Erekala leaned on the rail. ‘Heard? Yes, that would be the word.’
They were advancing now, broken up into squads of eight or ten, clambering steadily over the rough ground towards the first trench, where waited masses of Shriven – Kolansii regulars. Solid enough soldiers, Erekala knew. Proficient if not spectacular, yet subject to the sorcery of the Forkrul Assail. Without the Pure, however, there would be no power sufficient to unleash in them any battle frenzy. Still, they would not buckle so long as the mixed-blood commanders held their nerve.
‘I don’t understand you, sir.’
He glanced across at her. ‘The night of the Adjunct’s disengagement from the docks of Malaz City, Sister – where were you stationed?’
‘The outer screen of ships, sir.’
‘Ah. Do you recall, did you by chance happen to hear thunder that night – from the island?’
Frowning, she shook her head. ‘Sir, for half that night I was in my sling, fast asleep.’
‘Very well. Your answer, Sister, is not long in coming, I fear.’
Thirty rough and broken paces below the first berm now, the squads thinning out, those wielding crossbows raising their weapons.
On the Shriven side, the pikes angled down, readying for the enemy to breach the top of the berm. The iron points formed a bristling wall. From the second trench the archers had moved up, nocking arrows but not yet drawing. Once the Malazans reached the ridge line, coming into direct line of sight, the arrows would hiss their song, and as the first line of bodies tumbled, the archers would begin firing in longer arcs – to angle the arrows down the slope. And the advance would grind to a halt, with soldiers huddling under their shields, seeking cover from the rain of death.
Twenty paces now, where there was a pause in the advance – only an instant – and then Erekala saw arms swinging, tiny objects sailing out from the hands.
Too soon .
Striking the bank two-thirds of the way up. Sudden billowing of thick black smoke, boiling out, devouring the lines of sight. Like a bank of fog, the impenetrable wall rolled up and over the berm’s topside.
‘Magery?’ gasped Staylock.
Erekala shook his head.
And from that rising tide of midnight, more objects sailed out, landing amidst the pike-wielding press of Shriven.
Detonations and flashes of fire erupted along the entire length of the trench. The mass of Kolansii shook, and everywhere was the bright crimson of blood and torn flesh.
A second wave of munitions landed.
The report of their explosions echoed up the slope, followed by screams and shrieks of pain. The smoke was rolling into the trench, torn here and there by further detonations, but this just added dust and misted blood to the roiling mix.
Along the second trench, the archers were wavering.
‘Begin firing blind,’ Erekala murmured. ‘Do it now .’
And he was pleased to see Watered officers bellowing their commands, and the bows drawn back.
A sleet of quarrels shot out from the smoke and dust, tore into the archers. And the heads of many of these quarrels were explosive. The entire line disintegrated, bodies tumbling back to the crouching loaders.
More grenados arced after the quarrels, down into the trench. Closer now, Erekala could see limbs, ripped clean from bodies, spinning in the air.
Higher up the slope, the reserve companies boiled into motion, rushing down towards the third trench, while those troops who had been stationed in that position were now foaming up over their own berm, to begin a downhill charge. The line of archers dug in above the third trench were swept up in the wholesale advance.
‘What are they doing?’ demanded Staylock.
‘The trenches are proving indefensible against these munitions,’ Erekala replied. ‘The half-blood officers have correctly determined the proper response to this – they must close with the marines. Their elevation and their numbers alone should win the day.’
The marines, he now saw beneath the fast thinning smoke, had overrun the archers’ trench, and looked to be digging in all along the line – but Erekala had ensured that the earthworks were designed in such a manner as to expose them to attack from higher up the slope. Those trenches offered them nothing. The marines began scurrying in full retreat.
‘They’re panicking,’ hissed Staylock. ‘They’ve run out of toys, and now …’
The descending, elongated mass of Kolansii was like an avalanche racing after the straggly marines.
‘Hold up at the lowest trench,’ Erekala pleaded. ‘Don’t follow the fools all the way down!’