‘What?’ Molehill asked in surprise.

‘Lucky bastard!’ she managed after coughing up what felt like a large chunk of gravel from within her throat.

‘Aye, aren’t we all!’ Molehill replied, his voice sounding tired.

Blinking rapidly, Spider was finding that she could make out the impression of her fellow Private who stood before her.

‘Got any water?’ she asked.

‘Sure, here!’ dropping his hands from her shoulders, he fumbled at his belt, finally managing to loosen the water container that was strapped there. Handing the container over, Spider eagerly sought what he offered.

Taking a swig, she tossed the water within her mouth before spitting off to her side, removing the worst of the soiled materials which had filled her mouth. With another swig, she swallowed the surprisingly cool liquid, finding that it was the most refreshing of drinks that she had ever had.

‘Better?’ Molehill asked.

‘Nearly,’ she responded, before lifting the water carrier and splashing a large quantity of its content onto her face. Shaking her head, she than wiped vigorously at here eyes, removing the blobs of scum which blocked her sight.

‘That’s better!’ she remarked, returning her attention back forward.

Molehill was smiling, his wide grinned face appearing slightly red, yet largely unaffected by what had happened. Looking him up and down, Spider was largely unsurprised to find that he appeared in the same state as she had last seen him, before the explosion had shunted her place within the world. The cards which he had lodged within the joints of his armour were still in their places, not even dirtied by the large amount of dust which had been sent thrusting throughout the air.

Shaking her head, she turned to inspect her surroundings.

She found herself standing down on ground level, down in the parade ground, away from the wall. Quickly turning, she looked over to where the wall was. Or to where it had once stood.

The wall was largely blown from its position, only the nearest and furthest of its structure still standing. These areas had withstood the blast due to the fact that they were joined to the corners of the adjoining walls, giving them a mark of strength which impressed her.

The gates which had once stood mightily had folded, crushed by the falling debris of the wall itself. The large bricks which had made up the wall were now rubble, built together so to now form a mountain of debris, pilled up in a disordered state. From the fragments, dust continued to rise, drifting now that the wind had picked up.

‘What happened?’ she asked, her mind clouded by what she was looking at.

‘Munitions went off before the gates, brought most of the wall down,’ Molehill answered her. He too was looking at the mess which was cluttered before them both, and again his words were sad.

‘How did I get here?’ Spider was astonished by the fact that she was now down on the ground, whereas only moments past she had been standing upon the battlements which no longer existed.

‘Most of us were blown from the walls, you included,’

Spider began to pat at herself, searching for any signs of bleeding or of pain. Finding none she said ‘How come I never broke anything?’

Molehill shrugged ‘Just lucky I suppose,’

‘Your luck spreads!’ she remarked, shaking her head again at the confusion which played across Molehill’s features.

‘Come on!’ Molehill forced his puzzlement aside, and indicated that they should move on ‘The enemy won’t hold back forever, once they become organised again, they will finish what they started,’

As Molehill moved off, Spider took one last look towards the remains of the wall. She was still surprised that she survived not only the original explosion, but also too the fall which had brought her to her current position.

‘Come on!’ Molehill called back as he made his way towards the mess hall.

Pushing aside her disbelief, she quickly made after Molehill, finding that she had to skirt around large chunks of debris which had been flung away from the main supply of rubble.

It was as she jumped over one small boulder, that she saw the arm which arched out from the ruins. Forced to a staggered halt, she stared unwilling at the loose arm which protruded from the wreckage of the wall. The hand was open to the elements, fingers stiff and widened, blood congealed within the exposed palm.

Her surprise for her survival was now cast even further to the extreme, as she was now evident to the fact that even though she had come through the terrible expanse of demolition, that not everyone had been so lucky.

How many of her friends had come through the explosion, and how many were buried beneath the store of rubble. With rising horror and panic, she felt as if the entire events to date were beginning to overwhelm her rational mind; pushing her to the end of her limit.

She began to over extend her breath, her lungs yawning for air, even though she truly didn’t need it. Her sight began to swim, and she had the urge to scream aloud her frustrations and demand that the world open up beneath her and swallow her away.

Ready to do just that, she opened her mouth, the scream only moments from being released, when a hand touched her shoulder.

Suddenly finding her fears flow away, she turned and found herself presented to another survivor.

Looking at the woman before her, Spider found a sense of turmoil dissolve away from the heart of her being. Private Quiet stood passively, her expression drawn to the usual state of non-compliance, yet Spider had never seen a face which lifted her spirit so much as the younger woman’s did at that moment.

‘You alright?’ she asked.

Private Quiet offered a nod, and if not for the dried etch of blood which ran down from her nose, Spider would have believed her.

‘Broke her nose, that’s all,’ from off to Spider’s blindside to her right, came Sergeant Legit, explaining the reason for the blood to Quiet’s face.

‘And you?’ Spider asked, again finding delight rising as she was offered another friend who had survived.

Legit shrugged, his features and armour coated in a thick covering of dirt ‘Fine enough!’ he answered ‘Bruised ribs and a sprained ankle, but I’ve had worst,’

Quiet pulled at Spider’s arm, pulling her along so that the three of them made their way towards the mess hall.

‘Who else survived?’ Spider asked, as they quickly made their way forward.

Legit grunted, his mood a thing foul ‘Not many,’ he rumbled ‘From our position, us three and Molehill. From the centre just the Captain and the sappers, though Lore’s out cold, breathing still but unconscious,’

‘Beru feud!’ Spider whispered, feeling as if she had been struck in the stomach.

‘Aye, Beru feud indeed,’ Legit exclaimed ‘Also Prime and Faith, though they were the only ones to survive from their own ranks,’

‘Prime!’ Spider repeated, knowing that with a growing sense of pride that her closest friend of all the soldiers had managed to come through the terrible events.

‘But that’s all, everyone else either got blown to pieces or were crushed by the debris,’ Legit explained as they closed to the entrance which led into the mess hall. Walking straight in, ignoring the radiating darkness which seemed to exist within the hall, Spider followed Legit inside.

Her eyes took a moment to come accustomed to the swirling darkness which was stirring within, but when her eyes did adjust, she saw what remained of her fellow soldiers.

Each and everyone looked drained and broken, all exhibiting the same mottled covering of dirt upon their clothes and armour. All except Molehill who was oddly clean, his apparel untouched by dust.

Looking across the hall, adjusting her sight from face to face, she offered a smile, feeling none of the warmth for which she hoped to project.

Candle was standing off to the left immediately from the entrance, and Legit made his way over.

‘That’s everyone!’ he stated.

Candle nodded, his features grim, yet he spoke with command ‘Seal the door, barricade it with what you can,’

As Quiet and Molehill moved towards the doors, throwing them shut. Spider looked over those who remained.

Moving her sight from Candle and Legit, advancing toward her the right, she found her eyes falling over Faith who sat silently, his head bowed down, alone in his stupor. Continuing onwards, she glanced at Splinter and Creases who stood over Corporal Lore who was laying face up upon a table, his face hidden from where she stood, but she could see that he was unmoving, all except for the slight movement of his chest as he breathed whilst within the confines of his slumber state.

Moving on, she looked over towards the last person in the hall. Prime was seated, her expression tired in its view, and she managed a slight smile as Spider glanced towards her.

Moving across to her friend, Spider reached out and griped the hand that was offered. There was strength in the grip that Prime offered, and Spider smiled honestly with what the grip represented.

‘How are you?’ Spider asked, drawing a seat forward so to sit down.

‘Fine. Tired that’s all,’ Prime grinned back ‘Had to climb down from the wall. Steps were destroyed,’ she went on to explain.

Spider nodded, not knowing how to respond.

‘And you?’ Prime asked.

‘Tired as well, head’s still ringing from the blast,’ she supplied.

‘Aye, I can consent to that!’ Prime allowed a small smirk to decorate the corners of her lips.

They sat in silence, each stalled by their own devised thoughts. They both watched as the shutters to the door were thrown into position, and as Quiet, Molehill, and Legit began to drag tables and chairs before the door.

‘We’ll get through this!’ Spider remarked, not truly sure if she believed her own words.

‘Its not me I’m worried about!’ Prime announced.

‘What?’ Spider said ‘Oh, you mean Sheep,’

Prime nodded in acknowledgement.

‘He’ll be fine, he has Riot with him,’

Prime turned towards Spider and there seemed to be some lack of willingness within Prime’s eyes.

‘Riot has his own agenda, Sheep is only a tool to aid his attempt in the assassination,’ Prime stated.

‘You knew him from before, from Evinor,’ Spider said.

‘Yes,’ Prime agreed.

‘And?’

‘And he was a bodyguard for a Malazan merchant,’

‘But he worked with Sheep before,’

‘Aye,’ Prime nodded, her focus moving away from Spider and to the floor.

‘And did they work well together?’ Spider asked.

‘They managed to kill some old creature together,’ Prime admitted.

‘Than trust in their strength together, trust that Sheep will return,’ Spider squeezed Prime’s hand.

‘I’ll try!’ Prime grinned with a lacklustre smile.

Spider again returned her attention to the work that was going on before them all. The barricade was increasing, yet she secretly knew that it wouldn’t last once the Hatra soldiers got their act together and drove forward with their entire strength.

Urging down the tears which wanted to be shed, Spider instead sent out her will in the form of a prayer. The plea was directed not to any God, but to the safety of Sheep and Riot, hoping beyond hope that they would hurry and complete their task, and return with the utmost of urgency.

She trusted not just in Sheep’s ability as a mage, but mainly for the strength of will and fighting capability for which Riot, the former Crimson Guard, had already demonstrated.

In Riot she trusted her faith; she just hoped that he would answer her call.

[Riot]

The stench of chaos continued to linger, a trickle worth of malice for which they could track after. Ruled by their senses, they progressed further into the city, using the ground beneath Hatra’s populace to gain closer to the enemy within their midst.

‘Stop!’ Riot suddenly halted, hand raised so that Sheep ran into the flat of his elevated palm.

Sheep bounced from Riot’s hand, finding that he was again surprised by the strength which repelled him.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, taking a step backwards so that a healthy distance separated them both.

