The enemy was devouring the Malazan army, driving them back, cutting down hundreds of soldiers if they were no more than children. This was slaughter, and barely a third of the phalanxes had actually closed with the Bonehunters.
He saw the Letherii moving up on both flanks, forming bristling pike walls in a saw-tooth presentation, but they’d yet to meet the enemy. Out to the far flanks mounted troops mustered, yet held far back-unaccountably so, as far as Gall was concerned.
Directly ahead of the Khundryl charge, two phalanxes were closing up to present a solid defensive line, denying the Burned Tears the opportunity to drive between the squares, winging arrows on both sides. Gall needed make no gestures or call out commands-his lead warriors knew to draw up upon loosing their arrows; they knew their lanes, through which the heavier lancers would pass to drive deep into the wounded front ranks of the enemy-drive in, and then withdraw. There would be no chance of shattering these phalanxes-the demons were too big, too heavily armoured. They would not break before a charge.
This is the last day of the Khundryl Burned Tears. My children, do you ride with me? I know you do. My children, be brave this day. See your father, and know that he is proud of you all.
The foremost line of demons began preparing strange clubs.
Hedge saw the lightning erupt from the Nah’ruk line, saw the jagged bolts tear into the mass of Khundryl warriors. The charge seemed to disintegrate inside a horrific cloud of red mist.
Sickened, he twisted on to his back, stared up at the sky. Didn’t look like sky at all. ‘Bridgeburners, get ready! Munitions in hand! One, two, three- UP !’
Brys had thought the bodies lying on the ground ahead were corpses. They suddenly rose, forty or fifty in all, and flung objects at the front line of Nah’ruk. The small dark grenados splashed as they struck the enemy warriors. An instant later, the Nah’ruk who had been struck began writhing as the liquid ate through their armour, and then their hides.
One of the nodes exploded, flinging bodies back. Then another and another. All at once the front ranks of the phalanx were a chaotic mess.
Brys turned to his signaller. ‘Sound the charge! Sound the charge!’
Horns blared.
The legions broke into a dog-trot, pikes levelled.
The sappers were running, swinging to the left and out from the gap between the two forces. They might just make it clear in time.
At six paces, the Letherii ranks surged forward, voices lifting in a savage roar.
The teeth of the saw bit deep, one, three rows, four. The Nah’ruk phalanx buckled. And then the two forces ground to a halt. Pikes were held in place, infighters armed with axes and stabbing swords pushing between the front line to begin their vicious close work. Falchions flashed high, and then descended.
Brys gestured. Another messenger came up alongside him.
‘The onager and arbalest units are to draw up on the hill to the east. Begin enfilade. Cavalry to provide initial screen until they commence firing.’
The man saluted and rode off.
Brys looked southeastward. Miraculously, some remnant of the mounted horse-warriors had survived the sorcerous salvos-he could see riders emerging from the dust and smoke, hammering wildly into the front ranks of the Nah’ruk. They struck with inhuman ferocity and Brys was not surprised-to have come through that would have stripped the sanity of any warrior.
He breathed a soft prayer for them in the name of a dozen long-lost gods.
A messenger reined in on his right. ‘Commander! The west legions have engaged the enemy.’
‘And?’
The man wiped the sweat from his face. ‘Knocked ’em back a step or two, but now…’
Seeing that he could not go on, seeing that he was near tears, Brys simply nodded. He turned to study what he could see of the Malazan position.
Nothing but armoured lizards, weapons lifting and descending, blood rising in a mist.
But, as he stared, he noticed something.
The Nah’ruk were no longer advancing.
You stopped them? Blood of the gods, what manner of soldiers are you?
The heavy infantry stood. The heavy infantry held the trench. Even as they died, they backed not a single step. The Nah’ruk clawed for purchase on the blood-soaked mud of the berm. Iron chewed into them. Halberds slammed down, rebounded from shields. Reptilian bodies reeled back, blocking the advance of rear ranks. Arrows and quarrels poured into the foe from positions behind the trench.
And from above, Locqui Wyval descended by the score, in a frenzy, to tear and rend the helmed heads of the lizard warriors. Others quickly closed to do battle with their kin, and the sky rained blood.