The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (63 page)

“By all means.”

The captain rose and attended to his horses. He thought about delaying a day to let this man mend some more, then lending him a horse. If he rode into the city in the company of a local, there’d be advantages—someone to direct him, perhaps even give him a place to stay for a day or two. Not only that, but he might learn something in the meantime. Would another day matter? Possibly, but it looked worth it. He hobbled the Wickan horses near the mule, then carried his saddle back to the fire.

“Been thinking about your problem,” Paran said, as he dropped the saddle and sat with his back against it. “I’ll ride in with you. You can use my pack horse.”

Coll’s eyes were alert. “A generous offer.”

Seeing the man’s suspicion, Paran smiled. “The horses could use the extra day’s rest, for one. Second, I’ve never before been to Darujhistan, so in exchange for my so-called generosity I’d like to plague you with endless questions in the next two days. After that, I get my horse back and you’re on your way, and if anyone’s come out ahead, it’s me.”

“Better warn you now, Paran, I’m not much of a talker.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

Coll considered for a time. “Hood knows,” he said, “I’d be mad not to accept, wouldn’t I? You don’t look the type to stick me in the back. I don’t know your real story, Paran. If that’s something you want to keep to yourself, that’s your business. That won’t stop me from asking questions, though. It’s up to you whether you lie or not.”

“I think that goes both ways, doesn’t it?” Paran responded. “Well, you want my story straight? Fine, here it is, Coll. I’m a deserter from the Malazan Army, ranked as captain. I also did a lot of work with the Claw, and looking back on it that’s where the trouble started. Anyway, it’s done.”
Oh, yes, and one more thing: people who get close to me usually end up dead
.

Coll was silent, his eyes glittering in the firelight and fixed on the man opposite him. Then he puffed his cheeks and blew out a loud breath of air. “Truth as bald as that makes a challenge, don’t it?” He stared into the fire, then leaned back on his elbows and lifted his face to the stars now appearing overhead. “I was once a noble in Darujhistan, the last son of a long-lined, powerful family. I was set for an arranged marriage but I fell in love with another woman—a hungry, ambitious woman, though I was blind to that.” He smiled wryly. “She was a whore, in fact, only where most whores I’ve met are pretty down-to-earth, she was as twisted a soul as you could imagine.”

He passed a hand across his eyes. “Anyway, I refuted my obligations and broke off the arranged marriage. It killed my father, I think, when I married Aystal—that was the whore’s name, though she’s changed it since.” He laughed harshly at the night sky. “Didn’t take her long. I’m still not sure how she managed
the details, how many men she took to bed to buy their influence, or how they did it. All I know is I woke up one day and found myself stripped of title, stripped even of my family name. The estate was hers, the money was hers, it was all hers, and her need for me had ended.”

The flames licked the dry wood between them. Paran said nothing. He sensed that more was to come from the man opposite him, and that Coll was struggling with it.

“But that wasn’t the worst betrayal, Paran,” he said at length, meeting the captain’s eyes. “Oh, no. That came when I walked away from it. I could’ve fought her. I might even have won.” His jaw tautened—the only hint of anguish that escaped his self-control—then he continued, in a flat, empty voice, “Acquaintances I’d known for decades looked right through me. To everyone I was dead. They chose not to hear me. They just walked past, or didn’t even come to the gates of their estates when I called on them. I was dead, Paran, even the city’s records claimed it. And so I agreed with them. I walked away. Disappeared. It’s one thing to have your friends mourn your passing in your face. But it’s another to betray your own life, Paran. But, as you said, it’s done.”

The captain looked away, squinting into the darkness. What’s this human urge, he wondered, that brings us to such devastation? “The games of the high born,” he said quietly, “span the world. I was born a noble, like you, Coll. But in Malaz we’d met our match in the old Emperor. He crushed us at every turn until we cowered like whipped dogs. Cowered for years. But it was only an issue of power, wasn’t it?” he said, more to himself than to the man who shared the fire. “There are no lessons worthy enough for a noble to heed. I look back on my years within that twisted, hungry company—I look back on that life now, Coll, and I see it wasn’t a life at all.” He was silent for a time, then a slow smile curved his mouth and his gaze swung to Coll. “Since I walked away from the Malazan Empire, and severed once and for all the dubious privileges of my noble blood, damn, I’ve never felt so alive. It was never a life before, only the palest shadow of what I’ve now found. Is that a truth most of us are too frightened to face?”