‘Can you sense it?’ Riot was staring upwards, looking into the material of rock and sandstone which acted as a roof to their inhabited structure of the realm.

Sheep sent his senses upwards, flinging his psyche through the compact and viable means of the rock, finding that it was as easy to transverse as the physical means of his body through D’riss.

As he sought for what Riot had scented upon, he wondered how things were occurring back at the fort. For a short period, the relentless surge and rumble of power which conversed from the ignition of munitions had reached a peak. A large shockwave had penetrated the realm, shuddering with such a impact that for a brief moment, Sheep had believed that the world about them would come tumbling down.

The idea was a stupid one, as they were within the structure of the rock itself. For any collapse to occur, the very stuff that they travelled through would have to fall, and he was fairly confident that they would be able to make their way through any structural subsidence. Through the layers they would swim through, unaffected by any cave in. Or at least that was the thought he allowed to travel through his mind, finding reassurance from its glorified establishment.

Shaking his head, he instead concentrated on the task at hand, and as he reached the brim of D’riss’s realm, he could sense that the coil of chaos had ceased in its movements.

‘He’s stopped!’ he declared, eyes opening so to fall once more upon Riot.

‘Aye!’ Riot agreed, smiling as he went on ‘Our chase is about to come to an end,’

‘Thank Hood!’ Sheep whispered, before realising what he had said ‘Thank Burn I mean!’ he corrected himself.

‘Come on!’ Riot ignored Sheep’s words ‘Can you get us up there?’

‘I can try!’ Sheep stated.

‘You better do more than that after all its taken for us to get here,’ Riot appeared not amused by Sheep’s admission.

‘Aye, I can do it!’ Sheep shook his head in annoyance ‘Stop getting annoyed with me. I’m here to help you remember!’

Riot offered a nod, and Sheep realised that was as much as a apology as he was likely to receive.

Concentrating his thoughts, Sheep reached out and sought for the purchase of the world about him. Grasping hold of the layers of soil which rose swiftly above them, he linked Riot to his own self, and began to pull themselves upwards.

They steadily rose, appearing as if to rise by an unnatural spirit of ease, yet Sheep was sweating for the effort it took for him to haul them both upwards.

Reaching the edge of D’riss, Sheep could now see the world above them both. The perimeter which separated this realm for that of their nature territory appeared to be transparent, an eerily vacant sight which was almost beyond Sheep’s logical senses, so distorted did it appear.

‘Open your warren now!’ Riot instructed.

Sheep wanted nothing more than to turn and tell Riot where to go, but he knew that his tired soul would not allow such a task to happen, not if he wanted to find escape from D’riss.

Grunting to acknowledge Riot’s request, Sheep again projected the image of an opening, watching as the budding illusion of light and peeling rock wept open, allowing for the world to be exposed to them.

‘Jump!’ Sheep instructed, acting as he commanded.

Riot reacted a split second after Sheep, and the two men leaped from D’riss back into their own associated realm.

Sheep felt a looseness fall over him, as if he felt ten times lighter than previously before. As they completed their jump, pulled back down to the ground. Sheep released his warren and the opening closed, so that their feet landed upon the surface of the ground rather than falling back into its limitless depths.

Shrugging aside his dizziness, Sheep looked about him.

They had appeared in a hallway of some grand building. Sheep could tell that it was a building of some repute, as rather than having simple constructed walls with bleached pigmented sides, these ones were of a decorated style which marked the existence of wealth.

‘This is the place!’ Riot remarked. He had his blades to hands, and he was turning his head back and forth, ready to engage any who were unlucky enough to confront them both.

Sheep touched at the hilt of his own shelved sword which was hung at his waist. Refraining from pulling it free, he suspected that he would only compromise himself if he was to attempt to assist Riot in fighting. Instead he would hang back, allow Riot the direct route of unleashing his ability.

Waiting behind Riot, he brought to the fore his warren, ready to release its stored potential in the case of Riot being unable to aid him. He had never used his warren against a person before. Only in the usage of flinging its creation upon objects and areas which needed to be scraped clean did he ever bring its wrath. He was unsure whether of not he had the correct alignment within him to be able to do such a feat, instead he hoped that such an occasion would never occur.

Riot looked back towards him, and indicated with a soft nod that they were to proceed further forward into the building.

Moving slowly forward, the carpeted floor beneath them only going further to prove just how richly furbished the premises truly were, they moved steadily towards a door which was roughly ten yards before them and on their joint left.

The door was ajar, a beam of light sweeping out, exposing the richness of vigour and colour which made up the décor of the hallway. From within, a shadow was constantly moving, blocking the penetrating illumination which wept outwards.

With even and slow steps, Sheep could see that Riot maintained a posture and swiftness which was efficiency made flesh. Edging forward, swords held low so to help conceal him further, Riot leisurely raised a hand and pushed the door open.

Without a further pause, he swept in, following the door so to move with a speed that would disorient the person who was within.

Surprised by Riot’s sudden motion, Sheep found himself playing catch up. Propelling himself forward, he followed after the former Crimson Guard.

[Riot]

Sull Decrat was beside the window, flinging the contents of his wardrobe over his shoulder so to land loosely upon the bed. Gathering clothes and rustling them into balls of material, he quickly disregarded and judged which clothes to keep, and which to leave.

Moving towards a small desk which was located just to his left, moving before the flickering candle which bathed the room in a rich warm glow, he sensed rather than heard the door behind him flowing open.

Turning, a loose shirt hanging in his fingers, he focused his attention towards the door.

The door came open with driven force, and following its excursion came a shadow, flowing into the room with a purpose that sent a shard of ice into Sull’s heart.

Falling backwards, releasing a cry which sounded shredded by cowardly fear, Sull struck the desk, his knees crumbling, unable to maintain his stability. Falling to the floor, he raised his hands before him, using the shirt to help hide his appearance from the person who had just stormed in.

Knowing that his time had come, he just wished that Pal had not reacted by sending his own guards to finish him off.

‘Bastard!’ the figure who entered came closer and ripped the clothing from his hand, throwing the darkened cloth to one side.

Sull recognised the word, yet at first he didn’t understand its meaning. His mind was growing numb, but he quickly accessed that the cursed word had not been spoken in his native tongue; instead it was of a Malazan dialect.

Opening his eyes, ignoring the tears which awaited to be released, he stared up towards the figure who loomed over him.

‘YOU!’ he howled, unsure whether his eyes were betraying him or not.

‘Aye me,’ the shadow grinned ‘Now don’t move you bastard,’

Sull cringed back, yet he remained in the relative position that he had adopted since falling to his arse.

The man who was now looking about his apartment was the same man who had been the represented champion for the Malazan’s. The same man who had not only killed Fen with easy ability, but for whom Sull suspected was a Claw who had travelled to this part of the world via the Imperial warren.

So fixated was his on the supposed Claw, that he nearly missed the next person who came into the room. Unlike the initial strike of motion that the Claw had envisioned in his entrance, this newcomer was almost reserved, falling into the room with stumbling embarrassment.

Faint recognisition swam to mind for the second newcomer, and shaking his head as the younger man came into the centre of the room, he suddenly recognised him as one of the young recruits of the Malazan’s.

‘That’s him!’ the younger of the two men pointed directly at Sull, yet he stood back, features pale as he regarded Sull.

‘Aye, I know!’ the man in black with his swords to hand, moved away from his poisiton, once more coming before Sull. Hunching down, he drew his entire attention to Sull.

‘Close the door Sheep!’ the huddled man mere yards from Sull told the second man.

‘Right!’ the door closed, the second man standing behind the Claw, a hand raised to his mouth, teeth chewing intently upon his finger nails.

‘You’re the High Advisor?’ the question was poised quietly, yet Sull could hear the clear hint which underlined the query.

‘Yes!’ he nodded, shifting slowly, trying to adjust himself so to be more comfortable.

‘Good,’ the man nodded, and Sull wondered why he was postponing the death that he was about to deliver.

Sull watched as the Claw began to move one of his swords, the tip facing down upon the floor, its sharp edge cutting through the carpet with effortless ease. The man allowed for the blade to slide across the floor, just inches from Sull’s nearest foot.

‘This is how it’s going to be!’ the man stated ‘I have some questions and you will respond,’

Sull remained silent.

‘What is your name again?’

‘Su…Sull!’ the High Advisor managed, eyes watching the delicate motion of the blade as it continued to carve a swaying design in the carpet.

The man nodded ‘Excellent,’ he agreed ‘My name is Riot by the way. And this is Sheep,’ here he nodded backwards towards the only standing man in the room.

Sheep’s eyes were wide, but he offered no form of recognition.

‘We are here to talk about your master,’ Riot informed Sull.

‘Pal?’ Sull asked, bemused by the way in which events had turned.

Riot laughed, and his hand moved swiftly. The sword touched against Sull’s shin, and Sull attempted to force himself back further, but the unrelenting desk refused to budge.

Instead of slicing through into the flesh, Riot allowed for the side of the blade to pat against Sull’s shin, the gentle weight a reminder of how things could change.

‘Not Pal!’ Riot continued to smile, yet his eyes did not reflect the same emotion ‘I’m speaking of you true master. The old Crippled bastard himself,’

Sull’s innards suddenly danced with cold fear, his guts plunged into a frozen heath, drawing out the wind from his lungs, and leaving him drawing for breath.

‘I see you know who we are talking about!’ Riot again patted the blade against Sull’s shin.

‘Riot!’ the small voice came from Sheep.

Ignoring his name, Riot continued ‘Tell me. What are his plans for Seven Cities?’

Sull shook his head. His mind was reeling from the understanding that this Claw knew who he worked for.

The blade moved, gaining closer to his centre, now patting against his inner thigh.

‘I asked you a question,’ Riot whispered.

The low tone that the Claw used was far scarier than if he had shouted out his rage, so menacing was its manner.

‘What…I…’ Sull spluttered, whilst the blade bounced from one thigh to the other. With the threat of immediate cutting and slicing, Sull found his thoughts gathering back together.

‘Raraku!’ he announced, finding that his own voice sounded horse with emotion.

‘Raraku?’ the word was repeated from the lonely soldier; the one called Sheep ‘There’s nothing there!’

