Buried alive, for the child to die, for the adult to be born. A test against the spirits of madness, the worms that lived in each person, coiled at the base of the skull, wrapped tight about the spine. Worms that were ever eager to awaken, to crawl, gnawing a path into the brain, whispering and laughing or screaming, or both.

He had survived that night. He had defeated the worms.

And that was all he needed, for this. All he needed.

He had heard those worms, eating into soldiers ahead of him, soldiers behind him. Into the children, as the worms raced out to take them as well. For an adult to break under fear – there could be no worse nightmare for the child that witnessed such a thing. For with that was torn away all hope, all faith.

Koryk could save none of them. He could not give them the chant, for they would not know what it meant, and they had never spent a night in a coffin. And he knew, had it gone on much longer, people would start dying, or the madness would devour their minds, completely, permanently, and that would kill everyone else. Everyone.

The worms had retreated, and now all he could hear was weeping – not the broken kind, but the relieved kind – weeping and gibbering. And he knew they could taste it, could taste what those worms had left behind, and they prayed: not again. No closer, please. Never again.

'Corporal Shard?'

'W-what, damn you?'

'Limp. How is he? I keep kicking at him, hitting what I think is an arm, but he's not moving. Can you climb ahead, can you check?'

'He's knocked out.'

'How did that happen?'

'I crawled onto him and pounded his head against the floor until he stopped screaming.'

'You sure he's alive?'

'Limp? His skull's solid rock, Koryk.'

He heard movement back there, asked, 'What now?'

'I'll prove it to you. Give this broke leg a twist-'

Limp shrieked.

'Glad you're back, soldier,' Shard said.

'Get away from me, you bastard!'

'Wasn't me who panicked. Next time you think about panicking, Limp, just remind yourself I'm here, right behind you.'

'I'm going to kill you someday, Corporal-'

'As you like. Just don't do it again.'

Koryk thought back to the babbling noises he'd heard from Shard, but said nothing.

More scuffling sounds, then a bundle of rope and leather straps – most of them charred – was pushed into Koryk's hands. He dragged it close, then shoved it out ahead to the small boy huddled behind Tavos Pond. '

Push it on, lad,' he said.

'You,' the boy said. 'I heard you. I listened.'

'And you was all right, wasn't you?'

'Yes.'

'I'll teach it to you. For the next time.'

'Yes.'

Someone had shouted back instructions, cutting through the frenzy of terror, and people had responded, stripping away whatever could be used as a rope. Chilled beneath a gritty layer of sweat, Tarr settled his forehead onto the stones under him, smelling dust mingled with the remnants of his own fear. When the bundle reached him he drew it forward, then struggled out of what was left of his own harness and added it to the pathetic collection.

Now, at least, they had a reason to wait, they weren't stopped because Bottle had run out of places to crawl.

Something to hold onto. He prayed it would be enough.

Behind him, Balgrid whispered, 'I wish we was marching across the desert again. That road, all that space on both sides…'

'I hear you,' Tarr said. 'And I also remember how you used to curse it. The dryness, the sun-'

'Sun, hah! I'm so crisp I'll never fear the sun again. Gods, I'll kneel in prayer before it, I swear it. If freedom was a god, Tarr…

If freedom was a god. Now that's an interesting thought…

'Thank Hood all that screaming's stopped,' Balm said, plucking at whatever was tingling against all his skin, tingling, prickling like some kind of heat rash. Heat rash, that was funny'Sergeant,' Deadsmell said, 'it was you doing all that screaming.'

'Quiet, you damned liar. Wasn't me, was the kid ahead of me.'

'Really? I didn't know he spoke Dal Honese-'

'I will skewer you, Corporal. Just one more word, I swear it. Gods, I' m itchy all over, like I been rolling in Fool's pollen-'

'You get that after you been panicking, Sergeant. Fear sweat, it's called. You didn't piss yourself too, did you? I'm smelling-'

'I got my knife out, Deadsmell. You know that? All I got to do is twist round and you won't be bothering me no more.'

'You tossed your knife, Sergeant. In the temple-'

'Fine! I'll kick you to death!'

'Well, if you do, can you do it before I have to crawl through your puddle?'

'The heat is winning the war,' Corabb said.

'Aye,' answered Strings behind him, his voice faint, brittle. 'Here.'

Something was pushed against Corabb's feet. He reached back, and his hand closed on a coil of rope. 'You were carrying this?'

'Was wrapped around me. I saw Smiles drop it, outside the temple – it was smouldering, so that's not a surprise…'

As he drew it over him, Corabb felt something wet, sticky on the rope.

Blood. 'You're bleeding out, aren't you?'

'Just a trickle. I'm fine.'

Corabb crawled forward – there was some space between them and the next soldier, the one named Widdershins. Corabb could have kept up had he been alone back here, but he would not leave the Malazan sergeant behind. Enemy or no, such things were not done.

He had believed them all monsters, cowards and bullies. He had heard that they ate their own dead. But no, they were just people. No different from Corabb himself. The tyranny lies at the feet of the Empress. These – they're all just soldiers. That's all they are. Had he gone with Leoman… he would have discovered none of this. He would have held onto his fierce hatred for all Malazans and all things Malazan.

But now… the man behind him was dying. A Falari by birth – just another place conquered by the empire. Dying, and there was no room to get to him, not here, not yet.

'Here,' he said to Widdershins. 'Pass this up.'

'Hood take us, that's real rope!'

'Aye. Move it along fast now.'

'Don't order me around, bastard. You're a prisoner. Remember that.'

Corabb crawled back.

The heat was building, devouring the thin streams of cool air sliding up from below. They couldn't lie still for much longer. We must move on.

From Strings: 'Did you say something, Corabb?'

'No. Nothing much.'

From above came sounds of Cuttle making his way down the makeshift rope, his breath harsh, strained. Bottle reached the rubble-filled base of the fissure. It was solidly plugged. Confused, he ran his hands along both walls. His rat? Ah, there – at the bottom of the sheer, vertical wall his left hand plunged into air that swept up and past. An archway. Gods, what kind of building was this? An archway, holding the weight of at least two – maybe three – storeys' worth of stonework. And neither the wall nor the arch had buckled, after all this time. Maybe the legends are true. Maybe Y'Ghatan was once the first Holy City, the greatest city of all. And when it died, at the Great Slaughter, every building was left standing – not a stone taken.

Standing, to be buried by the sands.

He lowered himself to twist feet-first through the archway, almost immediately contacting heaps of something – rubble? – nearly filling the chamber beyond. Rubble that tipped and tilted with clunking sounds, rocked by his kicking feet.

Ahead, his rat roused itself, startled by the loud sounds as Bottle slid into the chamber. Reaching out with his will, he grasped hold of the creature's soul once more. 'All right, little one. The work begins again…' His voice trailed away.