after the other. He'd paid an unannounced visit to the island — knowing nothing of the inhabitants. Taking human form and fashioning a mask for himself, he elected to walk down the city's main thoroughfare. Being naturally arrogant, he showed no deference to any who crossed his path. '
Another clash lit up the night, the exchange followed by a loud, solid grunt. Then the blades collided once again.
'Two bells. That was the full duration of Rake's visit to the island and its people. He described the ferocity of that short time, and his dismay and exhaustion which led him to withdraw into his warren if only to slow the hammering of his heart.'
A new voice, rasping and cold, now spoke. 'Blacksword.'
They turned to see Mok facing them.
'That was centuries ago,' Lady Envy said.
'The memory of worthy opponents does not fade among the Seguleh, mistress.'
'Rake said the last swordsman he faced wore a mask with seven symbols.'
Mok tilted his head. 'That mask still awaits him. Blacksword holds the Seventh position. Mistress, we would have him claim it.'
She smiled. 'Perhaps soon you can extend to him the invitation in person.'
'It is not an invitation, mistress. It is a demand.'
Her laugh was sweet and full-throated. 'Dear servant, there is
'Then shall our swords cross, mistress. He is the Seventh. I am the Third.'
She turned on him, arms folded. 'Oh, really! Do you know where that score of Seguleh souls ended up when he killed them …
There was another loud thud from the darkness beyond the firelight, then silence.
'Seguleh who die, fail,' Mok said. 'We spare no thoughts for the failed among us.'
'Does that,' Toc softly enquired, 'include your brother?'
Tool had reappeared, his flint sword in his left hand, dragging Thurule's body by the collar with his right. The Seguleh's head lolled. Dog and wolf trailed the two, tails wagging.
'Have you killed my servant, T'lan Imass?' Lady Envy asked.
'I have not,' Tool replied. 'Broken wrist, broken ribs, a half-dozen blows to the head. I believe he will recover. Eventually'
'Well, that won't do at all, I'm afraid. Bring him here, please. To me.'
'He is not to be healed magically,' Mok said.
The Lady's temper snapped then. She spun, a wave of argent power surging out from her. It struck Mok, threw him back through the air. He landed with a heavy thud. The coruscating glare vanished. 'Servants do not make demands of me! I remind you of your place, Mok. I trust once is enough.' She swung her attention back to Thurule. 'Heal him I shall. After all,' she continued in a milder tone, 'as any lady of culture knows, three is the absolute minimum when it comes to servants.' She laid a hand on the Seguleh's chest.
Thurule groaned.
Toc glanced at Tool. 'Hood's breath, you're all chopped up!'
'It has been a long time since I last faced such a worthy opponent,' Tool said. 'All the more challenging for using the flat of my blade.'
Mok was slowly climbing to his feet. At the T'lan Imass's last words, he went still, then slowly faced the undead warrior.
'There will be no more duels this night,' Lady Envy said in a stern voice. 'I'll not constrain my wrath the next time.'
Mok casually slid his attention away from the T'lan Imass.
Straightening, Lady Envy sighed. Thurule is mended. I am almost weary! Senu, dear, get out the plates and utensils. And the Elin Red. A nice quiet meal is called for, I should say.' She flashed Toc a smile. 'And witty discourse, yes?'
It was now Toc's turn to groan.
The three horsemen drew rein to halt on the low hill's summit. Pulling his mount around to face the city of Pale, Whiskeyjack stared for a time, jaw muscles bunching.
Quick Ben said nothing, watching the grey-bearded commander, his old friend, with fullest understanding.
'Summarize,' Whiskeyjack growled, his grey eyes on the empty sky above the city.
Mallet cleared his throat. 'Who starts?'
The commander swung his head to the healer.
'Right,' Mallet said. 'Paran's … affliction. His mortal flesh has the taint of ascendant blood … and ascendant places … but as Quick will tell you, neither one should be manifesting as illness. No, that blood, and those places, are like shoves down a corridor.'
'And he keeps crawling back,' Quick Ben added. 'Trying to escape. And the more he tries-'
'The sicker he gets,' Mallet finished.
Whiskeyjack, eyes once again on Pale, grimaced wryly. 'The last time I stood on this hill I had to listen to Quick and Kalam finishing each other's sentences. Turns out less has changed than I'd thought. Is the captain himself ascendant?'
'As near as,' the wizard admitted.
'What do you two make of his tale of the Hounds and Rake's sword?'
'Troubling,' Mallet replied.
'That's an understatement,' Quick Ben said. 'Damned scary.'
Whiskeyjack scowled at him. 'Why?'
'Dragnipur's not Rake's sword — he didn't forge it. How much does the bastard know about it? How much
'And that makes him. unpredictable,' Mallet interjected.
'What's at the end of this corridor you described?'
'I don't know.'
'Me neither,' Quick Ben said regretfully. 'But I think we should add a few shoves of our own. If only to save Paran from himself.'
'And how do you propose we do that?'
The wizard grinned. 'It's already started, Commander. Connecting him to Silverfox. She reads him like Tattersail did a Deck of Dragons, sees more every time she rests eyes on him.'
'Maybe that's just Tattersail's memories … undressing him,' Mallet commented.
'Very funny,' Whiskeyjack drawled. 'So Silverfox dips into his soul — no guarantee she'll be sharing her discoveries with us, is there?'
'If Tattersail and Nightchill's personae come to dominate …'
'The sorceress is well enough, but Nightchill. ' Whiskeyjack shook his head.
'She was a nasty piece of work,' Quick Ben agreed. 'Something of a mystery there. Still, a Malazan …'