Riot neither raised his head to look back, or gave any form of detection that he had heard his colleagues words, except for answering.

‘The rebellion. The Whirlwind Goddess. Raraku will be its centre!’ he stated in his low voice.

‘Yes!’ Sull nodded. The weight of the blade had lessen, and with it, Sull could feel his heart beating just that little bit slower.

‘But why?’ Riot asked ‘Are they allies?’

Sull shook his head, this time not in fear but as an answer ‘No, never allies. The bitch’s too mad for that!’

‘Than what?’

‘I don’t know… honestly, I’m not been permitted to know what for. Only that a coming together will commence there,’ Sull uttered.

‘Power draws power!’ Riot spoke as if to quote from some old established lore.

‘Yes!’ Sull declared, hoping that by answering honestly, that there would be a chance for him to survive.

‘If he’s as bad as you say, than it only means trouble!’ Sheep voiced his opinion.

‘Aye!’ Riot admitted, his eyes falling away from Sull. His thoughts elsewhere.

Sull found his confidence slowly building, sensing that his chances of endurance were increasing with every passing second.

Bound by this new thinking, he had the courage to ask a question of his own,

‘Why does your Empress have any baring with the events occurring with the Crippled God?’ he asked.

‘My Empress!’ again Riot smiled, and this time amusement shined brightly within his eyes ‘Who said anything about the Malazan empire having anything to do with this?’

‘But you’re a Claw, surely…’ Sull attempted to continue.

‘Claw?’ Riot laughed, whilst the soldier named Sheep appeared troubled by Riot’s response.

‘Who said anything about being a Claw?’

‘What!?’ Sull found his newfound confidence cracking, splintering with the mirth that coursed through the man who crouched before him ‘If not a Claw, than who?’

‘I have no title,’ Riot stated, slowly rising as he spoke ‘I’m just under the employee of someone who wants to see that you God’s interfering ways do not destroy everything that exists in this world,’

‘What…!’ Sull was again shaking his head, understanding nothing of this, his mind thick with accusations, each clawing to have their say, but overwhelming his functions so that he couldn’t understand any of what they echoed up to him.

Riot raised one of the blades, the light emanating from the candle which reared above the desk which stood behind Sull, giving the impression of a husky glow igniting within the blades fine edge.

‘My employee will become known to you soon enough,’ Riot told him ‘Let me show you!’

With his words finished, Riot moved and Sull was helpless to avoid what was coming. The sword rose by another inch, before the arm behind it promptly hastened forward, and plunged the apex of its structure into Sull’s chest. The point pieced between the angle of ribs, severing through the muscle and tissue which was constructed about them. Seizing through, cutting with effortless endeavour, the tip finely plunged into Sull’s heart.

Sull had a moment of sheer devastating pain, which seemed to ignite every nerve within his body, before the source of his infliction died away. With it, Sull’s own life dissipated, and his head fell forward so that his chin struck his torso.

Riot remained paused, the end of his sword still lodged within Sull’s chest. With deliberate reckoning, he stared at the lifeless body, waiting patiently for any abnormalities which may occur with the High Advisor’s passing.

Sheep waited anxiously behind him, grimacing at the body which now confronted him.

‘He’s dead, you know!’ Sheep remarked, wanting Riot to hurry.

‘Just making sure!’ Riot stated, unhurriedly pulling the blade free. The last third of the blade came out with appalling ease, its length coated in the rich colouring of crimson. Once freed, he wiped the bloodied section across Sull’s shirt, removing the impurities for which the High Advisor had spoilt it with.

‘Making sure that he’s dead?’ Sheep asked amazed.

‘Aye,’ Riot agreed, rising and turning to once more face the mage ‘I was expecting some reaction, possibly from his God,’

‘Reaction?’ Sheep repeated, knowing that he truly didn’t want to know, but finding that the word stumbled from his mouth.

‘Aye. But it would seem that he has been cut clean from his God’s blessing,’ Riot replied.

‘Than it was a waste of time?’

‘No,’ shaking his head, Riot glanced back as he answered ‘He may have been separated from his God’s will, yet men like himself will continue to arise in their attempts for power. No matter where that power may originate from,’

‘Chaos!’ Sheep stated the word whilst he shivered with its meaning.

Riot nodded, his appearance looking drained, tired by what he had accomplished here.

‘Back to the fort?’ Sheep asked, wanting to break free from this moment of distraction for which Riot had led him upon.

‘Aye!’ Riot acknowledged. Yet he refrained from moving.

‘Best get going now,’ Sheep prompted ‘I haven’t heard any munitions go off for some time,’

Still Riot remained motionless, and so disturbed was Sheep that he took a step forward.

‘Riot!’ Sheep said ‘We best get going now!’

Riot raised his face, and stared at Sheep.

The look that Sheep received was so stone cold soul that he wondered what ailment was inflicting the former guard.

‘Riot?’ he enquired.

‘I won’t be joining you Sheep,’ he stated, voice tired in its emission.

‘What!?’ Sheep projected.

‘I was never meant to stay with you beyond the time when the Crippled God’s represented was killed here. Once completed, I was to return to Hood and review the next objective,’ Riot admitted.

‘But… Riot!’ Sheep shook his head as if to protest against Riot’s declaration.

‘I’m sorry Sheep, but this isn’t my war. It never was,’

‘There are people fighting and dying at the fort whislt we stand here,’ Sheep began, his cheeks growing red as he began to exert his fanning emotions ‘For Hood sake Riot, you can help save them,’

‘I’m sorry Sheep…’ Riot’s words died away, head dropping as he couldn’t face looking at the mage any more.

‘Riot!’ Sheep said his name once more, yet he could sense that there was nothing he could say that would sway Riot’s intent, especially if he felt strongly enough in regards to the plans for which the Crippled God had natured for the world. In this manner, Sheep could understand Riot’s refusal to help aid them.

He may have understood Riot’s reasoning, but he still didn’t like them. Shaking his head one last time, he turned and opened his warren in one flowing motion, moving swiftly into the fissure which opened in the wall before him.

Riot raised his head, watching as the warren which coursed through the wall suddenly disappeared. Feeling the rise of guilt escalating in his stomach, he willed himself to remain calm; knowing assuredly that he would make very little difference if the siege had gone in favour of the Hatra forces.

His obligations which he had resigned himself to under the employee of Hood, was of such importance, that he couldn’t threaten his position in the events which were to come.

The thought was a clear one, yet he still couldn’t shake the uneasy sense of betrayal which sprung constantly to mind.

Shaking his head, he willed into creation the opening into Hood’s realm.

In a blanketed canvas of blackened light, Riot was swept into the warren. The High Advisor’s room now deserted of life. The faint sounds of cheering beginning to reverberate from the outside world, intensifying, building with each gradual motion of passing time.

The siege was to continue. The press forward moments from commencing. The Malazan rule of Hatra to finish this very day.

[Riot]

‘I think he’s dying!’ Splinter’s words were crass as they echoed across the mess hall. Beside him, Creases stood wide eyed, staring down at the Corporal who was still downed upon the table.

‘Shut it!’ Spider warned, giving Splinter a glance of supreme annoyance.

‘I’m just saying!’ Splinter moan, his voce low as he whined.

‘He’s right,’ Creases announced, raising his head so to look towards where Spider was positioned, before turning towards Candle ‘He won’t last much longer sir!’

Candle swapped a glance with Legit, yet the Sergeant appeared to offer no assistance. Finding no help from his second in command, Candle strode over towards where the old sapper was unconscious upon the table.

‘He’s breathing’s getting shallower!’ Creases leant nearer to Candle as the Captain came beside him.

Candle looked down upon the weather beaten features of the old sapper. Blood was congealed upon his forehead, seeming to seep down from the helm which capped his skull. Candle knew better than to move the helm, knowing that without medical expertise, there was very little he could do to help heal the damage that was formed there.

‘What we going to do sir?’ Splinter had crept closer, his head thrust forward so to better appeal to the Captain.

‘We have to hope that his condition improves!’ Candle stated, knowing that the situation was dire.

He turned aside, returning back to where he had been positioned for the past quarter of a bell. Habituating the exact same location, he gritted his teeth, and begged for his will to not dissolve in its ambition.

Lore’s situation was no better than their own. If anything, the old sapper at least had the satisfaction of not being awake. Their own position was grave, and he was conscious to the probability that they would all be dead within the hour.

Private Quiet, the eerily subdued youngest, moved from where she had been leaning heavily against the barricade that had been hastily constructed. Watching her from the corner of his eye, Candle gave no evidence that he was staring. Instead he simply gave the impression that his eyes were locked upon the wall opposite him. Aware of where she was going, he casually regarded her as she approached the table which held Lore’s girth.

Both Splinter and Creases gave her a emotionless glance of indifference, yet they both allowed her nearer, moving back a step so that she came to a halt, settled before the dying sapper.

Her young face, with its unresponsive blank characteristic of response, was strangely pale; almost as if the full weight of the sun which usually darkened the tone of skin of a person, had instead blanched her pigmented flesh, giving her the impression of innocent blessing. The contrast between the radiant darkness of her hair was so strong that Candle was surprised that he had not noticed it before.

Trying to ignore this observation, he instead watched as she delicately placed her small hand upon Lore’s chest.

Suddenly embarrassed, finding that he was prying upon a moment for which the young Private was probably saying her farewells in the only way possible for a mute, he focused his full attention elsewhere.

Unfortunately for him, his attention fell upon the barricade, and the feeble construction that was mounted before the doors. The loose formation of stacked chairs, and piled tables would not hold. The heap of wood and thrown objects were not of a firm enough structure. They were there to act as a momentary restraint, created so to force the coming invaders some form of obstruction, allowing his fellow soldiers and himself the opportunity to fight off a direct assault.

‘They’ll be here shortly!’ remarked Legit who had inched closer to Candle’s right.

Candle turned his head as if to reply, but the immediate crash of sound rising from outside instead focused his attention.

‘Quicker than I thought!’ Legit grunted.

Candle fought down the repressive will which wanted to escalate. Moving himself forward, he brought himself before the barricade. Here he intercepted the focal point of the mess hall, everyone’s eyes wide upon him.