Coll grunted. “I’m not the sharpest man you’ll meet, Paran, and your thoughts are running a touch too deep for me. But if I understand you right, you’re sitting there looking at a chopped-up old fool of a man and you’re telling him he’s alive. Right now. As alive as can be. And whatever he betrayed back then, it wasn’t life, was it?”

“You tell me, Coll.”

The man grimaced and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “The thing is, I want it back. I want it all back.”

Paran burst out laughing, and continued to laugh until sharp pains cramped his stomach.

Coll sat watching him, then a low, rumbling chuckle rose from his chest. He reached back, retrieved a handful of sticks and tossed them into the fire, one at a time. “Well, dammit, Paran,” he said, amused lines crinkling around his eyes,
“you’ve come out of the blue like a god-sent bolt of lightning. And I appreciate it. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”

Paran wiped tears from his eyes. “Hood’s Breath,” he said. “Just one War Mule talking to another, right?”

“I guess so, Paran. Now, if you’ll look in that pack of mine, you’ll find a jug of Worrytown wine. Its vintage is about a week.”

The captain rose. “Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s running out of time.”

Rumors like tattered flags

wind-snapped and echoing

in the streets below

told the tale of the days upon us . . .

’Twas said an eel had slipped ashore

or not one but a thousand

under a jagged moon that might be dead,

’twas whispered that a claw scraped slow

on the city’s cobbles, even as a dragon

was seen sailing high silver and black in the night sky.

’Twas heard, they say, a demon’s death cry

on the rooftops on a night of blood, even

as the master’s hundred hands lost

a hundred daggers to the dark,

and ’twas rumored then, a lady

masked highborn had offered to unbidden guests

a fête to remember . . .

R
UMOR
B
ORN
F
ISHER
(
B
.?)

Few can see

the dark hand

holding aloft

the splinter, or

the notched chains

fated to be heard

before death’s rattle,

but hark the wheel

of minions and victims

who moan the

lord’s name

in the dark heart

of Moon’s Spawn . . .

S
ILVERFOX
O
UTRIDER
H
URLOCHEL
,
6
TH
A
RMY

As Rallick Nom approached the Phoenix Inn from the alleyway, a large, beefy woman stepped out from a shadowed niche and confronted him. He raised an eyebrow. “You want something, Meese?”

“Never mind what I want.” She grinned invitingly. “You’ve known about that for years. Anyway, I come to tell ya something, Nom. So relax.”

He crossed his arms and waited.

Meese glanced back up the alley, then hunched close to the assassin. “There’s someone in the bar. Been asking for ya. By name.”

Startled, Rallick straightened. “What’s he look like?” he asked casually.

“Like a soldier outa uniform,” Meese replied. “Never seen him around before. So what do ya think, Nom?”

He looked away. “Nothing. Where’s he sitting?”

Meese grinned again. “At Kruppe’s table. Home ground. Now ain’t that fine?”

Rallick stepped past the woman and headed toward the inn. As she moved to follow he held out his hand. “A minute between us, Meese,” he said, without turning. “Where’s Irilta?”

“Inside,” she said, behind him. “Good luck, Nom.”

“Luck’s never free,” Rallick muttered, as he turned the corner and climbed the steps.

He stood still just within the door and surveyed the crowd. A few strangers, not enough to cause him concern, however. His gaze slid across to a man sitting at Kruppe’s table. He almost had to take a second look, so nondescript was he. Then Rallick strode straight for him, the crowd parting as he went—something he’d never noticed before. Amused, he held his eyes on the stranger until he was noticed. They locked gazes, though the man made no move other than to take a sip from his tankard, then set it down carefully on the table.

Rallick pulled out a chair and dragged it opposite. “I’m Rallick Nom.”

There was something solid about this person, a kind of assurance that was calming. Rallick felt himself relaxing in spite of his habitual caution. The man’s first words changed that, however.

