Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)

Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7) Page 128

And it is our task, the Master of the Patriotists had continued, to ensure that. So that we are never expendable.

Somewhat more confusing, that part, but Sirryn felt no real compulsion to pursue the notion. Karos was very clever, after all. Clever and on our side. The right side.

His thoughts shifting to the bed that awaited him, and the whore he’d have delivered to him there, the lieutenant marched down the empty palace corridor, his men falling in behind him.

Bruthen Trana stepped into the chamber. His eyes settled on the corpses of the two handmaidens. ‘How long ago?’ he asked the Arapay warlock who was crouched over the bodies. Two other Edur entered the First Concubine’s bedroom, emerged again a moment later.

The warlock muttered something inaudible under his breath, then said in a louder voice, ‘A bell, perhaps. Shortswords. The kind used by the Palace Guard.’

‘Gather ten more warriors,’ Bruthen Trana said. ‘We are marching to the headquarters of the Patriotists.’

The warlock slowly straightened. ‘Shall I inform Hannan Mosag?’

‘Not yet. We cannot delay here. Sixteen Edur warriors and a warlock should suffice.’

‘You mean to demand the release of the woman?’

‘There are two, yes?’

A nod.

‘They will begin interrogations immediately,’ Bruthen Trana said. ‘And that is not a pleasant procedure.’

‘And if they have wrung confessions from them?’

‘I understand your concern, K’ar Penath. Do you fear violence this night?’

The other warriors in the chamber had paused, eyes fixed on the Arapay warlock.

‘Fear? Not in the least. With confessions in hand, however, Karos Invictad and, by extension, Triban Gnol, will be able to assert righteous domain-’

‘We are wasting time,’ Bruthen Trana cut in. ‘My patience with Karos Invictad is at an end.’ Arui where is the guard I set in the hallway outside? As ifl cannot guess.

A new voice spoke from the outer doorway: ‘Personal enmity, Bruthen Trana, is a very dangerous guide to your actions.’

The Tiste Edur turned.

The Chancellor, with two bodyguards hovering in the corridor behind him, stood with hands folded. After a moment he took a step into the room and looked about. An expression of regret when he saw the two dead women. ‘Clearly, there was some resistance. They were most loyal servants to the First Concubine, probably innocent of all wrongdoing-this is tragic indeed. Blood on Nisall’s hands now.’

Bruthen Trana studied the tall, thin man for a long moment, then he walked past him and out into the hall.

Neither bodyguard was suspicious, and neither had time to draw their weapons before the Edur’s knives-one in each hand-slid up under their jaws, points driven deep into their brains. Leaving the weapons embedded, Bruthen Trana spun round, both hands snapping out to grasp the Chancellor’s heavy brocaded collar. The Letherii gasped as he was yanked from his feet, flung round to face Bruthen, then slammed hard against the corridor’s opposite wall.

‘My patience with you,’ the Edur said in a low voice, ‘is at an end as well. Tragic demise for your bodyguards. Blood on your hands, alas. And I am not of a mind, presently, to forgive you their deaths.’

Triban Gnol’s feet dangled, the stiff-tipped slippers kicking lightly against Bruthen Trana’s shins. The Letherii’s face was darkening, eyes bulging as they stared into the Edur’s hard, cold gaze.

I should kill him now. I should stand here and watch him suffocate in the drawn folds of his own robe. Better yet, retrieve a knife and slice open his guts-watch them tumble onto the floor.

Behind him, K’ar Penath said, ‘Commander, as you said, we’ve no time for this.’

Baring his teeth, Bruthen Trana flung the pathetic man aside. An awkward fall: Triban Gnol threw a hand down to break his descent, and the snap of finger bones-like iron nails driven into wood-was followed immediately by a gasp and squeal of pain.

Gesturing for his warriors to follow, Bruthen Trana stepped over the Chancellor and marched quickly down the corridor.

As the footfalls echoed away, Triban Gnol, clutching one hand against his torso, slowly climbed to his feet. He glared down the now empty corridor. Licked dry lips, then hissed, ‘You will die for that, Bruthen Trana. You and every other witness who stood back and did nothing. You will all die.’

Could he warn Karos Invictad in time? Not likely. Well, the Master of the Patriotists was a capable man. With more than just two incompetent, pathetic bodyguards. Perfunctory notes to their widows: Your husbands failed in their responsibilities. No death-pensions will be forthcoming.