‘Splinter, Creases! Move Lore to the back of the room, try not to jostle him to much,’ he instructed.

‘Aye sir!’ Creases nodded, hitting out against Splinter’s shoulder so to get his attention.

‘All those who are fit enough to fight, and have a weapon, form a half circle on Legit’s position,’ he went on to detail how he wanted each of them to act for the coming engagement. As he explained, finding that everyone’s concentration was placed upon him, Faith included, he ignored the sounds which were mounting outside.

The sounds which breeched their way into their position was of the Harta soldiers entering the fort, fighting amongst themselves to gain closer to the fort’s centre. Shouts and curses were sounded, yet these they ignored, so focused were they upon Candle’s words.

‘We can hold this position, make them bleed!’ Candle stated, looking upon each face, content that the tired expressions which stared back at him were of some of the most courageous people that he had ever had the fortune of serving with.

‘Sir!’ from the rear came Splinter’s voice.

Addressing his sight to the gloomy settings of the back way of the mess hall, Candle raised his voice ‘What is it Private?’

‘It’s Quiet!’ Splinter called back ‘She won’t let us move Lore, sir,’

Candle moved forward so to see past the line of soldiers who had momentarily obstructed his view. Gaining a better line of sight, he could see that Lore was still in the same position, and that Quiet was still standing over him, her hand still held firmly upon his barrel like chest. Flanked to either side of the young Private, stood both Creases and Splinter, and each man was trying to pry the young recruit away from the downed Sapper. Neither was having any luck in moving her, so resolute was she in her standing.

‘Quiet!’ Candle called out, hoping that she would respond to his commanding voice.

She ignored him.

‘Sergeant!’ he glanced towards Legit.

‘Yes sir!’ Legit made as if to go forward so to prise Quiet away himself, when the first attempt was made to open the main doors of the entranceway. The doors shifted with the attempt, and already they could hear as the activity from outside shifted towards the locked doors.

‘Return to your position Sergeant!’ Candle instructed ‘Creases, Splinter, you too. Leave her be!’

Both Splinter and Creases gave Lore one last glance, before they surged forward, gathering to the small column, enlarging its numbers by their small percentage.

‘Shit!’ the curse came from Spider, and looking over to her, Candle could see that she was touching at her waist, at the empty holster which had once held her sword.

In fear she looked his way, and he saw rising panic.

‘Get Quiet’s blade!’ he waved towards where the recruit was still hovering over Lore.

Relief rose brightly upon Spider’s face, and she quickly asserted herself to his suggestion, dancing between the two soldiers, Prime and Molehill, who were gathered beside her, before moving with haste towards Quiet’s location.

Releasing his own sword from his waist, Candle rolled his shoulders, releasing the kinks which inhabited his muscles.

From the door, the attempts to gain entrance increased. Now a weight was being thrown against the wooden structures, and the pounding was increasing with every beat. Even the mounted barricade was beginning to move, the force flowing through the construction so to make further sounds of exasperation.

‘Err… sir!’ from behind, Spider’s voice called aloud.

‘Just get the sword Spider!’ he shouted without turning.

‘Something weird is going on back here, sir!’ she responded back, her voice sounded surprised rather than fearful.

‘Just return to you position!’ he roared, eyes locked upon the moving expanse of the load which barricaded the door.

‘But sir…’ she attempted.

‘GET BACK HERE!’ he shouted, just as the door and its shutters were broken open, the spillage of light from outside flowing in before being blocked out by the first entering enemy soldier.

The floodgate was open, their adversaries came storming in.

[Riot]

Sheep was making his way through the realm of D’riss with as much purpose as he could possibly muster. Feeling as his lungs tightened with the exertion that he was forcing upon himself, he continued on regardless, concerned not with himself, but with those who were trying to survive within the fort.

Wadding through the thick consistency of the terrain, he ignored the rasping sound of his ragged breath, concentration only on moving forward, of trying to get back to Prime as quickly as possible.

His thoughts were singled upon his lover, her face ignited within his mind. Even if he only made it back so to die within her arms, he knew that it was a price worth paying.

Another face sprung to mind, yet he pushed it aside, feeling the layers of betraying escalating as he thought of Riot.

Perhaps he shouldn’t feel as stung as he was. After all, Riot was never a true ally, he had always had some other agenda to attend to. The establishment of his presence had never been set in stone, instead Sheep had just assumed that he would help aid them once his own task had been completed.

His naivety was painful, yet no matter how much he attempted to push the betrayal aside, he found that he kept thinking of Riot and of the last moments that they had had together.

Sheep had sensed that Riot wanted to help, but his bound rites with Hood were not flexible enough to allow this. Rather than impel him further, Sheep had instead fled, the urge within himself to hurry back and aid those who had been abandoned behind far greater than the purpose of waiting for Riot’s good will to win out.

Holding back the curses which wanted to break free, he shook his head, focusing his attention back upon the way ahead of himself.

The same disjointed fault line which he had followed when initially trailing Riot, did he once more pursue. Only this time his pace was set with greater vigour; so anxious was he to arrive back.

Not having the will to send his perception on ahead of himself, he instead kept his senses localised, not willing to threaten his mind with the possibility of what troubles were lurking before him.

Racing onwards as he was, he truly did not know what events would he encounter, feebly wishing that all was well at the fort and that the siege was going badly for the Hatra army.

Closing his thoughts, priming them down into a core, he drove himself forwards, increasing his pace once more, nearing the fort and towards whatever events would confront him once he arrived.

[Riot]

Spider inched forwards to Quiet, moving with an urgency that was consuming in its passion. She had completely forgotten that her sword had been lost with the explosion. Only when she fumbled at her waist, fingers desperately searching for the pommel did remembrance come back with staggering realisation.

Candle’s quick response in taking the immobile Quiet’s sword was a good one, and Spider hastily moved so to complete this simple task.

The young Private was still stationary, hand held upon Lore’s chest. Coming round, circling a chair that happened to remain in her path, Spider noticed that Quiet’s eyes were closed, eye lids hiding her usual expressive orbs.

Closing the last few yards, Spider finally halted beside the static Private.

‘Just going to take your sword, Quiet!’ she whispered, leaning forward, hand reaching out to pull the sword from its restraint.

It was as her hand touched the grip, and slowly began to rise, drawing the first glimmer of exposed metal from the hilt of the sword, that something snared Spider’s attention.

Pausing, still leant forward, she turned her head to see what had caught her interest. Her eyes fell upon Lore, of to be more precise upon the hand which rested upon his barrel chest. The small delicate hand which was facing palm down upon the armour which covered the Corporal’s torso, was beginning to glow. An emission of low light was building from beneath the slim fingers and flat palm, increasing in its strength, beginning to radiate a orange pitch of illumination.

Dumbstruck, Spider found that she couldn’t move. From behind her, the sound of banging began to exhibit against the door and the mounted construction of obstacles. But still she was absorbed by the glow which was bathing the entirety of Quiet’s hand, enriching the local surroundings by its tempest splendour.

All she could manage was to shout aloud to the Captain ‘Err…sir!’

Candle’s response was filled with irritation, as well as indicating that his attention was focused upon other things ‘Just get the sword Spider!’ he shouted back.

‘Something weird is going on back here, sir!’ she called, finding that surprise was the dominating emotion rather than any signs of fear for what the light represented.

‘Just return to your position!’ the Captain roared.

‘But sir…’ she wanted to explain, wanting to draw everyone’s attention to the strange occurrence that was happening mere inches from her face.

‘GET BACK HERE!’ Candle shouted, and following his barked command came the crash of the door’s breaking open, and the first Hatra soldier making his attempt into their position.

Spider span round with the crash, her body pulling round, hand bringing forth Quiet’s blade. Freed from its holster, the sword’s weight felt good to hand; almost right in its balance.

Towards the door her eyes fell, and to the men who were trying to gain entrance. The door’s had only partially opened, the weight of mounted objects gathered behind them obstructing their total gapping paths from being exposed.

From this gap, men began to struggle inside, the first being pushed into the cluttered barricade, falling and causing those behind him to close up, forced into inactivity by their enclosed ranks.

Taking the opportunity that arose, Spider saw as Legit lunged forward and lashed out against the fallen foe. The downed man attempted to parry the incoming blow, but entangled by the clutter which engrossed him, he was unable to deflect the strike which ran into his face.

Stunned by the horrific means in which the man’s face crumbled, Spider was shocked into action. Moving forward, she ignored what was occurring behind her, knowing that there was no time left to engage her interest in the blessing light which projected from Quiet’s hand.

Resuming her position within the last line of defence, she nodded when Molehill offered her a glance.

Focusing once more forward, she saw that Legit had retreated back to Candle’s side. The entire group’s concentration was pinned upon the Hatra soldiers who were battering with the barricade which confronted them, struggling to get a foot hold as the resultant disorder was halting their pursuit forward.

Spider and her colleagues held back, unable to pursue with an attack as to go forward would bring them in direct vicinity to the enemies own means of assault.

‘If only we had crossbows!’ she moaned, annoyed that there were none within the fort.

‘Move over!’ from beside her, Molehill indicated that he wanted her to step aside.

‘What you doing?’ she hissed, stepping aside so to allow him the space he requested.

‘Nothing!’ Molehill stated, before handing Spider his sword. Taking what was offered, Spider was bemused, yet watched as Molehill reached down and picked up a nearby chair. Lofting the chair by one of its legs, he than reacted by hurling it into the thick of milling men.

The chair span before it struck a Hatra soldier square in the face. The wooden chair made a heavy smack of sound as it hit the man in the face. The force behind the chair was great, so much so that the struck man fell backwards, toppling the two men who crowded behind him.

‘Shit!’ the curse came from Spider’s own mouth.

Molehill ignored her, instead moving on to the next chair which was laying off to one side. As he readied his next launch, others began to follow his lead. Soon other objects were launched through the air, hitting those who were now clawing their way back out through the doorway.

Molehill threw one last chair before the last Hatra soldier escaped back outside, the chair exploding as it struck the door frame; thousands of tiny splinters escaping from the buckled wood.

Puffing with the exertion, Molehill wiped at his forehead, removing the covering of sweat which had beaded there.

‘Back to position!’ Candle warned.

