Orb ,Sceptre ,Throne

At least this is private. The blade across the throat or through the back. Quiet and without witnesses. Much better than a ring of uncaring faces. Some shred of dignity may be kept …

Gods. Who am I kidding?

He slammed down the decanter, slumped into a chair. Was that it, then, that kept me alone all these years? Fear? Fear that I could never trust again and would thus make some good woman’s life a misery? Fear of my own weakness? Was that pathetic … or just sadly accurate?

He blinked in the greenish light of the night sky streaming in from the colonnaded walk that led to the rear grounds. Someone stood there, cloaked, tall. Their chosen blade. Fanderay’s tits, they wasted no time about it.

He threw his arms out wide. ‘Here I am, friend. May I call you friend? We are about to share an intimate moment — surely that permits me to call you friend.’ He reached for a tall wine glass, raised it. ‘Drink? No, I suppose not. Well, I believe I will.’ He poured a full glass.

The man walked to the other end of the long table, regarded him from the darkness within his deep hood. Coll raised a hand for silence. ‘I know, I know. Quite the sight. In the old days I understand just a note was enough. Something like “save us the trouble”. We live in a decaying age, so they say.’ He emptied the entire glass in one long pull.

The man closed further, coming up along one side of the table. He ran a gloved hand over the smooth polished surface as he came. Coll eyed him all the way, swallowed his mouthful. ‘Liquid courage, some would say, hey? But no — not in my case. I have courage. What I need is liquid numbness. Liquid oblivion.’

The figure raised a hand to his hood while the other slipped within his cloak. ‘What you need,’ the man growled, throwing back his hood, ‘is balls.’

Coll yelped and flinched backwards so hard he upended the chair and fell rolling. He came up clutching at his chest. ‘Gods, Rallick! Don’t do that!’ He righted the chair. ‘I thought you were … you know …’ He froze, then straightened to eye his friend. ‘You’re not … are you?’

Rallick selected a plum from the table, sat. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Well … is there … someone?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ He took a bite of the fruit, threw a leg up on the table. ‘But I suspect not.’

Coll sat. ‘You suspect not? Why?’

Rallick chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. ‘Because you’re old and ineffectual. Useless. Unimportant. Marginalized and sidelined …’

Coll had raised a hand. ‘I get it. Many thanks.’

‘Well, isn’t that just what you’ve been moping around these rooms about?’

Coll would not meet his friend’s gaze.

Rallick sighed. ‘Isn’t it about time you married someone? Sired another generation to carry on the family name? It’s your duty, isn’t it?’

Coll sat back, waving a hand. ‘I know, I know. But what if she …’

‘I assume you’ll choose more wisely this time. And in any case, so what? Life’s a throw of the bones. Nothing’s guaranteed.’

‘How reassuring. And you are here because …?’

Rallick finished the plum. ‘I’m under a death sentence from the guild.’

Coll stared from under his brows. ‘And you come here.’ He gestured angrily to the grounds. ‘What if they’re following you? You’ve led them here! They could be coming any moment!’

Rallick held up his hands. ‘I thought you were expecting them.’

Letting out a long breath Coll leaned forward over the table to massage his temples. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want that thing up on Majesty Hill gone.’

The fingers stilled. He sat back, eyed his friend anew. ‘What’s this? A civic conscience? Rather belated.’

The lines around the lean man’s mouth deepened as his jaws tightened. ‘Think. Who have we done work for all these years?’

‘Baruk. But Baruk has been taken — or has fallen, or failed. There’s nothing we can do.’

‘Then it falls to us. We are all that’s left. Us and Kruppe.’

‘Gods!’ Coll looked to the ceiling. ‘You almost had me, Rallick. Then you had to go and mention that greasy thief.’ He waved to the grounds. ‘Where is he? Have you seen him? The man’s halfway to Nathilog by now.’

‘No, he’s not. He’s in hiding. I’m seeing his hand in things more and more.’ The man looked down, frowning. ‘I wonder now if all along I was nothing more than his hand and ear in the guild. As Murillio was among the aristocracy, and young Crokus may have been on the streets. While you were a potential hand and ear in the Council.’

‘Happenstance only, friend. You’re looking backwards and inventing patterns. You give him too much credit. I grant you he’s some sort of talent — but he uses it to do nothing more than fill his stomach.’

‘Does he? I heard he faced down the Warlord.’

Coll frowned, uneasy. He reached for the decanter then thought better of it. ‘Brood just sort of … missed him.’

‘Exactly. I’m thinking no one has ever managed to get a firm grip on that fellow. Including us.’

Coll knit his fingers across his gut. ‘So? You have a point?’

‘We should stay in this card game. Play the waiting hand. They want you out, yes? Well, all the more reason to remain.’

Platitudes. A tyrant is closing his fist on the city and this man offers me platitudes. He raised his gaze to the immense inverted mountain that was the chandelier hanging, unlit, above the table. She always liked that monstrous thing. Gods, how I loathe it. He lowered his eyes to the man opposite. The harsh monochrome light painted the angular face in even sharper planes of light and dark. The man is serious. A serious Rallick should not be discounted.

He took a deep breath that swelled his stomach against his entwined fingers, let it out. Beyond the walls, from the neglected estate grounds, the crickets continued their songs to the night. He cocked his head, thinking. ‘Is the guild under their control?’

‘No. I believe not. In fact, I believe they may have just reopened their contract against the Legate.’

Coll sat up, amazed. ‘What? Why didn’t you say so, man?’

‘Because I believe they will fail as they did before.’

‘Anyone can be killed,’ Coll mused. ‘If recent events in the city have taught us anything they have taught us that. It’s just a matter of finding the right way.’

Rallick swung his leg down, stood. ‘Very good. I’ll shadow the guild. You shadow the Council.’

‘It’s no longer a Council,’ Coll said, sour. ‘It’s become a court of sycophants and hangers-on.’

‘One more thing,’ Rallick said.

Coll peered up, brows raised. ‘Yes?’

‘Do you have an extra room? I need a place to sleep.’

Coll fought down a near-hysterical laugh. ‘Here? Gods, man, this is the first place they’ll look for you.’

‘No. You’re still a Council member. They won’t move against you unless they’re offered a contract.’

‘How can you be so sure they won’t act anyway — unilaterally, so to speak?’

Rallick smiled humourlessly and Coll reflected that even the man’s smiles resembled the unsheathing of a knife. ‘Guild rules,’ he said.

Across the clear summer night sky the long trailing banner of the Scimitar arced high while the moon cast its cold, emerald-tinged light upon the empty Dwelling Plain. A lone figure, dark cloak blowing in the weak wind, walked the dry eroded hills. His features were night dark, his hair touched with silver. He wore fine dark gloves and upon the breast of his dark green silk shirt rode a single visible piece of jewellery: an upright bird’s foot claw worked in silver, clutching an orb. The Imperial Sceptre of the Malazans.

Topper had only been to Darujhistan a few times. Personally, he did not understand its prominence. He thought it too vulnerable, relying as it did on such distant market gardens and fields to feed its populace. Yet he did detect among the dunes and wind-swept hills straight lines and foundations which hinted that things had not always been this way. Logic, however, rarely guided such choices. History and precedent ruled. His names for such forces