What of-

Couldn't he-

The roaring pulse slowed. Night closed, obscuring Moss's face, his mouth moving. One beat sounded like a heavy, slow hammer echoing.

Wait-

CHAPTER III

Vision dims, memory fades,

All forestalled is discounted,

And so returns upon the ignorant

In violent refrain.

Lessons from the field of the Crossroads Waden Burdeth, Unta

KYLE, K'AZZ AND THE LOST BROTHERS FOUND THAT A flotilla of makeshift rafts had been pulled up along the north shore of the Idryn. Lying sprawled on the approach to the Pilgrim Bridge and piled in its mouth lay a trail of slaughtered Kanese soldiery. Facing the dead was one Crimson Guardsman. He was leaning against the stone wall of the bridge, legs wide, sword planted before him, his body and limbs feathered in arrows.

‘Baker,’ K'azz said, his voice thick.

The man stirred, his head rising. A sad smile crept up beneath long, tangled ginger hair. ‘M'Lord.’ He struggled weakly to straighten.

The Guard commander eased him back. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered gently. ‘We need you to guard the north.’

A wry smile pulled Baker's mouth to one side. ‘Oh, aye, sir.’

The brothers were collecting shields from among the fallen. Kyle joined them. Each held as many as they could carry under both arms. Kyle offered one to K'azz who took it with a bob of his head. They jogged up the bridge.

Ahead, a deep sonorous roar, like the continuous detonation of thunder, raised the hair on Kyle's neck and arms. It was a low, reverberating, animal growl of anticipation uttered from thousands of throats, so loud it almost drowned out the clangour of weapons clashing and shields striking. They met the struggle near the bridge's mid-point. Four Avowed, back legs braced, faced the pressing solid wedge of Kanese infantry. Shield thrust against shield, spears and other pole-weapons jabbed, while a fifth Avowed remained a step back, watching, resting. Armour hung hacked and torn from all, helmets battered, arms black with drying gore. The rear Avowed, a short, broad woman, saluted them. The side of her head glistened, one raw wound; her sliced scalp hung down as a flap. Underfoot lay a litter of broken shields, fallen swords, spears, lances, arrows and shattered pieces of armour. Blood darkened the set stones of the bridge crimson.

‘You are most welcome, my Lord!’ the woman shouted to be heard through the din. ‘But we didn't call for reinforcements.’ The woman frowned then, eyeing K'azz up and down. ‘Being away didn't agree with you, I think. But you should leave. We will hold until we fall!’

‘So will I! Good to see you too, Lean.’ K'azz readied his shield, raised his long-knife. Other than this, the man was unarmed. Lean shook her head. ‘No – you're reserve.’ She nodded to Kyle and the cousins. ‘Don't I know you?’

‘Stalker, Coots, Badlands, Kyle,’ K'azz shouted. ‘They're up to it.’

‘Wecome, brothers!’ She pointed to the Avowed hacking at the exposed front line of massed soldiery, rank upon rank of which held spears and javelins which they raised high or thrust at the defenders in a forest of jabbing, waving stalks. ‘Amatt, Cole, Black and Turgal.’

There was room for only eight or so Kan soldiers to stand shoulder to shoulder, though the layered ranks behind could reach with spears and halberds. Lean bashed her own spear to her shield and the four Avowed yielded a step, adjusted their footing and hunkered down. The Kan soldiery surged forward to be met by quick ruthless thrusts from the Avowed. Their wounded and fallen comrades choked and encumbered all those who struggled forward to fill the ranks. Eyeing the fighting, Stalker threw down his load of shields. He kept one and picked up a fallen spear. Instinctively, the brothers followed suit, as did Kyle.

Lean paced back and forth behind the defending Avowed, keeping close watch, and perhaps making sure K'azz did not push forward to join the line. She tapped Black on the back of his leg, waved Badlands forward.

‘Relief!’

Black curled away, spinning, and the startled Badlands was caught surprised. But he leapt forward, knocking aside the hafts of jabbing spears to thrust himself in, bulling in with all his weight. Lean watched narrowly, gauging.

Stalker came and touched Kyle's arm. He pointed to his waist: ‘Use that.’

Kyle glanced to the sword strapped into the outsized scabbard. His gift from Osserc; he hadn't even drawn it yet. ‘No reach,’ he yelled back.

‘It must be something!’ Stalker answered.

Kyle shrugged.

One by one Lean relieved the Avowed until only Cole – whom Kyle recognized from Kurzan – remained, and it was Kyle's turn. K'azz objected but apparently Lean was in charge of this particular contingent and so her judgement ruled. The relieved Avowed, Black, Amatt and Turgal, stood panting, faces glistening. They bore horrific wounds; Amatt coughed up blood; Black's iron cuirass leaked blood at every overlapping band; Turgal, who bore a huge Malazan infantryman's rectangular shield, had it strapped to his mangled, broken left arm.

His turn coming, Kyle readied his spear, tucking it tightly under his arm. He was suddenly deathly thirsty but knew that while he needed water it was best to be thirsty in case of a stomach wound. He tried not to think of what was about to come, and Lean, perhaps sensing his gathering dread, did not wait. ‘Relief!’ she bellowed, and Cole ducked away. Kyle lunged forward. Almost immediately his spear entangled amid the forest of jabbing, swinging pole weapons. Strikes on his shield rocked him, numbing his arm and shoulder. He could not bring his weapon to bear. It was hung up, useless.

The Hooded One's laughter! He was going to die, spitted like a boar.

Javelins thrust around him, Lean and others driving back the ranks for him to straighten out his spear. He recovered, bending forward into the press. From the edges of his vision he saw that the Lost brothers were up to the challenge. Coots and Badlands fought like grinning, savage dogs, at home in their element, while Stalker was calm, pacing himself, yielding nothing. They were holding their ground and again Kyle wondered: who were these men seemingly equal to the Avowed in their strength, ferocity and endurance?

As for himself… Kyle and the Kanese soldiery opposite both sensed almost immediately that he was the weak link in this line. A thrown javelin cannoned from his helmet, briefly stunning him. A solid blow to his shield snapped it backwards to smack into his forehead, sending blazing agony across his vision. Blinking, everything a blur, he missed a strike to his own haft that levered his spear from his grip. The two Kanese facing him and the ranks behind roared, surging forward. Hands steadied him from behind, javelins thrusting. In a panic Kyle pulled his sword free, snapping the straps that kept the slim curved blade in the scabbard. He brought it up, fending off thrusting, clanging spears and halberds, and was dumbfounded as the dark golden blade cut through each haft as easily as if passing through a candle.

The Kanese flinched away, eyes huge under the lips of their helmets. The severed hafts clattered to the stones, loud in the sudden silence. ‘Beru Bless us!’ Lean cursed behind him, awed.

Osserc's own weapon! Could it be, truly?

Kyle edged forward, recovering his lost footing. He crouched down behind his shield. Now I am ready. Beside him Coots and Badlands exchanged savage, elated grins.

Kyle remained in line while the others traded off. After his blade sliced shields in half and shattered swords no one would face him. The respite allowed the Avowed to recover, though for Black and Amatt the fight was over. Loss of blood left them unable to stand. The rest traded off in quick succession and in this system, presided over ruthlessly by Lean, they held.