Kyle sheathed it. ‘Thank you. I'd come if I could.’

A snort, then the mage wiped a sleeve across his grimed brow. ‘Might have to. No one says we'll succeed.’ He waved goodbye. Kyle saw that Stalker had come to watch. He went to his side.

‘What do you think?’

Stalker was frowning beneath his sandy moustache. ‘We should all go. Hit whatever that is with everything we've got. Maybe then we'd stand a chance.’

Kyle stared up at the man as he stood watching the mages’ preparations, his frown turning ever more sour. Surely things could not be that desperate – could they?

Nait crawled on his belly from one pit to another. The flesh of his back writhed with the knowledge that energies that could evaporate iron crackled and thrummed just a stone's throw above him. Ants. Just us ants down here ‘s all. Finding the next pit, he flopped down into the hip-deep depression where soldiers on their knees frantically dug with those once maligned but now oh-so-valuable saboteur tools: shovels. He shouted over the avalanche churning of power: ‘Anyone here get a look at whoever the Abyss it is?’

The nearest answered: ‘Yeah. I seen ‘im. It's Hood himself come to get us!’ He gestured upwards. ‘Brought his gate with him!’

Nait pushed the laughing fellow aside, carried on.

‘It's a mage,’ one shouted into his ear as he passed. ‘Wrapped in flame. None of the bolts reached him – they burned. Even melted!’ Nait nodded his understanding.

‘Where is he now?’ he yelled. The fellow gestured ahead. ‘Thanks.’ Nait pointed back the way he'd come. ‘Dig back, link up!’ A nod of acknowledgement. Reaching the end of the pit, Nait edged up to slide out. The chest of his hauberk gouged the dirt as he pulled himself along by the insides of his arms and legs. Through the wind-lashed grass he saw the fellow – or what must be him. It was a swirling squat tornado of power inside which he could just make out a human-like silhouette, arms raised.

He turned his head to peer upward. It was misleading, but the summoning, or whatever it was, seemed to hover exactly above him. Its height was hard to guess – top of a tall tree maybe? Darkness tinged by grey boiled and stirred within. Around him dust and fragments of chaff floated upwards, drawn up on a gathering draught that appeared to lead into the thing. Abyss! And it might just be so, too.

Something touched his leg and his heart almost burst. He looked back: it was one of the Avowed, his face all purplish and bruised, one eye swollen shut. Blues, Ho had given his name as. The Avowed gestured him back. Nait waved him away: blasted fool! He'd almost made him jump up and run for it! The fellow gestured again, insistent. Fine! Nait pushed himself backwards.

They met all together in a rear trench. Urfa's and Nait's saboteurs worked around them deepening the earthworks. In attendance were the saboteur sergeants, the survivors of the wreck and two sergeants from stranded heavy infantry elements squatting in the grasses: Pellan, a Falaran, and Tourmaline, a Moranth. Nait was surprised and pleased to see Heuk as well. ‘What are you doing here?’ he shouted.

The old mage grimaced, scratched his patchy beard. ‘Bastards dropped me ‘n’ ran. Woke me up.’

After introductions, the Malazan heavy infantry sergeant, Pellan, spoke up: ‘What can we do? ‘Cept get our arses away from here?’

‘Can't move,’ Ho said. ‘Anything that moves gets hit, consumed to ashes.’

‘So what can we do?’ Pellan gestured angrily to the sky. ‘There ain't nothing we can do against that!’

Ho opened his mouth but the Gold Moranth spoke up: ‘It must be closed.’

Everyone turned to him – or her. ‘We know of these… things. A remnant of one still exists to the south of our lands. They are crimes against existence. They undermine the very ground upon which we live, the air we breathe. It must be destroyed at all cost.’

Pellan blinked, clearly impressed by such passion, but he pointed up again. ‘What? Way up there? There's nothin’ we can do – unless we jump that mage.’

‘No chance,’ Ho said. ‘Anyone coming close would be incinerated.’

Pellan threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Then you mages come up with something!’ and he waved to Heuk.

The grimed mage exchanged glances with Ho, the ones named Blues and Fingers, and the big, thick-armed female mage named Devaleth. The last of them, the old Wickan witch, had yet to recover with the aid of the sketchy healing that could be provided. They all still seemed a little punchy, but they were deadly serious; so much so Nait found himself wondering about their relationship with the source of this thing. If they were such enemies why were they all together on the same ship? And pretty much all of them mages, too. As far as he was concerned, you get that many mages, jammed together and things like this are practically guaranteed to happen.

Ho hunched further as if driven down by the appalling furnace hovering above. ‘We may not be able to get close to the summoner, but the rift itself is growing, expanding.’

‘So?’ said Pellan.

Tourmaline nodded his helmed head. ‘It is coming closer into range,’ the Moranth said flatly.

Ho and the Gold studied one another wordlessly until Ho lowered his gaze, guiltily, it appeared to Nait.

‘You're going to try to disrupt it,’ Fingers said from where he sat, grimacing his pain and holding his bandaged bloody head.

‘Yes,’ said Ho. ‘A sufficiently large blast might be enough to upset its flow. Especially while it's just establishing itself.’

Pellan leaned back, crossing his arms. ‘Oh, wonderful plan! Who's gonna do that?’

‘I will,’ said Tourmaline.

No one had anything to add to that.

Someone or something jabbed Nait where he crouched on his haunches. May was on her knees behind him, glaring. He mouthed a ‘what?’ She motioned him savagely to speak. The glare deepened into an evil eye. ‘All right, all right!’

‘Yeah, I'll help out,’ he told Tourmaline. The Moranth gave a short bow. I'll hold your rope, or something like that, maybe. Nait signalled Urfa aside. The two put their heads together to talk low.

‘How're going to get the stuff from our boys ‘n’ girls?’ Urfa asked.

‘Good question. Tell ‘em the Gold have munitions to distribute – that'll bring them runnin’.’

Urfa guffawed showing a mouthful of bent, misaligned teeth. ‘Goddamn, you're a sneaky one, Jumpy! OK, we'll spread the word. Have some heavies nearby to corral them.’

‘We'll need lots.’

*

After all the crying and yelling died down, Jawl's begging and pleading, Urfa's veterans threatening murder, the heavies dragged the last of the saboteurs off and Nait and Urfa went through the assembled hoard. They were careful. Some jokers weren't above boobytrapping their packs with small charges such as the rare Moranth ‘stick fuses’. Tourmaline arrived with all the Gold had with them. They placed the largest of the munitions all together: eight cussors and four crackers. A terrifying assemblage, as far as Nait was concerned. Like nothing he'd ever dreamed seeing gathered together in his entire lifetime. A hoard fit to level a fortress. But when he studied the moiling gap into nothingness turning ponderously like a whirlpool on its side, the pile seemed laughably inadequate. Yet it was all they had.

Tourmaline began packing it all away into the Moranth wood-framed canvas carryalls. After watching for a time Nait helped. They took two bags each, brought them to the closest edge of the earthworks. Urfa followed, arranged the carrying straps, pulled them tight.

‘You'd take Ryllandaras over this any day, hey?’ she shouted over the constant thundering roar above.