Molehill made his way back over to Spider’s side, collecting his sword when Spider presented it to him.

‘Thanks,’ he acknowledged, gathering himself back into line.

‘Where did that come from?’ she asked, amazed by the strength that he had demonstrated. He had easily hurled the chairs with the most force of all the other soldiers, and his aim had been the most efficient.

‘Your suggestion for crossbows!’ he muttered, looking almost embarrassed by Spider’s wide eyed gaze.

‘I meant arrows, not chairs!’ she remarked, amused by his tentative answer.

Her amusement was short lived however, as she saw movement again appear at the door.

‘LOOK OUT!’ Spider was unsure who shouted the warning, but she was beyond caring, as a sudden force struck out against her left side, forcing her from her feet.

Striking the floor, she was dazed, mind confused from the impact which jarred through her from the collision. Instead, the pain from her shoulder was dominating her rational mind, so fierce was its affect.

‘GET DOWN!’ Candle’s voice was again commanding in its pitch ‘TO COVER!’

Spider was squeezing her eyes shut, yet with her right hand she touched at where the pain was radiating. She found the flight of an arrow lodged within her shoulder. The shaft had punched through the armour, biting deep into her flesh and the muscle beneath.

‘Bastards!’ she managed, urging down the will to cry and scream.

‘Spider!’ Molehill scrambled across to her. His face was a pasty white as he looked over her.

‘Bastards!’ she again cursed.

‘Well, there’s your arrows!’ Molehill commented, and Spider was sure she saw a small dose of amusement shining within his eyes.

‘Bastard!’ this time her anger was directed his way.

Rolling on her back, she kicked out at a nearby table, wishing to beat out the pain which burned through her.

‘Keep down!’ Molehill told her as he shifted his eyes about him.

‘What’s going on?’ she managed, finding that the pain was ebbing away, slowly becoming numb.

‘Bastard’s sent in a wave of arrows in through the door. But don’t worry, you was the only one hit,’ he informed her.

‘Great!’ she laughed ‘Only me. Hood take me!’

‘Don’t say that!’ Molehill said, suddenly totally serious. Again his face grew red before he changed the subject ‘They have us pinned down. Probably send in the next wave of soldiers in shortly,’

‘You can do your chair trick again!’ she commented.

He shook his head ‘Out of chairs!’ he stated.

Spider laughed, finding that his comment was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

‘How’s Spider?’ the voice of the Captain was thrown from across the room.

‘Wounded, but she seems fine enough!’ Molehill responded.

‘Drag her back to Lore’s position, and then get back up here!’ Candle instructed.

‘Aye sir!’ Molehill answered.

Shelving his sword, Molehill rose himself gently up, making sure as he did so that his head was held down so to not offer a target to the archer who was billed at the door.

Ambling round so that he was now huddled over Spider’s head, he gripped hold of her from under the arms.

‘Sorry!’ he whispered, as he touched the area near to the wedged arrow.

‘Don’t be!’ Spider commented as he began to pull her backwards across the floor ‘Can’t feel the pain anymore anyhow!’

‘Oh!’ Molehill voiced, yet he pulled her back as carefully as he could manage.

With head held slightly upwards, Spider could now see how the rest of her fellow soldiers were huddled down, some hiding behind what protection was offered from overturned tables.

Sliding backwards, she happened to catch a glance of the door’s and to the Hatra soldiers who were pulling the weight of objects which barricaded the doorway. One man was holding a crossbow, and he was peering in through the ajar doors, the tip of the crossbow scanning back and forth, looking for a target to raise its head.

‘Bastards clearing a path for themselves!’ she remarked. Watching as more and more of the littered crap was pulled free.

‘Yes!’ Molehill hissed as he continued to pull her back deeper into the mess hall ‘Then they’ll launch everything they have at us,’

‘Shit!’

‘Yes,’ Molehill agreed.

Pulled further into the hall, Spider saw from her right hand side the appearance of Quiet returning into her view. The Private was still standing, immobile and occupying the exact same position for which Spider had left her to.

‘Here we go!’ said Molehill, leaning her up against an overturned table ‘Should be safe enough here, they can’t see this far into the hall,’ he announced.

‘Safe for the moment maybe!’ she muttered, wondering how long till they broke their way in and overwhelmed them all. Enough time for her to bleed to death in the meantime? She was unsure.

‘Don’t move!’ Molehill indicated with his hands that she was to remain in the same place.

‘No fear there!’ she returned, watching as he made his way back forward; again low in his approach.

Drawing in a deep breath, Spider found that she was growing more concerned with the apparent truth that instead of hurting, she was becoming more and more numb down the left hand side of her body.

Unable to raise her left hand, she could feel the annoying trickle of blood wash down her arm, dripping off of her finger tips.

‘Bastards, one and all!’ she coughed, wondering if all those who were under the influence of approaching death always felt so light headed.

Thinking of her end, she twisted her head and looked over towards Quiet. The young Private was facing towards her, and Spider felt momentary surprise at the expression which denoted the girl’s features.

‘Just you just get on and help old Lore!’ Spider muttered, finding that her eyes were struggling to remain open. Her view was darkening, and for the first time since being struck, an onslaught of fear strode freely within her.

Shaking her head, hoping to clear her misting sight, she slowly began to lose her alertness altogether. As her consciousness dissolved away, the last thing she saw was of Private Quiet moving away from Lore’s side and approaching herself.

‘…’ her words died away even before they began. Consciousness a state beyond her control.

[Riot]

How is she?’ Prime asked as Molehill returned. Ducked down as she was, she had only been able to watch as Molehill had dragged Spider away.

Molehill looked less than pleased ‘Arrow’s deep, and she’s freely bleeding,’ with this statement he raised a hand to show the crimson fluid which decorated his fingers.

Prime winced, yet she knew that for the time being there was nothing that any of them could do to help Spider. Instead, enforced into their hidden positions, all they could do was wait for the next assault to commence once the clearance had been made by the busy Hatra soldiers.

‘Why don’t they just send in more archers and crossbow men?’ Molehill wondered aloud ‘They could simply wipe us out,’

‘Probably most of them got wiped out by the explosions,’ nodding towards the doorway Prime continued ‘That could very well be their last crossbow!’

‘So we just have to wait here while they make things easier for themselves!’ he shook his head in annoyance.

‘Aye!’ she agreed, knowing just how unfair the events of late had been to them all.

Molehill shook his head, mutely communicating his frustration. Prime could only stare on unenthusiastically, eyes blinking, mind whirling with the thoughts of her own position, as well as the whereabouts of Sheep.

For all she knew, he could be dead. Both he and Riot failing in their attempt in cleansing the local vicinity of the Crippled God’s threatening presence. If that was the case, she had no doubts that she would be joining him shortly, perhaps just a few yards behind him as she entered the gates into Hood’s realm.

The thought of her death wasn’t as scary as she imagined it to be. Instead, she almost invited the end to arrive, hating the position for which she was cornered into. The ominous presence of engulfing trepidation was a constant, overshadowing them all with its long lasting attendance.

Drawing deeper into the pit of despair which had ensnared her, knowing deeply within her heart that Sheep really was dead, she lifted her head from her location.

‘Prime!’ Molehill hissed, waving his arms, imploring her to lower her head from view.

Looking over towards the door, she could see that the entranceway had increased in its opening. Most of the barricade which was situated before the door had been cleared, allowing for the wooden doors to be opened further into the hall.

Now only a small presence of chairs and piled objects were located, allowing for a greater advance to be made into the hall.

Peering with an intent which was suicidal in its attempt, Prime could see that the lone crossbowman had advanced further into the hall, standing at the limit of the entranceway. The man was scanning back and forth, eyes wide in attendance, nerves expressed by ever small action he made. As of yet he had not spied Prime, so nervous was his screening of the hall.

Adjusting her sight so to glance out through the entranceway and to the outside world, she could see the gathered soldiers outside, awaiting for the command which would unleash them.

‘Get ready!’ Candle’s low call was made so to sound amongst them, but not enough so to alert the crossbowman. Glancing over to his position, Prime could see that the Captain was peering from his own safe guard area, watching the events that were occurring just across the way.

A thud of sound and Prime felt as the released arrow stemmed past her ear. Reacting by ducking down, she was surprised to find that her heart was beating wildly. Perhaps she was still fearful of losing her life.

The crossbowman pulled free from his holdall another arrow, and he began the task of resetting the bow, turning the mechanism which would tightening the central spring.

‘Bollocks to this!’ Legit grunted from his spot. Quickly pulling himself up, he sprang over the blockade that had hidden him and advanced towards the crossbowman.

Seeing what was confronting him, the Hatra soldier forgot all about his weapon, instead trying to distance himself from the manic Sergeant.

‘No you don’t!’ Legit cursed, throwing himself at the fleeing soldier, hacking and slashing, assaulting with the entirety of his pent up frustration.

Those Hatra soldiers who were in the hall, moving aside the clutter of the barricade, watched with astonishment at the manner in which their protector was hacked apart by the vengeful Malazan. Their amazement soon dissolved however, as they disregarded the job at hand and picked up their own weapons from where they were gathered.

‘Everyone up!’ Candle shouted, acting as he bellowed the command, rushing over so to help aid the outnumbered Sergeant. Prime followed her fellow soldiers, quickly dispatching the enemy.

They had little time to regroup, Legit only just returning to their fold, when the next force of Hatra soldiers came storming in.

The barrier which had once conflicted their ability in surging forward was so severed in its construction that it was of no use in deflecting their attack.

Prime found herself trying to fend off two attackers at once, finding that it was only due to the Hatra soldiers lack of training in fighting together in such close quarters the reason why she had not been overwhelmed in the first few seconds. Deflecting the tip of a sword which sprang too close to her face, she hacked back, feeling the resistance of flesh before her own blade pieced the man before her.

With no moment to spare, finding that as one enemy fell another pushed forward to take his fallen comrades place, Prime was being pushed further and further back.

The line which they were attempting to hold was breaking, each of them slowly edging backwards, the assault against them too great. The numbers confronting them too many for their fledging selves to fend against.

