A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

one hand around its grip. He seemed oblivious to every one else in the bar.
    Kalam took a half-dozen steps, coming to the near end of the counter. His dark eyes remained on the man with the sword, and a frown deepened the lines on his broad, flat forehead. The assassin stopped. Was it a trick of this damn light? he wondered. 'No,' he said, startling the innkeeper behind the counter, 'it isn't.' He pushed himself back from the counter, ran his eyes over the others in the chamber – all locals. He'd have to take the risk.
    A band of tension tightened around Kalam's neck and shoulders as he strode directly for the man, who looked to be but moments away from snapping his sword's blade. The assassin plucked an empty chair from a table in his path and slammed it down one-handed opposite the man. Startled eyes fixed on Kalam.
    'Your god-given luck's holding, Captain,' the assassin rumbled, in low, close tones. 'Sit down.'
    His expression confused and frightened, Paran released his grip on the weapon and sank back into his seat.
    Kalam followed suit and leaned forward over the table. 'What's all this drama anyway?' he asked, in a whisper.
    The captain frowned. 'Who are you?'
    Behind them conversations resumed, loud with rattled nerves.
    'Ain't you guessed?' Kalam wagged his head. 'Corporal Kalam, Ninth Squad, Bridgeburners. The last time I saw you, you was recovering from two fatal knife wounds—'
    Paran's hands shot out and gripped Kalam's shirt. The assassin was too surprised to react, and the captain's words confused him all the more. 'Is your squad's healer still alive, Corporal?'
    'What? Alive? Yeah, sure, why not? What's—?'
    'Shut up,' Paran snapped. 'Just listen, soldier. Bring him here. Now! No questions. I'm giving you a direct order, Corporal.' He released his grip on the assassin's shirt. 'Now, move!'
    Kalam almost saluted, but caught himself in time. 'As you command, sir,' he whispered.
     
    Paran glared at the corporal's back until the man disappeared through the front door. Then he surged to his feet. 'Innkeeper!' he called, stepping around the table. 'The black man will be showing up in a few minutes with company. Send them up to Coil's room on the double. Understood?'
    Scurve nodded.
    Paran strode to the stairs. As he reached them he glanced back at the sword. 'And nobody touch that sword,' he ordered, swinging a glare across everyone in the room. Nobody seemed inclined to challenge him. With a sharp, satisfied nod, the captain ascended the stairs.
    On the first floor, he strode down the hallway to the last room on the right. He entered without knocking to find Sulty and a local surgeon sitting at the room's lone table. Coil's blanket-covered form lay unmoving on the bed.
    The surgeon rose. 'It's no good,' he said, in a thin, reedy voice. 'The infection's too far along.'
    Paran asked, 'Is he still breathing?'
    'Aye,' the surgeon replied. 'But it won't be for much longer. If the wound had been further down on his leg, I might have been able to cut it off. Even then, I'm afraid the poison's spread through all of him. I'm sorry, sir.'
    'Leave,' Paran snapped.
    The surgeon bowed and prepared to depart.
    'What do I owe you for the services?' the captain asked, remembering.
    The surgeon frowned over at Sulty. 'Why, nothing, sir. I failed.' He left the room, shutting the door behind him.
    Sulty joined the captain at the bedside. She wiped her face as she looked down on Coll, but said nothing. A few minutes later she, too, left the room, unable to remain any longer.
    Paran found a stool and pulled it over to the bed. He sat and leaned his forearms on his knees. He was not sure how long he sat there, staring down at the straw-littered floor, but the door slamming open behind him brought him to his feet.
    A bearded man stood in the doorway, his slate-grey eyes hard and cold.
    'Are you Mallet?' Paran demanded.
    The man shook his head and strode inside. Behind him appeared Kalam and another man. The latter's gaze found Coll, and he walked quickly to the bed.
    'I'm Sergeant Whiskeyjack,' the bearded man said quietly. 'Pardon my directness, sir, but what the hell are you doing here?'
    Ignoring the question, Paran joined the healer. Mallet laid a hand over the crusted bandages. He glared up at the captain. 'Can't you smell the rot? He's gone.' Mallet frowned and leaned forward. 'No, wait ... Damn, I don't believe it.' The healer took a spoon-shaped blade from his pouch and removed the bandages. Then he began to dig into