Marching feet approached up the channel road and a column of Napans emerged from the gloom. Grit and dirt blew about in lashing wind-devils as they closed on the bridge. Lee and her fellows eased further back into the alley.
At the base of the bridge, the swordsman drew his blade and threw the sheath out over the river. Lee watched it flash as it arced away. Something in that gesture made her lower her crossbow and gesture for her lads and lasses to stand down.
The dark fellow, a Dal Hon so she’d been told, struck a ready stance blocking the narrow stone bridge. The column of Napans paused briefly, as if dumbfounded, then an officer barked an order, and swords were drawn.
‘He’s not really goin’ to…’ one her lasses began before trailing off, almost in awe.
Lee found herself straightening for a better view. ‘It damn well looks like it.’
The Napan soldiers, heavy infantry all, came on two at a time. They carried swords and shields. The Dal Hon held his blade two-handed.
They met with a crash of blade against shield and blade. The Malazan toughs swore as the first ranks of the Napans seemed to melt one blurred stroke at a time. They fell, limp, to the mortared stones or tumbled over the low guarding lip to splash on to the muddy shore below.
Their officer called another order and the next ranks came on crouched behind shields, obviously meaning to push the fellow back. The Dal Hon did give way, but only one pace as he somehow slashed round or above or behind to bring each shieldbearer down in a dance that Lee simply could not believe.
‘What in the Abyss…’ one of her lads breathed, hushed.
The remaining column lost patience with hiding behind their shields and now charged as if meaning to trample the swordsman. This massed rush did buy them another two paces of the bridge, but some eight fell to achieve that length. Still the rest pressed on, as if simple brutal repetition would somehow win them through.
Lee actually winced when two blurred strokes felled the last two of the column. Now the swordsman faced the officer across a length of stone bridge carpeted by the armoured corpses of his command.
The officer stood motionless for a time as he scanned the wreckage of his men and women, and then his head rose to study the agent of this destruction. He reached up and unbuttoned his helm and threw it aside, drew his sword, and carefully, gingerly, stepped between the fallen to close with the Dal Hon.
The swordsman awaited him, blade out before him, not even the slightest movement of his chest beneath a simple blood-spattered jerkin betraying any shortage of breath.
And Lee could not breathe either. All she could think was how this could not be and how never, ever, would she have believed such a thing.
The two met perhaps a quarter of the way up the arch of the bridge. They touched blades and immediately the officer drew his back, slashing. The swordsman slid the blow and countered, and the officer’s head sailed through the air to fall with a splash into the Malaz river channel.
The swordsman cleaned his blade on the officer’s surcoat, sheathed it, and resumed his patient watch.
‘Hood’s mercy,’ another of her lads murmured.
‘I believe so,’ Lee said. ‘Let’s—’
Further marching boots rang in the night and a second column of Napan heavy infantry emerged through the wind-tossed dust and leaf litter.
Lee almost groaned in empathetic pain. Gods, no …
*
Dassem felt his shoulders fall ever so slightly as the second column of Napan soldiers came marching up the way. He did not know what he expected to come of pursuing his purpose here, but he hadn’t anticipated sadness. It was all such a waste. A damned useless waste of life and potential.
Downstream, just visible, pulsed the glow of a fire where one of the other bridges burned. Whether it was stone or wood did not matter; just so long as they kept the fire going long enough to funnel all the Napans to him.
And these appeared to be the last, for tonight. At orders from their female officer they formed up, facing him just back from the base of the bridge. Then the officer came forward, sword sheathed, and picked her way through her fallen fellows to study him.
For a Napan, sharing their blue coloration, she appeared rather sickly pale, even ashen now. ‘You did this?’ she breathed in disbelief.
He pointed back the way they’d come. ‘Turn round. Leave. No more need fall.’
She was shaking her head, studying the bodies. ‘We too have our duty.’
He regarded the woman with new understanding. ‘I see. Your name?’
‘Clementh.’
‘Dassem.’
‘We must try…’
‘Yes,’ he said, when her words tailed off. ‘I understand.’
She retreated to her command, and spoke to them for a time. Then, drawing, she came on, leading the attack. And Dassem winced inside: She would make this as hard as she could, wouldn’t she?
They met, and he slashed her among the first. Her soldiers dragged her back while the front rank raised shields. Then they came on again, two by two. The narrow stone span forced them together, inhibiting them. Dassem retreated one pace to clear space for himself and met them two-handed, clashing swords aside and thrusting at legs, arms, and exposed necks. He found he had to retreat yet another step as the fallen piled over one another on the narrow bridge.
More fell and Dassem had to force back his regret for what he had to do. It was pitiful that these good men and women should have to lay themselves down. He longed, then, for the old days of champions.
A shout pulled them back a step, shields raised, watching him warily from beneath the lips of their inlaid iron and bronze helmets. Clementh pushed her way forward, a bloodied arm hanging limp.
Even more ashen now from loss of blood, she eyed him, panting with the effort of holding herself erect. Dassem remained at the ready, blood-splashed and aching, but ready. She turned to her command, ordered, ‘Withdraw.’
They began backing away, stepping carefully over the fallen. A few stooped to pick up or drag wounded. Clementh struggled to sheathe her sword. ‘Tarel will have my head for this,’ she said.
‘But your men and women will live,’ Dassem finished for her.
She nodded, taking a deep breath. ‘We will see to the fallen.’
He nodded as well. ‘I will not interfere.’
‘I thank you for that.’
Now he shook his head. ‘No. I thank you. I did not enjoy this.’
She eyed him for a time, her gaze weighing. ‘Good.’
*
Cartheron slammed open the door to Smiley’s to find the common room empty. ‘Lady Sureth!’ he called, panicked for some reason.
‘Yes?’ she called, pushing open the kitchen door.
He swallowed his sudden dread. Ah. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Upstairs.’
Shrift appeared on the stairs, peering down into the room, looking very surprised. ‘Crust…’ she said, almost stammering. ‘What’re … what’re you doing here?’
‘Where’s Grinner?’
She gestured upstairs. ‘With Hawl. She’s sick or something. We’re worried about her.’
He started up. ‘I’ll take a look.’