He drew her aside to where the two guards stood leaning against a pillar, crossbows hanging loose, peering about as if as confused as everyone else. ‘I don’t know. An attack, obviously. But who? The Malazans?’
‘Let’s take a look.’ She moved to leave.
He held her back with a touch on her arm. ‘Not so easy —
She slitted her gaze as anger gathered in their hazel light. ‘I can manage perfectly-’
He raised a hand for her indulgence. ‘Cunning before beauty,’ he murmured. He moved off, bumping into a group of chattering councillors. ‘Gods, I need a drink!’ he told them, steadying the one he’d knocked off balance, then staggering off.
The looks of venomous derision they shot at his back and the soft mocking laughter they shared made Redda even angrier — yet now for Coll’s sake.
*
Passing a gap in the buildings of Cuttertown, Yusek paused, her breath catching. There lay Darujhistan, so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Its walls shone blue-tinted. Above them rose the dark roofs of countless buildings, and above these even taller towers jutted into the night sky. Yet, where was this much talked- up gem-like glow of the city? Hardly any blue flames shone, and these mostly confined to the walls and gates. Was this really all there was to the stories?
‘Sall — it is immense, but …’
He waved her on. ‘Come. The Seventh has gone ahead.’
Together they jogged up the road. Yusek slipped next to the Seventh — a position neither Sall nor Lo was prepared to take up. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.
His gaze slid to her. He worked his jaws as if it were necessary to loosen them before he could speak. ‘I don’t know exactly,’ he admitted, with what to Yusek was amazing honesty. She was rather thrown: in Orbern-town she’d become used to the absolute certainty and determined fronts fools threw up to hide behind.
‘Yet you’re going.’
‘Yes. I can’t turn away from this. Cuts too close to home.’
‘Oh?’
The man just gave another sidelong glance. The jaws remained clamped tight.
Shortly afterwards the Seventh stopped to study the vista just as Yusek had herself. Sall and Lo stopped behind, patient as ever.
‘What is it?’ Yusek asked.
‘We should take the Foss Road. Go round.’
She was outraged. ‘Go
It almost appeared as if the man would answer, but he bit down on the words, looking as if he’d swallowed something sharp. Moving on he allowed: ‘In case of a panic.’
*
In the Finnest house in the grounds of Coll’s estate two strikingly differing yet oddly matched individuals played cards. The tall iron-haired one, Raest, kept raising his shattered corpse-like face to peer into the distance, as if distracted. His partner, the Imass, held his cards steady in hands no more than ligaments wrapped around naked bone.
‘It is your turn, isn’t it?’ Raest said after a time.
The Imass’s fleshless skull shifted from its fixed regard of its cards to glance up.
‘Turn?’ Raest said. ‘Turn, yes? I did explain that, didn’t I?’
The skull now shifted even further, neck crackling with dry sinew, to send a long hard glance up the hall.
Raest looked to the dim ceiling. ‘Not now,’ he said.
The Imass stood, nearly upsetting the table. It spoke in a creaking of leather-hard flesh: ‘I smell … ice.’
Raest waved a dismissive hand. ‘Never mind the ill-mannered neighbours …’
The Imass stepped from the table. Raest tutted: ‘Cards …’ It peered down as if utterly unaware it held anything in its hand, set them face down on the table and shambled off up the hall.
Raest sat for a time, motionless, until the noise of a door slamming echoed through the house. His gaze fell on the cards opposite.
He leaned to peer up the hall; waited a little longer. Then he reached across and lifted them.
*
Ambassador Aragan flinched as a single quorl stooped above their position. As it passed it waggled its wings, sending up a loud hissing and snapping of cloaks and pennants in its wake. It raced off ahead and disappeared into the darkness, making for the city. He and Fist K’ess shared taut glances. ‘Any time now.’ He rubbed the back of a hand to the bristles at his cheek, adding a low ‘Gods forgive us’.
Fist K’ess, he saw, clutched at his neck where Aragan knew a stone representing Burn hung. Next to the Fist, his aide, Captain Fal-ej, leaned closer to whisper, ‘It is very lovely.’
‘You’ve never seen it?’ K’ess said, surprised.
‘No.’
He cleared his throat, his voice thickening. ‘Shame, that.’
On Aragan’s other side Attache Torn sat awkward on his mount, his helmed head tilted upwards, following the passing quorls.
‘Twins stand aside,’ Aragan offered.
Torn nodded. ‘Yes. Let us hope they succeed.’
Down the lines Bendan stood with Little, now Sergeant Little, Bone and Tarat. He twisted his aching neck where the majority of his shield’s weight hung. ‘Don’t want to see what I think we’re gonna see,’ he growled.
Little eyed him sidelong, her gaze re-evaluating and somehow softer. ‘You’re turning into a regular pacifist, Bendan.’
‘Just wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, is all.’ He hawked up a mouthful of phlegm to spit.
‘And that is your home, yes?’ Tarat said.
Bendan shook his head in a negative. ‘No. I’m from Maiten.’
*
Masts of coastal barques and merchant cargo haulers whipped past beneath Torvald’s boots so close he thought he might lose a foot. Abruptly Galene yanked the nose of the quorl up and they climbed fiercely. Torvald hunched into his seat as if a great hand were pressing down upon his head. Then they broke over the lip of the Second Tier Wall and he had a glimpse ahead that disoriented him so thoroughly that he almost tumbled from his seat. ‘What in Oponn’s name is
‘The Orb,’ Galene called over her shoulder. ‘The Orb of the Tyrants.’ She raised an arm, gesturing her commands in broad sweeps. ‘Ready the munitions!’
Torvald reached both hands into the first pack and braced himself with his thighs against the juddering of the quorl.
*
Spindle was sitting at a table, working on his third glass of wine while he thought about the mystery of when — and how! — to use the chemicals he and Duiker had collected. The damned circle was buried and there were mages keeping an eye out! How were they possibly gonna do the deed?
The historian himself was at the front, keeping his own eye out. Picker and Blend were at the bar, leaning together from opposite sides, communicating in their one-word sentences like the veterans who’d spent a whole lifetime campaigning together that they were. The bard had gone in for an early night.
He was considering his fourth glass when out front passed a noise that sent a shiver down his back and set his hair stirring: swift thrumming and hissing overhead.
He, Blend and Picker shared stunned glances.
As one they jumped to the front, knocking aside chairs and tearing boards from a window to gape up at the night sky, knocking heads and pushing at one another. Something whipped overhead obscuring the darkness for an instant. The oh-so-familiar humming and hissing of gossamer wings whispered past.
‘A Hood-damned assault!’ Blend snarled.
‘A drop!’ Picker barked.
‘I’m on it,’ Spindle declared, and he punched Duiker’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go!’