“The Eel has a message for you,” he said quietly. “Direct, by word of mouth only. Before I deliver it, though, I’m to give you some background—as only I can.” He paused to drink from the tankard, then resumed. “Now, Turban Orr has hired another dozen hunters. What are they hunting? Well, me, for one. Your problem is that he’s going to be harder to reach. The Eel approves of your efforts concerning Lady Simtal. Coll’s return is desired by all who value integrity and honor within the Council. If you require anything, ask now and it’s yours.”

Rallick’s eyes had hardened. “Never knew Murillio had such a big mouth,” he said.

The man shook his head. “Your compatriot has revealed nothing. Nor have you. It is the Eel’s business. Now, what do you require?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.” The stranger nodded, as if he’d expected that reply and was pleased. “Incidentally, Turban Orr’s efforts to pass the proclamation have been . . . impeded. Indefinitely. The Eel wishes to thank you for your unwitting role in that. Nevertheless, the councilman explores other options. He has been watched closely. Hence our fortunate discovery that is at the heart of the Eel’s message to you. Last night, beneath Despot’s Barbican, Turban Orr met with a representative of the Assassins’ Guild—how he managed that was quite a feat, considering how difficult your comrades have been to find. In any case, a contract was tendered by Turban Orr.” The man waited for the shock to wear off Rallick’s face, then continued. “Tendered by Turban Orr, as I said, but not on his own behalf. Rather, Lady Simtal has decided that Coll’s death should be a fact in the real world as it is on paper.”

“Who?” Rallick rasped. “Who was the contact?”

“I’m coming to that. First, it was accepted, for the payment was substantial. They are aware that Coll is presently outside Darujhistan. They simply await his return.”

“The assassin’s name.”

“Ocelot.” The man rose. “The Eel wishes you success in all your ventures, Rallick Nom. Thus the message ends. Good evening.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Rallick said.

The stranger smiled, then left.

The assassin took the man’s seat, and leaned against the wall. He waved at Sulty, who had a pitcher of ale and a tankard waiting. She hurried over. Behind her strode, at a more leisurely pace, Irilta and Meese. They sat down without preamble, each with her own tankard.

“Everybody’s still breathing,” Irilta said, raising her drink. “And here’s t’ that.”

Meese lifted hers as well and the two women drank deep. Then Meese bent forward. “Any word of Kruppe and the boy?”

Rallick shook his head. “I may not be here when they come back,” he said. “Tell Murillio to go ahead if I don’t show, and if other . . . events occur. And, if that happens, tell him our man’s eyes are open.” Rallick filled his tankard and drained it immediately. Then he rose. “Don’t wish me luck,” he said.

“How about success?” Meese asked, a worried expression on her broad face.

Rallick jerked his head in a nod. Then he left the inn.

Anomander Rake was hiding something. Baruk was certain of it as he stared moodily into the fireplace. In his right hand was a goblet of goat’s milk, and in his left a large fragment of Daru flatbread. Why had the Tiste Andii permitted
the Imass to enter the barrow? He’d asked that question already of the Lord sitting beside him, but an answer didn’t seem forthcoming. Instead, all the alchemist got from Rake was that irritating smugness. Baruk took a bite from the flatbread, the crack loud between them.

Rake stretched out his legs and sighed. “An odd hour to dine,” he said.

“All my hours have been odd, lately,” Baruk said, around the bread. He drank a mouthful of milk.

“I’d no idea that both the Shadow Lord and Oponn had become involved in affairs,” Rake said.

Baruk felt the Lord’s eyes on him, but he remained staring at the fire. “I had an intimation of Oponn,” he said. “But nothing definite.”

Rake snorted in reply.

Baruk downed some more milk. “You hold your hunches close to your chest. I do the same.”

“This avails us nothing,” Rake snapped.

The alchemist turned in his chair to face the Tiste Andii. “Your ravens watched that woman and the T’lan Imass enter the barrow. Do you still believe they will fail?”

“Do you?” Rake retorted. “I seem to recall that that was your position on the matter, Baruk. As far as I was and am concerned, I don’t much care whether they succeed or not. Either way, there’ll be a fight. I suspect you’d imagined there would be a way to avoid one. Obviously, your intelligence concerning the Malazan Empire is sorely lacking. Laseen knows only one thing, and that’s force. She’ll ignore power until it’s unveiled, and then she’ll hit you with everything at her disposal.”