Two men came running up, dressed just like the ship's crew. One's arm was a lacerated, tattered thing of red flesh, creamy bone, and hanging sinew, but he appeared to be ignoring what would otherwise be an instantly fatal injury to any other human. The other pressed a hand to his side where a length of slivered wood pierced completely through his torso. Blood soaked his front and that leg. Avowed! Must be. ‘Find him!’ this one bellowed, almost weeping his pain. ‘An old man – a Seven Cities native! Find him!’

‘Just sit down!’ Nait yelled, running up. Behind them a troop of Wickans was closing.

‘Find him! Kill him!’ and he wept, his face contorted in agony. His companion's eyes rolled up all white and he tottered, fell to his knees, then his side. Nait reached the impaled fellow then stopped – he had absolutely no idea what to do. ‘Healer!’ he yelled. Then he yelped as the fellow had somehow closed and yanked Nait's own shortsword from his scabbard. Armed, he started limping for the wreck. ‘Wait! Kill who? Why?’

From behind the vessel's remains violet fire lashed out to strike the closing Wickans in a swath of incandescent destruction. Horses and men flew, spinning. The ground itself shook with the concussion and Nait staggered.

‘Him,’ the man snarled. Cursing, he stopped, grasped hold of the jagged shard of wood as long as a sword, and, with a scream, drew it out.

‘Who are you?’ Nait breathed.

‘Ho. Now, get your men – kill him, now!’

Nait signed to the skirmishers to open fire. They hunched, scuttled forward. Violet fire arced into the sky to carve a bright streak across the night. Everyone watched. It hurtled up and over them, curving down to smash into the column. Its churning energies cut a swath some five men wide through the massed ranks. The unit broke like a shattered cup. Knots of men ran in all directions – most back east. Keep runnin lads – seek cover – ‘cause that worst has just arrived.

Ho held out an arm. ‘Take me to the others.’ Nait took his sword back and helped him walk. May came running up, hunched, hands all wet with blood from treating wounds. ‘Dig in!’ Nait bellowed over the roar of coursing power. She saluted, ran off.

Nait led the man to where the ship's survivors had been collected. Here lay the resilient heavy-set woman and another woman, an elderly Wickan; the fellow with the savaged arm; a young fellow who was even more battered and twisted; and two other blood-smeared, lacerated and traumatized survivors. Healers from among the Untan volunteer ranks and a few from the Malazan regulars were busy at work on them, stopping bleeding, hands pressed to bruised flesh.

‘Is this it?’

Clenching down on his pain, Ho said in a tight voice, ‘Yes. And many of these here are of the Guard.’

‘We happen to be fighting them,’ Nait observed, neutrally.

‘We'll need them.’

Nait didn't bother asking what for. ‘What about you? You need a healer.’

‘No – I'm… getting better.’

Nait stepped up to the man, examined his naked side where beneath the drying blood and fluids only a pink scar remained of what had been a gouge worse than a sword thrust. Who – what – was this fellow?

Nait helped the man sit in the grass then turned to watch the skirmishers. They'd taken cover around the sides of the wreckage, firing at something a way east ahead of the pile. They popped up from the grass, fired, then dropped back down again. Damned prairie dogs, is what they are. That's it! The Prairie Dogs.

He was about to congratulate himself when the ground wavered beneath him and he staggered. A curved wall of the dark-blue fire billowed out towards the vessel, scattering the irregulars, erupting the grasses in flame. Nait dived for cover. Something cast an eerie shadow over everything, climbing higher, and he gaped up at a dark mar or bruise in the night sky, coalescing, darkening, seeming to flow inward.

Nait yelled to the men and women staring, gaping upwards, ‘Dig in!’

Kyle and the Lost brothers did not relinquish their line. They remained standing, weapons ready, while the Kanese likewise stood ready, spears and halberds standing tall. Each force eyed the other. The mounted officers sat examining the north sky, the invigilator still and intent, the commander sighing his boredom and brushing at his surcoat. Kyle stole quick glances as well, seeing nothing more than strange lights in the sky. After a time, the invigilator, Durmis, sucked a loud breath through his teeth, his face puckering his alarm. Even the commander's face appeared troubled. Kyle risked a look. Some kind of dark aura flickered in the lightening sky. No stars were visible through it. Renewed thunder reached them and the bridge shook ever so slightly.

‘Remain here if you wish,’ the invigilator called out, ‘but we will not take our forces into that’ To the commander: Order the men back, set up a line of defence on the south shore.’

The commander tapped his gauntlets to his thigh, frowning. On your authority?’

‘Yes, on my authority!’

An insouciant shrug. ‘Very well. If we must.’ He raised a hand, signalling. Horns blew from the rear. Among the massed forces on the shore signal flags rose, waving. The commander saluted Lean, tilted his head in acknowledgement of their stand. Lean bobbed her own, her face pained.

After a great deal of trouble and reshuffling, the commander, the invigilator and their guards succeeded in turning their mounts. They bulled their way back across the bridge while the ranks closed behind.

Kyle heard Lean ask, ‘Should we go?’

‘We'll wait,’ K'azz replied.

Coots and Badlands sat, took out stones and began cleaning up the edges of their weapons. Coots even whistled a tune. Kyle examined his: unmarred, the blade a thin curve of some dark yellow material, not metal, almost translucent at its edge. He sheathed it, wrapped the cords around its long grip – he'd have to get a new scabbard damned soon.

Stalker came up, examining his dented domed helmet in his hands. ‘A hard fight. Well done.’

‘Thanks. Now what?’

The scout motioned to the north. ‘That thing – something's got to be done about it.’

Kyle was puzzled. ‘You a mage?’

A snort. ‘Great Darkness, no. Just have a feel for these things. Runs in my family.’

‘So? What do we do?’

‘Us?’ He shook his head. His long dirty-blond hair hung lank and tangled with sweat. ‘Nothing. This is for the mages. But they might need cover.’

The Kanese continued to retreat. The rear ranks backed away, spears levelled, watching them closely as they went. The Avowed, Kyle and the Lost brothers all cast quick glances to K'azz, waiting. Skins of water made the rounds. A pinpoint of light suddenly appeared on the bridge and everyone straightened, hands going to weapons. The pinpoint swelled to a swirling, glowing whirlpool out of which stepped a short, skinny fellow in dirty tattered robes with wild kinky hair. Kyle smiled to see Smoky again.

The mage went to embrace K'azz but stopped short. His broad smile twisted down into anxious puzzlement. K'azz waved the man's concern aside. ‘It looks worse than it is.’ He squeezed the mage's shoulders. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘And you.’

‘What news?’

‘It's ugly. Shimmer's gathered all the remaining mages. Good news is that Blues and Fingers are with us – they're battered but alive.’

K'azz froze, his smile faltering. ‘I… I didn't know they were missing.’

Smoky cursed himself. ‘Sorry-’

‘It's all right. I know I have a lot of catching up to do.’ He turned to Lean. ‘Well done. What do you think? Detail dismissed?’

Lean bowed, grinning. She raised her helmet and very slowly, and with great care, pulled it over her bloodied head. ‘Detail stand down!’