A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

Master Baruk. It marks both sides
    of a single coin.' The handkerchief reappeared and Kruppe stepped back, dabbing
    his brow. 'My, but it is hot, says Kruppe!'
    'Help yourself to some wine,' Baruk murmured. As the man left his side the alchemist opened his Warren. He gestured and the wax disc rose into the air, slowly moving to hover before him at eye-level. He studied the imprint facing him. 'The Lady,' he muttered, nodding. The disc turned, revealing to him the Lord. The disc turned again, and Baruk's eyes widened as it began spinning. A whirring sound filled the back of his head. He felt his Warren resisting a pressure that grew with the sound, then his source collapsed.
    Faintly, as if from a great distance, he heard Kruppe speak. 'Even in this semblance, Master Baruk, blows the Twins' breath. No mage's Warren can withstand that wind.'
    The disc still spun in the air in front of Baruk, a silver blur. A fine mist expanded around it. Hot droplets spattered his face and he stepped back. Blue fire flickered from the melting wax, the disc dwindling rapidly. A moment later it vanished, and the spinning sound and its accompanying pressure stopped abruptly.
    The sudden silence filled Baruk's head with pain. He laid a trembling hand on the window-sill for support, then closed his eyes. 'Who carries the Coin, Kruppe?' His voice rasped from his constricted throat. 'Who?'
    Kruppe once again stood at his side. 'A lad,' he answered casually. 'Known to Kruppe, assuredly so, as well as to your other agents, Murillio, Rallick and Coll.'
    Baruk's eyes reopened. 'That can't be a coincidence,' he hissed, a desperate hope rising to struggle against the terror he felt. Oponn had entered the gambit, and in such reaches of power the life of a city and those within it meant nothing. He glared at Kruppe. 'Gather the group, then. All you've named. They've served my interests for a long time, and they must do so now, above all other concerns. Do you understand me?'
    'Kruppe will convey your insistence. Rallick perchance is bound to Guild duties, while Coll, given purpose in life once again, might well steady his gaze and tread and take this mission to heart. Master Baruk? What is the mission, by the way?'
    'Protect the Coinbearer. Watch him, mark whose face rests on him benign or foul. I must know if the Lady has him, or the Lord. And, Kruppe, for this, find Rallick. If the Lord claims the Coinbearer, the assassin's talents will be required.'
    Kruppe blinked. 'Understood. Alas, may mercy smile upon young Crokus.'
    'Crokus?' Baruk frowned. 'That's a name I know.'
    Kruppe's face remained blank.
    'Never mind. Very well, Kruppe.' He turned back to the window once again. 'Keep me informed.'
    'As always, Baruk, Kruppe's friend.' The man bowed. 'And thank you for the wine, it was most delicious.'
    Baruk heard the door open then close. He gazed down the street. He'd managed to clamp a hold on his fear. Oponn had a way of making ruins of the most finely wrought plans. Baruk despised that prospect of chance operating in his affairs. He could no longer rely on his ability to predict, to prepare contingencies, to work out every possibility and seek out the one best suited to his desires. As the Coin spun, thus the city.
    Added to this the mysterious ways of the Empress. Baruk rubbed his brow. He'd have to instruct Roald to bring him some healing tea. His headache was reaching debilitating proportions. As he brought his hand down past his face his eyes caught a flash of red. He raised both palms into view. Red ink stained them. He leaned forward on the window-sill. Through a sparkling cloud of dust, Darujhistan's rooftops sprawled, and the harbour beyond. 'And you, Empress,' he whispered. 'I know you're here, somewhere. Your pawns move unseen as yet, but I will find them. Be sure of that, with or without Oponn's damned luck.'

BOOK THREE

THE MISSION
    Marionettes dance afield
beneath masterly hands –
I stumble among them
crossed by the strings
in tangled two-step
and curse all these fools
in their mad pirouette –
I shall not live as they do
oh, no, leave me in my
circled dance –
these unbidden
twitchings you see
I swear on Hood's Grave
is artistry in motion
    Sayings of the Fool
Theny Bule (b?)

CHAPTER EIGHT
    He stepped down then
among women and men,
the sigil stripped
in her foul cleansing
there on the blood-soaked sand
spilled the lives
of Emperor and First Sword –
so tragic this treachery ...
He was of the Old Guard,
commanding the honed