House of Chains

‘So, unlikely anyone’s drunk it yet.’

‘Except maybe a guard or two.’

‘Wait here, lass.’ Kalam set out, silent in the darkness, until he came within sight of the three warriors manning the picket. Earlier, they had been seated. That was no longer the case. But there was movement, low to the ground-he slipped closer.

The three figures were spasming, writhing, their limbs jerking. Foam caked their mouths and blood had started from their bulging eyes. They had fouled themselves. A water skin lay nearby in a patch of wet sand that was quickly disappearing beneath a carpet of capemoths.

The assassin drew his pig-sticker. He would have to be careful, since to come into contact with blood, spit or any other fluid was to invite a similar fate. The warriors were doomed to suffer like this for what to them would be an eternity-they would still be spasming by dawn, and would continue to do so until either their hearts gave out or they died from dehydration. Horribly, with Tralb it was often the latter rather than the former.

He reached the nearest one. Saw recognition in the man’s leaking eyes. Kalam raised his knife. Relief answered the gesture. The assassin drove the narrow-bladed weapon down into the guard’s left eye, angled upward. The body stiffened, then settled with a frothy sigh. He quickly repeated the grisly task with the other two. Then meticulously cleaned his knife in the sand. Capemoths, wings rasping, were descending on the scene. Hunting rhizan quickly joined them. The air filled with the sound of crunching exoskeletons.

Kalam faced the camp. He would have to stove the casks. Enemies of the empire these warriors might be, but they deserved a more merciful death than this.

A faint skittering sound spun him around.

A rope had uncoiled down the cliff-face from the stone balcony. Figures began descending, silent and fast.

They had watchers.

The assassin waited.

Three in all, none armed with more than daggers. As they came forward one halted while still a dozen paces distant.

The lead man drew up before the assassin. ‘And who in Hood’s name are you?’ he hissed, gold flashing from his teeth.

‘A Malazan soldier,’ was Kalam’s whispered reply. ‘Is that your mage hanging back over there? I need his help.’

‘He says he can’t-’

‘I know. My otataral long-knife. But he need not get close-all he has to do is empty this camp’s water casks.’

‘What for? There’s a spring not fifty paces downtrail-they’ll just get more.’

‘You’ve another ally here,’ Kalam said. ‘She fouled the water with Tralb-what do you think afflicted these poor bastards?’

The second man grunted. ‘We was wondering. Not pleasant, what happened to them. Still, it’s no less than they deserved. I say leave the water be.’

‘Why not take the issue to Captain Kindly? He’s the one making the decisions for you, right?’

The man scowled.

His companion spoke. ‘That’s not why we’re down here. We’re here to retrieve you. And if there’s another one, we’ll take her, too.’

‘To do what?’ Kalam demanded. He was about to say Starve? Die of thirst? but then he realized that neither soldier before him looked particularly gaunt, nor parched. ‘You want to stay holed up in there for ever?’

‘It suits us fine,’ the second soldier snapped. ‘We could leave at any time. There’s back routes. But the question is, then what? Where do we go? The whole land is out for Malazan blood.’

‘What is the last news you’ve heard?’ Kalam asked.

‘We ain’t heard any at all. Not since we quitted Ehrlitan. As far as we can see, Seven Cities ain’t part of the Malazan Empire any more, and there won’t be nobody coming to get us. If there was, they’d have come long since.’

The assassin regarded the two soldiers for a moment, then he sighed. ‘All right, we need to talk. But not here. Let me get the lass-we’ll go with you. On condition that your mage do me the favour I asked.’

‘Not an even enough bargain,’ the second soldier said. ‘Grab for us Irriz. We want a little sit-down with that fly-blown corporal.’

‘Corporal? Didn’t you know, he’s a captain now. You want him. Fine. Your mage destroys the water in those casks. I’ll send the lass your way-be kind to her. All of you head back up. I may be a while.’

‘We can live with that deal.’

Kalam nodded and made his way back to where he’d left Sinn.

She had not left her position, although instead of hiding she was dancing beneath one of the towers, spinning in the sand, arms floating, hands fluttering like capemoth wings.

The assassin hissed in warning as he drew near. She halted, saw him, and scurried over. ‘You took too long! I thought you were dead!’

And so you danced? ‘No, but those three guards are. I’ve made contact with the soldiers from the fortress. They’ve invited us inside-conditions seem amenable up there. I’ve agreed.’

‘But what about the attack tomorrow?’

‘It will fail. Listen, Sinn, they can leave at any time, unseen-we can be on our way into Raraku as soon as we can convince Kindly. Now, follow me-and quietly.’

They returned to where the three Malazan imperials waited.

Kalam scowled at the squad mage, but he grinned in return. ‘It’s done. Easy when you’re not around.’

‘Very well. This is Sinn-she’s a mage as well. Go on, all of you.’

‘Lady’s luck to you,’ one of the soldiers said to Kalam.

Without replying, the assassin turned about and slipped back into the camp. He returned to his own tent, entered and crouched down beside his kit bag. Rummaging inside it, he drew out the pouch of diamonds and selected one at random.

A moment’s careful study, holding it close in the gloom. Murky shadows swam within the cut stone. Beware of shadows bearing gifts. He reached outside and dragged in one of the flat stones used to hold down the tent walls, and set the diamond onto its dusty surface.

The bone whistle Cotillion had given him was looped on a thong around his neck. He pulled it clear and set it to his lips. ‘Blow hard and you’ll awaken all of them. Blow soft and directly at one in particular, and you’ll awaken that one alone.’ Kalam hoped the god knew what he was talking about. Better if these weren’t Shadowthrone’s toys… He leaned forward until the whistle was a mere hand’s width from the diamond.

Then softly blew through it.

There was no sound. Frowning, Kalam pulled the whistle from his lips and examined it. He was interrupted by a soft tinkling sound.

The diamond had crumbled to glittering dust.

From which a swirling shadow rose.

As I’d feared. Azalan. From a territory in the Shadow Realm bordering that of the Aptorians. Rarely seen, and never more than one at a time. Silent, seemingly incapable of language-how Shadowthrone commanded them was a mystery.

Swirling, filling the tent, dropping to all six limbs, the spiny ridge of its massive, hunched back scraping against the fabric to either side of the ridge-pole. Blue, all-too-human eyes blinked out at Kalam from beneath a black-skinned, flaring, swept-back brow. Wide mouth, lower lip strangely protruding as if in eternal pout, twin slits for a nose. A mane of thin bluish-black hair hung in strands, tips brushing the tent floor. There was no indication of its gender. A complicated harness crisscrossed its huge torso, studded with a variety of weapons, not one of which seemed of practical use.

The azalan possessed no feet as such-each appendage ended in a wide, flat, short-fingered hand. The homeland of these demons was a forest, and these creatures commonly lived in the tangled canopy high overhead,