Return of the Crimson Guard Read Online Free PDF

veteran admitted candidly. ‘Have to wait to find out. In this business that's how it is most of the time, you know.’
And just what business is that? Kyle almost asked, but the men all suddenly stood to attention, weapons ready. Kyle peered about, confused. What was going on? Why was he always the last to know? It seemed to him that they straightened in unison like puppets on one string. It was as if the veteran Guardsmen shared a silent language or instinct that he lacked. Countless times he'd been sitting in a room watching a card game, or dozing in a barracks, only to see the men snap alert as if catching a drum's sounding. At such times he and the other recent recruits were always the last ready, always bringing up the rear.
This time Kyle spotted everyone's centre of attention as the open portal of the main structure on the far side of the roof garden. The men assembled along the colonnade, levelled cocked crossbows at thatdoor. The front rank knelt and the rear rank stood over them. Kyle himself carried no such weapon as the company was running short.
‘Here they come,’ Stoop murmured.
Through the sheets of driving rain, Kyle made out a squad of men exiting the portal. Greymane emerged last. All alone he manhandled shut its stone slab of a door. The men jog-trotted across the abutting levels of gardens and patios. They threw themselves behind benches and stone garden planters that now held nothing more than the beaten down stalks of dead brush. These men and women covered the doorway while their companions jogged and skittered to another section of the courtyard. Stalker was among them, his own crossbow held high. Greymane brought up the rear, walking slowly and heavily as if deep in thought. Not once did he look behind. Oddly, wind-lashed mist plumed from the man like a banner.
The men reached the cover of the colonnade. As Greymane emerged from the curtain of rain Kyle saw that a layer of ice covered the man – icicles hung from the skirts of his hanging scaled armour. The Malazan renegade slapped at the ice, sending shards tinkling to the stone floor. Vapour curled from him like smoke. To Kyle's astonishment, no one commented upon this.
Smoky closed to Greymane's side. ‘Can't take the cage,’ he shouted. ‘The wind's too blasted high.’
Greymane nodded wearily. ‘The stairs are no good. Shen saw to that.’
The solid stone under Kyle's feet jumped as if kicked. A column cracked, splitting like a dry tree trunk, sending men ducking and flinching aside. Rock dust stung Kyle's nose.
‘He's awake,’ Greymane said to some unspoken question from Smoky. ‘Be here any moment.’ He turned to face the main building which was a long and low black bunker without windows or ornamentation. ‘Shen woke it before I could stop him, the filthy Warren-leech.’ At Greymane's side, Sergeant Trench waved to the men to spread out. They shuffled to both sides, crouching for cover, crossbows trained.
Smoky rubbed his rat-thin moustache while chewing on his lower lip. ‘Maybe we ought to get Cowl.’
Greymane's sky-pale eyes flashed, then he rubbed them with a gauntleted hand and sighed. ‘No. Not yet.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Let's see what we've roused.’
Kyle almost spoke then. What was going on? These two seemed to have led everyone into a position without escape. What was wrong with the stairs? Stoop, as if reading his mind, caughthis eye and glanced to the back of the rooms. Kyle nodded.
He met Stoop at the last portal offering a view out on the courtyard. Before them, men crouched and leaned behind pillars, crossbows ready. They muttered among themselves in low voices, glanced with tired gauging eyes to Greymane. A few laughs even reached Kyle through the thunder and drumming of rain. He wondered whether half this mercenary business was simply how much indifference you could muster in the face of impending death.
Stoop gave him an encouraging grin, rubbed his hand at a thigh. ‘What is it, lad? You look like