Grunting with the exertion of trying to defend against so many enemies, Prime felt as the first wound was inflicted upon her. The slash of the blade came from the right, managing to cross against her right flank, searing a length of pain into her side. Crying aloud with the pain, she shoved and punched outwards, pushing the man before her backwards.

Wanting to retreat, she again had to raise her guard, scrambling to knock aside the increasing amounts of attacks which seemed to be coming from every direction.

Two more slashes were assailed against her, crisscrossing her arms, blood rearing as the wounds surfaced.

Weariness was increasing, fatigue building, the rational part of her brain beginning to assume the worst. Her reactions were becoming slower, and the next opponent to really launch an aggressive and fast paced offensive would surely win through.

Prime’s end had arrived, and she found that her strength was lost to its confrontation. Eyes falling upon the next man to come before her, she could see in the manner in which he rushed into the free space that he was eager to crush her down. The delight that she saw in his eyes was so demeaning, that she wished that she had the time to break down and cry.

Going through the motion of trying to protect herself, she raised her sword, knowing that it was never going to be enough.

She could see the blow was coming, but instead of standing firm as it fell in its arch, she found herself falling backwards. No, not falling, being pulled. Pulled backwards, a hand gripping tightly upon her shoulder, drawing her back in a mighty tug. Managing to save her as the sword completed its swing.

Moving backwards, she tried to balance her feet, yet the force which pulled her was enough so to hold her steady, but not enough so to allow her any form of equilibrium. Tilting her head backwards, she was confronted with the upside down face of Sheep. He was dragging her back, away from the collapsing line, and with no time to smile and offer him a reassuring grin, she was surprised to find as he almost dumped her down, away from any action.

Now on the floor, sword still to hand but useless as she had little or no strength to maintain its height, she watched as Sheep stepped forward into the breech. Joining the line without a weapon to hand.

‘Sheep!’ she attempted, but her voice was little more than a wisp.

Sheep was little use as a swordsmen, what little she could teach him was of no use against such an angry and beseeched mob. Even though the line was disjointed, she could see that not one of her fellow soldiers had succumb to any major injuries. They continued to stand, and in doing so, they fought and defied the enemy which outnumbered them.

Now joining their ranks, Sheep was to fill her space, the space for which she could no longer defend.

Again feeling like sobbing, she knew that she could not watch on as Sheep fell before her. The sight would be too great for her to bare. Any hope of him surviving was extremely poor, especially as he had yet to draw his sword and he was now standing directly before the first line of Hatra soldiers.

Lowing her gaze, she tore her eyes from the scene that was about to play out before her.

[Riot]

Sheep advanced forwards. His mind was consumed with the wounds which had been decorated across Prime, her flesh scared and blood seeping with its sickening endeavour. Instead of a burning rush over burdening his mind, he instead felt a coldness which seemed to enflame him even further.

Prime was now out of the conflict, and so he could bare his thoughts away from her for the moment. Instead, he had other things to consider. One being how he was to deal with the enemy who pulsated before him, mere moments from surging over the valiant attempts of his fellow Malazan’s.

Moving forward, joining the shearing line, he left his sword where it was. By his waist, there was very little chance of him injuring himself. In its place, he drew forth the weapon for which he could cause the most damage.

D’riss flickered to life within him with a purpose that he had never felt before. Fanned to life by his frosted anger, it strained and willed for itself to be released. Taking the last step which drew him level with Molehill to his right, and allowing him to fulfil the furthest edge of the left flank, he released his warren.

Sheep shaped and threw D’riss forward in the same manner that he had used once before when he had been in the service of Earn Paltroll within the city of Evinor. Unlike that time, instead of flinging its creation against a mound of soil and broken terrain, he projected its conception across the Hatra soldiers.

The man directly before him, the same man who had almost hacked down Prime before Sheep had pulled her free, was the first to be consumed by Sheep’s wrath. The man had no time to scream as D’riss flailed across his flesh. Tearing at his armour, loosening his skin from his bones, the soldier crumbled backwards. The projection which Sheep sent forward was harnessed in such a fashion that it flowed over the enemy forces and spread in a controlled manner, falling only upon the enemy in their congested gathering.

A tidal wave of power, D’riss swam over the enemy with devastating results. The exposed flesh of those who confronted him was torn and shredded, peeling back from the bone, blood vessels bursting, splatters of gore being thrown through the air.

Intensifying the burdening power which reached through him, strove through him with such might that he was staggered by its magnitude, Sheep continued to propel the energy forward.

The reaction by those Hatra soldiers who were at the rear of the crowd was instantaneous. Witnessing the horrific means by which their fellow soldiers were being obliterated by some invisible means, they began to fight their way out, trampling those who were still outside and were trying to gain closer to the fighting going on inside.

Urging his hands forwards, pushing his intent with the simple action of motion, Sheep flailed D’riss over these fleeing individuals, not caring that they wished only for escape.

Taking a step forward, his foot coming down in the bloody remains of the first man that he had focused D’riss upon, he could feel a thunderous echo of vibration building in his head. The sheer concentration of power was groaning within his head, willing him on, wishing for him to unleash the entirety of his potential, to wipe every Hatra soldier and citizen from the face of the world. With each footstep forward his own personality was being forced down, besieged by the bludgeoning power which craved to be released.

Another step, and a river of blood from the broken remnants of the Hatra soldiers was washing up against his shin, flowing, disturbed by the unrelenting purpose of the unrestrained warren.

Another step. He was edging closer to the door. All the Hatra soldiers within the mess hall were dead, only those outside who fled from the madness which had swept across their fellow man remained.

Another step. He was loosing all sense of himself, the extent of D’riss was consuming him, draining the essence of Sheep, loosing him as the surge willed him forward towards the entrance. Towards where other victims were awaiting his arrival.

Another step. The warren was still being thrown outwards, consuming the bodies which littered his path, turning the globs of flesh and bile into a liquefied gel which was being flung backwards, away from the focal point of D’riss and its destructive influence.

Another step. The door was before him, and he could see the few reserves of Hatra soldiers who stood milling outside, unaware why those before them had fled, standing in the reins of confusion, unaware of the fate that was about to step out to their position.

Another step…

The blow was struck from behind, the force jarring against his head with such weight that he was pitched forward. Landing face first into the gore which he had created. Striking the ground, the avenue of his warren collapsed, suddenly disappearing so to allow for his own identity to rise from the depths for which he had disappeared into.

Coughing and spluttering, hands pushing down upon the floor so to help lift himself from the red mush which swam about him, Sheep tried to gather his thoughts.

The pain from the back of his skull was overpowering, causing flashes of light to bubble and spit over his dislodged sight. Reeling with the effort, he gasped for breath, before the zealous nature of his pain passionately rose upwards within himself, causing him to bend double and throw up his turmoil in the form of bile.

Managing to resolve himself, Sheep lifted his ailing head and looked to where the source of pain had originated.

Standing in the illuminated cast area before the door, a few yards from his downed position, Sheep could see the person who had struck him down.

The figure was holding the leg of a obliterated chair, the length of wood held at the person’s waist. Standing there, expressionless, Private Quiet was watching him with passive vigilance.

‘…shit!’ Sheep managed between drawn breaths, wondering where she had come from. The pain in his skull was still striking with resonating ambition, striving to overwhelm any logical thoughts.

From her retreated position at the rear of the mess hall, the young Private must had crept forward whilst everyone else had been induced into the state of awe in reference to Sheep’s display. Rather than remaining back, she had instead reached across the gulf that separated Sheep from the rest of his fellow soldier’s, and pulled him back from the limit of the abyss for which he had nearly been developed.

‘Thank you!’ he whispered, bowing his head so to try and reduce the pain which persisted. His only wish was that Quiet had been able to discover the same means of saving him from himself, without the need of the chair leg.

Sensing that Sheep was returned to his normal state, Quiet dropped her temporary weapon and returned through the discarded tables back to her previously location.

‘Sheep?’ the Captain was the first person to come forward, glancing only briefly at Quiet as she returned to her position.

‘I’m fine!’ Sheep intoned ‘I’m fine!’

Candle reached down and grasping hold of Sheep from beneath his armpits, he help aided the mage back to his feet. Unsteadily, Sheep stood, not quite aware of the blood which seemed to decorate him.

‘I nearly lost myself,’ Sheep explained as Candle looked over him ‘My warren almost consumed me,’

‘You managed to repel them,’ Candle told him.

‘I… I was just so angry, it…it focused through me and…’ not able to finish, Sheep noticed the damage which was splashed vigorously about him. His pale features grew even more ashen in its colouring, and his eyes grew wider in the realisation of what horror’s he had brought into creation.

‘Oh my god!’ he hoarsely managed.

‘Sheep!’ Candle dug his fingers into Sheep’s arm, squeezing so to ensnare his full attention ‘Listen to me. You saved us all, you forced them back just before we were completely broken,’

‘But…’ he attempted, voice trailing away as he stared, eyes lost to what was spread about him.

‘Enough!’ Candle stated. Still holding firmly to Sheep’s arm, he tugged and pulled the dispirited mage away from the created bloodshed.

‘Think about Prime!’ Candle curtly barked at him whilst he towed Sheep towards his lover.

The announcement of Prime’s name broke through the clouded fragment of Sheep’s mind, seeming to awaken him from his paralysed state. Looking over to where he had removed Prime from harms way, he could see that she was struggling to right herself, pushing against the nearby table which had somehow remained standing throughout the entire duration of the fighting.

‘Prime!’ he shook aside Candles grip and propelled himself towards his toiling lover.

Raising her head with the call of her name, Prime offered Sheep a tired smile as he rushed forward.

‘I thought I lost you!’ Sheep threw his hands about Prime, helping to hold her, forgetting his own weariness as he embraced her.

‘Thought I lost you too,’ she echoed, squeezing back with what remaining strength was held within her body. Together they sought and exchanged their vitality, basking in the emotions which swept through them both.

‘We aren’t out of this yet!’ Sergeant Faith expelled from his position beside the door. Looking from outside and focusing his attention once more inside, the Sergeant nodded towards events that were happening externally ‘Their gathering themselves back together again,’

‘Shit!’

‘…what!…’

‘Bastards must want us bad!’ the tones of voices which went about the mess hall were lost to both Sheep and Prime. Their hug was central to their shattered selves, and there was very little which would shake them from its foundations.

