Midnight Tides & The Bonehunters - By Steven Erikson Page 0,509

pressed against her eyes. All that dust on her, the webs in her hair – this was the true face of war, the captain knew. That child's face would haunt her memories, joining the many other faces, for as long as she lived.

Sinn was clinging to the rough wall, perhaps two manheights up, motionless.

Too much, Sort decided. The child was mad. She glanced again at the scavenger, who did not seem aware that they had arrived. Hands still pressed against eyes. Red scrapes through the dust, a trickle of blood down one shin. Had she fallen? From where?

The captain rode up to halt her horse beneath Sinn. 'Come down now,' she said. 'We need to make camp, Sinn. Come down, it's no use – the sun's almost gone. We can try again tomorrow.'

Sinn tightened her grip on the broken outcrops of stone and brick.

Grimacing, the captain side-stepped the mount closer to the wall, then reached up to pull Sinn from her perch.

Squealing, the girl lunged upward, one hand shooting into a hole—

His strength, his will, was gone. A short rest, then he could begin again. A short rest, the voices below drifting away, it didn't matter. Sleep, now, the dark, warm embrace – drawing him down, ever deeper, then a blush of sweet golden light, wind rippling yellow grasses—

—and he was free, all pain gone. This, he realized, was not sleep. It was death, the return to the most ancient memory buried in each human soul. Grasslands, the sun and wind, the warmth and click of insects, dark herds in the distance, the lone trees with their vast canopies and the cool shade beneath, where lions dozed, tongues lolling, flies dancing round indifferent, languid eyes ...

Death, and this long buried seed. We return. We return to the world ...

And she reached for him, then, her hand damp with sweat, small and soft, prying his fingers loose from the rock they gripped, blood sticking – she clutched at his hand, as if filled with fierce need, and he knew the child within her belly was calling out in its own silent language, its own needs, so demanding ...

Nails dug into the cuts on his hand—

Bottle jolted awake, eyes blinking – daylight almost gone – and a small hand reaching through from outside, grasping and tugging at his own.

Help. 'Help – you, outside – help us—'

As she reached up yet further to tug the girl down, Sort saw Sinn's head snap around, saw something blazing in her eyes as she stared down at the captain.

'What now—' And then there came a faint voice, seemingly from the very stones. Faradan Sort's eyes widened. 'Sinn?'

The girl's hand, shoved into that crack – it was holding on to something.

Someone.

'Oh, gods below!'

Crunching sounds outside, boots digging into stone, then gloved fingers slipped round one edge beside the child's forearm, and Bottle heard: 'You, inside – who? Can you hear me?'

A woman. Accented Ehrlii ... familiar? 'Fourteenth Army,' Bottle said. 'Malazans.' The child's grip tightened.

'Oponn's pull, soldier,' the woman said in Malazan. 'Sinn, let go of him. I need room. Make the hole bigger. Let go of him – it's all right – you were right. We're going to get them out.'

Sinn? The shouts from below were getting louder. Cuttle, calling up something about a way out. Bottle twisted to call back down. 'Cuttle! We've been found! They're going to dig us out! Let everyone know!'

Sinn's hand released his, withdrew.

The woman spoke again. 'Soldier, move away from the hole – I'm going to use my sword.'

'Captain? Is that you?'

'Aye. Now, move back and cover your eyes – what? Oh, where'd all those children come from? Is that one of Fiddler's squad with them? Get down there, Sinn. There's another way out. Help them.'

The sword-point dug into the concreted brick and stone. Chips danced down.

Cuttle was climbing up from below, grunting. 'We gotta widen this some more, Bottle. That runt who dropped down the hole. We sent Smiles after her. A tunnel, angling back up – and out. A looter's tunnel. The children're all out—'

'Good. Cuttle, it's the captain. The Adjunct, she must have waited for us – sent searchers out to find us.'

'That makes no sense—'

'You're right,' Faradan Sort cut in. 'They've marched, soldiers. It's just me, and Sinn.'

'They left you behind?'

'No, we deserted. Sinn knew – she knew you were still alive, don't ask me how.'

'Her brother's down here,' Cuttle said. 'Corporal Shard.'

'Alive?'

'We think so, Captain. How many days has it been?'

'Three. Four nights if you