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His shriek escalated. Then Kamist Reloe sprawled, the sorcery still flickering over his twitching, burned body.
A figure slowly emerged from where the Talon had kicked the acorn moments earlier, and crouched down beside Kamist Reloe. ‘It’s disloyalty that bothers us the most,’ he said to the dying High Mage. ‘We always answer it. Always have. Always will.’
Kalam recovered his second long-knife, eyes on the closed flaps on the chamber’s back wall. ‘He’s through there,’ he said, then paused and grinned. ‘Good to see you, Quick.’
Quick Ben glanced over and nodded.
The wizard was, Kalam saw, looking older. Worn down. Scars not written on his skin, but on his heart. He will, I suspect, have nothing good to tell me when all this is done . ‘Did you,’ he asked Quick Ben, ‘have anything to do with the diversion?’
‘No. Nor did Hood, although the hoary bastard’s arrived. This is all Raraku.’
‘So Kamist said, not that I understand either of you.’
‘I’ll explain later, friend,’ Quick Ben said, rising. He faced the back flap. ‘He has that witch Henaras with him, I think. She’s behind some fierce wards that Kamist Reloe raised.’
Kalam approached the doorway. ‘Leave those to me,’ he growled, unsheathing his otataral long-knife.
The room immediately beyond was small, dominated by a map table, on which was sprawled the corpse of Henaras. Blood was still flowing in streams down the table’s sides.
Kalam glanced back at Quick Ben and raised his brows.
The wizard shook his head.
The assassin gingerly approached, and his eyes caught something glimmering silver-white on the woman’s chest.
A pearl.
‘Seems the way is clear,’ Kalam whispered.
Another flap slashed the wall opposite.
Using the points of his knives, Kalam prised it open.
A large high-backed chair filled the next chamber, on which was seated Korbolo Dom.
His blue skin was a ghastly grey, and his hands shook where they rested on the chair’s ornate arms. When he spoke his voice was high and tight, jittery with fear. ‘I sent an emissary to the Adjunct. An invitation. I am prepared to attack Sha’ik and her tribes-with my Dogslayers.’
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His shriek escalated. Then Kamist Reloe sprawled, the sorcery still flickering over his twitching, burned body.
A figure slowly emerged from where the Talon had kicked the acorn moments earlier, and crouched down beside Kamist Reloe. ‘It’s disloyalty that bothers us the most,’ he said to the dying High Mage. ‘We always answer it. Always have. Always will.’
Kalam recovered his second long-knife, eyes on the closed flaps on the chamber’s back wall. ‘He’s through there,’ he said, then paused and grinned. ‘Good to see you, Quick.’
Quick Ben glanced over and nodded.
The wizard was, Kalam saw, looking older. Worn down. Scars not written on his skin, but on his heart. He will, I suspect, have nothing good to tell me when all this is done . ‘Did you,’ he asked Quick Ben, ‘have anything to do with the diversion?’
‘No. Nor did Hood, although the hoary bastard’s arrived. This is all Raraku.’
‘So Kamist said, not that I understand either of you.’
‘I’ll explain later, friend,’ Quick Ben said, rising. He faced the back flap. ‘He has that witch Henaras with him, I think. She’s behind some fierce wards that Kamist Reloe raised.’
Kalam approached the doorway. ‘Leave those to me,’ he growled, unsheathing his otataral long-knife.
The room immediately beyond was small, dominated by a map table, on which was sprawled the corpse of Henaras. Blood was still flowing in streams down the table’s sides.
Kalam glanced back at Quick Ben and raised his brows.
The wizard shook his head.
The assassin gingerly approached, and his eyes caught something glimmering silver-white on the woman’s chest.
A pearl.
‘Seems the way is clear,’ Kalam whispered.
Another flap slashed the wall opposite.
Using the points of his knives, Kalam prised it open.
A large high-backed chair filled the next chamber, on which was seated Korbolo Dom.
His blue skin was a ghastly grey, and his hands shook where they rested on the chair’s ornate arms. When he spoke his voice was high and tight, jittery with fear. ‘I sent an emissary to the Adjunct. An invitation. I am prepared to attack Sha’ik and her tribes-with my Dogslayers.’
Kalam grunted. ‘If you think we’ve come with her answer, you’d be wrong, Korbolo.’
The Napan’s eyes darted to Quick Ben. ‘We assumed you were either dead with the rest of the Bridgeburners, or still on Genabackis.’
The wizard shrugged. ‘Tayschrenn sent me ahead. Even so, he’s brought the fleet across on mage-driven winds. Dujek Onearm and his legions reached Ehrlitan a week past-’
‘What’s left of those legions, you mean-’
‘More than enough to complement the Adjunct’s forces, I should think.’
Kalam stared between the two men. The Bridgeburners… dead? Whiskeyjack? Onearm’s Host-gods below, what happened over there ?
‘We can salvage this,’ Korbolo Dom said, leaning forward. ‘All of Seven Cities, returned to the Empire. Sha’ik brought in chains before the Empress-’
‘And for you and your soldiers a pardon?’ Quick Ben asked. ‘Korbolo Dom, you have truly lost your mind-’
‘Then die!’ the Napan shrieked, leaping forward, hands reaching for the wizard’s throat.
Kalam stepped in and, knife reversed, struck Korbolo Dom hard against the side of the head.
The Napan staggered.
A second fist shattered his nose and sent him sprawling.
Quick Ben stared down at the man. ‘Truss him up, Kalam. That diversion’s over, from the silence outside-I’ll find us a way out.’
Kalam began tying the unconscious man’s hands. ‘Where are we taking him?’
‘I’ve a thought to that.’
The assassin glanced up at his friend. ‘Quick? The Bridgeburners? Whiskeyjack?’
The hard, dark eyes softened. ‘Dead. Barring Picker and a handful of others. There’s a tale there, and I promise I will tell it in full… later.’
Kalam stared down at Korbolo Dom. ‘I feel like cutting throats,’ he rasped.
‘Not him. Not now.’
Hold back on the feelings, Kalam Mekhar. Hold back on everything. Quick’s right. In time. In time…
Oh, Whiskeyjack…
There was time for… everything. This night and for the day to come, Bidithal needed Sha’ik. And the Whirlwind Goddess. And perhaps, if all went well, there would be the opportunity for bargaining. Once the goddess’s rage has cooled, annealed into beauty by victory-we can still achieve this .