It was Splinter’s shrill voice which did alert them to the world about them, so high and crass was its projection that it caused everyone in the hall to turn in alarm to where he was pointing.

‘WHAT’S THAT!’ he shouted, hand and finger bobbing before him, directed towards a spreading patch of darkness which was creeping from the corner of the hall.

Sheep loosened his embrace of Prime, allowing himself the opportunity to study off towards where Splinter’s was vainly pointing.

So drained was Sheep that his senses were a reflection of his own exhaustion. Staring towards the black spillage of anti-light which was weeping from the corner, swirling and increasing in its size, he was unable to fully comprehend what he and his fellow soldiers were staring at.

Blinking, wondering if his traumatized mind was somehow creating this moving slumber of blackness, he slowly realised what it was.

Opening his mouth as if to proclaim the answer to what they were seeing, the darkness suddenly pounced, drawing about them all before they had the chance to move. Coating the entirety of the mess hall with its pitch-black richness, the seizing darkness abruptly lifted; there one moment, and gone in the next.

With its desertion so to was the occupation of the Malazan forces in this area of Seven Cities.

When the Hatra soldiers finally worked up the will to storm the mess hall, they were confronted with an empty room; as empty as the remainder of the fort once they completed their search.

The Malazan’s who had repelled their advances for so long had disappeared, leaving them the spoils of victory in the form of an abandoned fort.

Hollow was the conquest, dispirited and broken the army which had ineffectively won the siege.

[Riot]

The distilled illusion of darkness was encroaching with a belligerent maelstrom of oppression. Flowing over them with a heated exchange of insincerity, the pressure of the atmosphere was overburdening them with its conception, their joint ears popping with the sudden change in surroundings.

‘Hood!’ Riot finally managed to state his thought, again blinking as he attempted to make out where they were.

The world about him was night, sheer darkness which seemed to envelope his entire perspective. Only a strange and eerie light which seemed to radiate down upon them was there evident, and this was so outlandish in its creation that Sheep doubted that it was born of a natural illumination.

Shaking his head in uncertainty, he instead turned his attention towards his local surroundings.

The remaining regiment was all assembled in that darkened place, all occupying the same positions for which they had been gathered in before the craving blackness had overwhelmed them all.

Candle, Legit, and Molehill were still behind Sheep, all looking with confusion at the new surroundings which swept endlessly around them. Sergeant Faith was still the furthest away, positioned near to where the mess hall door had once been located before the exchanged had occurred. With eyes wide with ignorance and confusion, Faith quickly rejoined the large majority of the troops. His head sweeping back and forth, trying to conjure shapes from the vast darkness that encircled them.

Creases and Splinter were off to the right, each man closing to the other, too afraid to remain alone within the bludgeoning atmosphere of that ill swept settings. Even the ground was coated in darkness, unsighted yet creating small clipping sounds as their feet moved freely upon its surface.

Swinging his head around, Sheep could see that the remainder of his fellow soldiers had also joined them. Corporal Lore was still perched upon a table, the only object to have followed them to this disjointed realm. Now however, Lore was awake and aware, his head lifted, arms propped so to allow him to follow the example of his fellow soldiers; looking about him into the swirling shade.

Beside him, standing with a casual stance, Private Quiet was positioned. Upon the young Private’s face, a smile was actually born, and Sheep had to look twice to believe what he was seeing.

Just to the left of the mute Private, stirred Spider, and she was lifting herself from the ground. Using both arms to propel herself from the ground, Sheep could see a tear in the armour which shielded her left shoulder. That was all he could see however, as the flesh below appeared untouched, fresh from any wound which had created the original tear in the first instance.

Finally rising to her feet, Spider shook her head as if to remove any clinging remnants of puzzlement which lingered in her addled skull. With a refreshing look of bewilderment upon her features, Spider looked with unashamed perplexity at her surroundings before speaking,

‘So where in Hood are we?’ she asked aloud.

Sheep winced at her words, wishing that she hadn’t echoed his own admission to their location.

‘Are we all dead?’ Lore added his own share. The Corporal appeared pale, yet he seemed healthy enough.

Most of the soldiers shook their head, Splinter muttering as he admitted his lack of knowledge ‘Don’t feel dead!’ patting at himself as if to check for any wounds.

‘Sheep?’ Candle called, and every head turned in his direction.

‘We’re not in Seven cities anymore!’ Sheep answered, hating the fact that everyone was staring at him as if he had all of the answers.

‘We can guess that,’ Legit stated, smirking so to express his lack of amusement on the subject.

‘We’re in another realm, aren’t we!’ Candle answered, again looking at Sheep, seeking for an response.

‘Aye!’ Sheep nodded, closing his eyes briefly, not wanting to answer the next question that was surely to come his way.

‘Well, which one?’ again from Legit, and Sheep wished that he had something at hand, just so he could throw it towards the demanding Sergeant.

‘Hood’s own!’ he admitted, opening his eyes so to see the reaction which would play across each and everyone’s faces.

Some like Splinter and Creases expressed their emotions with lack of understanding, unable to truly grasp the meaning of Sheep’s words. Others like the Captain, Legit, Faith, and Molehill hid their true emotions behind stone like glances of anger. Whilst some like Lore, and Quiet showed their amusement with wide unrestrained smiles.

It was only Spider who barked aloud a laugh, bending double so to help aid her mirth from sprouting free.

‘What’s so damn funny?’ Legit asked. His mood in direct opposition to the Private’s.

Managing to control herself, urging down the will to continue laughing, Spider raised a hand so to show that she was to answer his serious query.

‘I thought I was dying!’ she admitted ‘Back before Quiet pulled the arrow from my shoulder and healed me. Than I thought that I was destined to survive. Now I find that I did survive but here I am at Hood’s realm all the same,’

Legit stared at her as she once more began to laugh. Shaking his head he said ‘Can’t bloody understand why its so funny!’

‘It’s because its ironic. Don’t you see!’ the voice came from a pillar of swirling black smoke which had suddenly appeared off behind Faith’s position. Everyone swiftly found that their attention had turned from Spider towards this new found source of speech. Each and everyone of them flinching as the words drifted towards them. Faith jumped backwards, almost falling into Molehill as he sought to distance himself from the invisible source of the voice.

‘Hood!’ someone said.

‘It’s Hood…!’

‘Oh shit…!’ the low voices from them were cursed with disbelief.

‘No!’ Sheep released his hold of Prime, offering her a smile as he did so, and walked towards the black smoke.

‘Riot!’ he stated as he advanced forwards.

‘Sheep!’ stepping out of the smoke, smiling and raising his eyebrows as he returned the soldiers worried glares, Riot walked closer to their strangely lit area.

‘You bastard,’ Sheep managed, finding that his anger for the former Crimson Guard was already fleeing as he made closer to him.

The bemusement of the entire company was still fresh, yet ignoring this for the moment, they all made their way closer to Riot’s position. Finally forming a semi circle which faced Hood’s employee, they all listened for what was about to be explained.

‘Why are we here?’ Sheep asked ‘We certainly aren’t dead!’

Looking from each face which confronted him, Riot removed the smile form his features. Instead he replaced it with a far greater expression which troubled them more with its reflection of sincerity.

‘If I hadn’t of acted, than you would all be dead. Have no doubt about that!’ he admitted.

‘Sheep would have repelled them again!’ Splinter rebuked, nodding towards Sheep with over important significance.

‘Sheep was all but finish. Is finished if truth be told,’ Riot explained.

Sheep nodded. Shivering as he thought of the moment in which he had been drowning within the threshold of D’riss and its roaring intent of bloodiness, he realised just how close he had been to being lost. His limbs were still weary, exhaustion set within his muscles.

‘Without interfering, you would have been crushed by the next wave of attackers,’ Riot clarified.

‘So why rescue us?’ Legit asked, forehead crossed in confusion ‘Why bring us here? Why not drop us off at Aren, or somewhere safer?’

‘Trust me, Aren is somewhere you don’t want to be just now, not unless you want to march once more with a new Malazan army,’ said Riot.

‘Fine, but why here?’ Legit again prompted.

Riot paused before answering. Staring intently at Candle, sensing some form of solidarity from the half Wickan Captain, he answered Legit’s query,

‘I need help!’ he confessed, again looking over them all before continuing ‘In our fight against the Crippled God and his assembly of allies, we are outnumbered. Long has his planning been put into action, and only now do we begin to sense what his aim truly is. Yet there is still more that we don’t understand, essences of his ideology which are at this moment beyond our means.

‘Our cause is gaining allies with each day, yet still we are being outmanoeuvred by the Crippled bastard. I may have some skill, but alone I will eventually tire and fail. Without allies directly working with me, I shall stumble and fall,’ Riot again paused, allowing them the opportunity to digest what he was saying.

Continuing he went on ‘I need your assistance. I need you all to help aid me and confound the Crippled Gods will,’

Silence reigned over them all, each person trying to understand what was being asked of them.

Sheep wondered at the significance of what Riot was asking of them, questioning himself if he could come to terms with what Riot was proposing.

It was Corporal Lore who spoke, his rumbling voice sounding almost natural in Hood’s realm,

‘Sounds reasonable to me!’ the old Corporal half joked ‘Spoil the plans of a God that very few know even exist. Merge ourselves with a former Crimson Guard so to fight a war which is largely unheard of. And do all this with a motley company of dim-witted youths and angry old bastard’s like myself,

‘Sounds like fun!’ Lore admitted.

‘What?’ Faith coughed, believing that he had misheard the Corporal.

‘I say aye, why not!’ Lore nodded so to unambiguous make his approval clear for all to see.

Faith shook his head in amazement.

Riot raised a hand so to stop anyone else from speaking ‘Listen please,’ he started ‘I don’t expect any of you to answer straight away. Hood, it took me a while to decide to agree,’

‘What do you suggest?’ Prime asked. Sheep glanced towards his lover, and he could see that she was serious in her regard.

‘Hood has agreed to let you all return to wherever you wish to go. Once there, please decide what you wish to do. Those who wish to join me, can. Those who don’t, are free to do whatever they wish,’

‘Just like that?’ Faith asked, disbelief apparent in his face.

‘Just like that!’ Riot nodded.

‘So either freedom, or join up for a new war?’ Molehill loosely said.

‘Hood’s Own Company! Hah!’ Creases spluttered a laugh.

‘I like that, sounds apt,’ Lore smirked, cuffing out at Creases with the back of his hand.

‘What!?’ Faith again admonished with his scepticism.

‘Hood’s Own Company!’ Lore replied ‘Sound’s right!’

‘Your mad, all mad!’ Faith continued to shake his head in amazement.

‘So your answer is no!’ Molehill asked of the Sergeant.

‘Wait!’ Riot interrupted ‘I promised you all time to think. You included Corporal!’ he said towards Lore.

Lore shrugged, yet a smile was still plastered across his features.

‘Talk amongst yourselves and decide where you each want to go. As I said, wherever that is, Hood will oblige. Once decided, you can call upon Hood and return here if you so choose,’ Riot explained.

‘I can tell you where I want to go,’ Faith snapped ‘Back to Evinor. Back to where I belong!’

‘Fine!’ Riot nodded. The mist of smoke for which Riot had stepped forth from suddenly moved, falling across Faith before he had a moment to turn and see what was happening. In a instance, the Sergeant was gone, the smoke retreating back to its distance position.

‘Shit!’ Spider cursed ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

‘Evinor,’ Riot replied ‘In the alleyway just behind Tombs bar. It’s raining and he’s getting wet,’

‘Just like that!’ Spider stated rather than asked

‘Aye!’ Riot agreed.

‘Last we’ll ever see of him!’ Molehill voiced, eyes lingering upon the column of twisting smoke.

Again silence resumed its tangible spirit amongst them, each unsure how to proceed, each consumed by their daunting thoughts.

‘Aren!’ said Candle, raising his eyes so to lock once more upon Riot ‘Send me to Aren!’

‘Are you sure?’ Riot enquired ‘I wasn’t lying when I said a new army is being gathered there. You might end up being recruited once again!’

‘I’m certain!’ Candle answered, his eyes showing just how assured he was ‘I need to see for myself what happened to Coltraine,’

Riot appeared sad, yet he nodded. The dark spiral of smoke swept forward once more and within the maelstrom of its creation, it devoured the Captain.

‘He’s now in Aren?’ Creases asked, not sounding confident, watching as the smoke once more returned to its former location.

‘Yes!’ Riot simply answered.

‘I’ll join you,’ Lore stated, stepping forward ‘But first I want you to send me to where the Bridge Burners fell,’

‘Black Coral!’ Riot informed him ‘The last stand of a once great army, broken by the losses found there,’

Lore wiped away at a forming tear, his gruff appearance looking slightly softer in its designation.

‘Aye!’ he nodded ‘I have to say some farewells!’

‘Us too!’ Splinter quickly responded, pulling Creases forward with him ‘We’ll join you,’

Lore smiled, and again his usual form of crusty appeal rose again on his face and in his stature.

‘And glad I am to take you with me. Two new sappers for the cause!’ Lore leered at the two men. Turning to Quiet he asked ‘You?’

Quiet shook her head in response.

‘I understand,’ Lore nodded ‘Want to see you old uncle I have no doubts,’

Quiet nodded.

‘Oh well, I see you later lass,’ he offered a reassuring acknowledgement before turning back to Riot ‘Ready!’ he said.

Riot nodded.

‘Wait…!’ Creases raised a hand so to express his hesitance, but he was too late. The smoke column developed them and the group that remained was again smaller in its designation.

Legit brushed a hand across his face ‘I can’t say I understand what is going on, but I know that if what Lore says is true, that Quiet needs to go to Malaz city to see her Uncle,’

Quiet offered a smile, nodding her head in acceptance.

‘Well I might as well go with you. I’ve no where else to go!’ Legit explained.

‘Me too!’ Spider almost shouted her words, so intent was she in getting her way.

‘Me as well than!’ Molehill raised a hand as if unsure where else he could go.

‘To Malaz city?’ Riot asked ‘Are you all sure?’

Quiet, Spider, and Molehill nodded as one.

‘Well that settles that!’ Legit grunted.

The smoke moved and finally only three remained.

Sheep shook his head as he looked from Prime to Riot, and back to his lover.

‘Back to Evinor?’ Riot enquired.

‘No thanks!’ Sheep scorned ‘Anywhere but that miserable place!’

‘Prime?’ Riot turned to the young Corporal.

Prime was again studying Riot with quiet regard, her focus strong in its concentration.

‘Are you sure you really need us?’ she asked ‘You think we can make a difference?’

‘Yes,’ Riot responded without faltering, returning her gaze with his own ‘We need to make a difference. There’s no other choice,’

Prime nodded, as if she understood the enormous responsibility that Riot was talking of.

‘Well, where shall we go?’ Sheep asked. Not that he cared where they went, so long as they were away from the essence of Hood’s realm which was unnerving him with every passing second.

‘Darujhistan!’ she replied without pause.

‘Why there?’ Sheep asked, surprised by her nomination.

Prime shrugged ‘Just somewhere where I always wanted to go,’ she said ‘Word in Evinor was that Darujhistan was the jewel of Genabackis,’

Blowing out his breath, knowing that he had no ideas of his own, Sheep nodded in acknowledgement ‘I can live with that!’ he agreed.

In unison they turned to Riot, awaiting for his response to send them away. Riot remained silent, looking at them both with a sad expression writ across his narrow features.

‘What’s up?’ Sheep asked, concern again igniting as he looked at the former guard.

‘It’s nothing!’ Riot stated, shaking his head as if to draw away from any anxieties which flickered through his esteem ‘I just wondering if its best for either of you two to join me and those who decide to join me,’

‘What? Why?’ Sheep asked, feeling almost peeved by Riot’s sudden unease.

Prime remained still, again staring at Riot with her sole focus, as if she was reading into his very soul.

‘Those who will return, like Lore, have nothing to lose. They’re already at the point in which they have nothing else to fall back upon. Unlike you two,’ he admitted ‘You have each other, none of this should concern you,’

‘It’s a bit late for that!’ Sheep replied, voice rising as his temper swelled.

Riot shook his head ‘No it isn’t!’ he responded, smiling slightly as he continued ‘Once you leave here, there is no need for you to ever come back. You can fade away and live your lives, away from the war which is coming,’

Sheep opened his mouth as if to respond, but Prime beat him to the punch. Instead of raging with the same effort of anger which was increasing within Sheep, Prime answered with a restrained and almost matter of fact tone,

‘If what you say is true, than the war has already begun. Eventually the skirmishes will intensify and the turmoil will become common knowledge. For us to fade away now, will only mean to distance ourselves from the short term problems. The time will arrive when our concealed selves will have to confront the ills that plague this world. To send us away now will not safe us, it would only shield us temporarily,’ Prime informed Riot, her words striking a cord within Sheep himself, and he nodded sagely as she addressed Riot.

‘There’s no guarantee that we will win!’ Riot argued.

‘That’s always the case in warfare, there’s only the choice to fight for what you believe in,’ Prime stated.

Riot stared intently at Prime, his sight locked solemnly with the younger Corporal. Slowly, as her words sunk in, he nodded, offering her understanding for the decision that was both her own and Sheep’s.

‘Now if that’s concluded, we are both ready to leave this dark infested realm!’ Prime locked arms with Sheep, and the seriousness which had played across her just seconds before was gone, instead a sense of amusement now infesting her spirit.

‘Very well!’ Riot smiled back.

‘Wait… wait…!’ Sheep raised his free hand which wasn’t gripped by Prime’s firm hold.

‘What?’ Riot asked.

‘When do we return, and how?’ the mage asked.

‘Return when it feels right. Call for Hood and you will return here,’ Riot answered ‘At the present time, there is a junction, and both sides are waiting to see which way the game will play. We will wait and then react to whichever way it falls, until then, have some rest. Enjoy yourselves!’

Finishing his words, Riot waved a hand at them. The storm of dust followed his direction, flowing and engulfing them.

Sheep had little time to prepare himself, his body trying to shield itself from the flailing influence of the smoke filled squall. Only the strong constant of Prime holding tightly to his side prevented him from attempting to fall away from the smoke.

Closing his eyes, he felt a brief embrace of a tepid breeze, and than the sensation of being somewhere else, or being in a wholly different environment.

Opening his eyes with slow reflection, Sheep found that darkness was still a constant about them, but rather than the over zealous nature of that of Hood’s realm, this darkness was more real; more natural in its abundance.

‘We’re here!’ he announced, disbelieving what was obvious to his straining eyes.

‘Of course!’ Prime giggled.

Looking at his lover, Sheep found a huge grin building upon his dry lips. Prime was radiant, as content and carefree as the first time that he had met her. It was almost as if the drain that had been Seven cities had never happened, instead merely an episode for which they had both happened to survive through just so they could return to the normality of their associated lives.

As she giggled, Sheep found the act contagious and so laughed with her, feeling as if a great burden had been released from his shoulders. In the back of his mind, he spent a momentary thought upon what would confront them once they returned to the dangers which resolved themselves around Riot, and the future occupational hazard that was bound to be in effect once they joined this new company; Hood’s Own Company as Creases had suggested.

He dreaded to linger on the thought, and so did the only thing that was open to him at that moment. He sealed it away, instead concentration upon the woman before him, and on the short term future and the delights that it was to bring to him.

‘I fancy a drink!’ Prime smiled up to him, tugging slightly upon his hand.

‘Me too!’ Sheep agreed, finding that his throat was parched and that he was desperate to wash away the lasting affects of Seven cities.

‘Well come on then!’ she joked, pulling at him further, pulling him deeper into the heart of the city of Darujhistan. Grinning like a fool. Sheep allowed himself to be pulled and directed, knowing that for the moment, at least, he was at ease.





The End.

[Riot]

that's it. hope you enjoyed it!

i'm thinking of doing some short stories which will continue the adventures of "hood's own company" and see how i go on from there.

please post any comments

[Almar mae' Ka'zole]

.....wow.... umm ya that was very close to reading the books by steven erikson. very well written enjoyed it immensly. keep it coming!