A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

What a confusing thing to say! He wasn't even angry that Kruppe had figured things out; nor that the fat little man would attend the Fête. How odd! 'Good that Coil's all right, isn't it? Well,' he mumbled, 'I'd better head back to check on Rallick.'
    Smiling, Kruppe nodded. 'Until the Fête, then, fare you well, Murillio, Kruppe's finest and dearest friend.'
    'Goodnight,' Murillio replied, turning to retrace his steps. He lacked sleep. All these late nights were taking their toll. That was the problem. 'Of course,' he muttered, then began to walk.
     
    His features darkening, Baruk studied the Tiste Andii lounging in the chair across from him. 'I don't think it's a very good idea, Rake.'
    The Lord raised an eyebrow. 'As I understand such things, the event includes the wearing of disguises,' he said, with a slight smile. 'Do you fear I lack taste?'
    'I've no doubt your attire will be suitable,' Baruk snapped. 'Particularly if you choose the costume of a Tiste Andii warlord. It's the Council that worries me. They're not all fools.'
    'I would be surprised if they were,' Rake said. 'Indeed, I would have you point out the cunning ones. I don't imagine you will refute my suspicion that there are those within the Council seeking to pave the way for the Empress – for a price, of course. Power comes to mind. Nobles delving in merchant trades no doubt drool at the prospect of Empire trade. Am I far off the mark, Baruk?'
    'No,' the alchemist admitted sourly. 'But we have that under control.'
    'Ah, yes,' Rake said. 'This brings to mind my other reason for wishing to attend this Lady Simtal's Fête. As you said, the city's power will be there. I assume this includes such mages as are in your T'orrud Cabal?'
    'Some will attend,' Baruk conceded. 'But I must tell you, Anomander Rake, your debacles with the Assassins' Guild has made a good number of them rue our alliance. They'll not appreciate your presence in the least.'
    Rake's smile returned. 'To the extent that they will reveal their community to cunning Council members? I think not.' He rose in a fluid motion. 'No, I would like to attend this Fête. My own people hold little to such social affairs. There are times when I grow weary of their dour preoccupations.'
    Baruk's gaze focused on the Tiste Andii. 'You suspect a convergence, don't you? A fell gathering of powers, like iron filings to a lodestone.'
    'With so much power gathered in one place,' Rake admitted, 'it's likely. I'd rather be on hand in such circumstances.' His eyes held Baruk's, their colour flowing from dun green to amber. 'Also, if this event is as publicly known as you suggest, then the Empire's agents within the city will know of it. Should they wish to cut out Darujhistan's heart, they'll have no better opportunity.'
    Baruk barely repressed a shiver. 'Extra guards have been hired, of course. If an Empire Claw should strike, they will find their hands full with the T'orrud mages besides.' He thought for a time, then nodded wearily. 'Very well, Rake. Simtal will accept you as my guest. You will wear an effective disguise?'
    'Naturally.'
    Baruk climbed to his feet and strode to the window. Beyond the sky had begun to pale. 'And so it begins,' he whispered.
    Rake joined him. 'What begins?'
    'The new year,' the alchemist replied. 'Past is the Five Tusks. The dawn you see marks the birth of the Year of the Moon's Tears.'
    Lord Anomander Rake stiffened.
    Baruk noticed. 'Indeed. An unusual coincidence, though I would put little weight upon it. The titles were devised over a millennium ago, by a visitor to these lands.'
    When Rake spoke his voice was a ravaged whisper. 'Icarium's gifts. I recognize the style. Five Tusks, Moon's Tears – the Wheel is his, correct?'
    Eyes wide, Baruk hissed his surprise between his teeth. A dozen questions struggled to be uttered first, but the Lord continued. 'In the future, I'd suggest you heed Icarium's gifts – all of them. A thousand years is not so long a time, Alchemist. Not so long a time. Icarium last visited me eight hundred years ago, in the company of the Trell Mappo, and Osric – or Osserc, as the local worshippers call him.' Rake smiled bitterly. 'Osric and I argued, as I recall, and it was all Brood could do to keep us apart. It was an old argument ...' His almond eyes shaded into grey. He fell silent, lost in memories.
    There came a knock at the door and both turned to see Roald enter and bow.
    'Master Baruk, Mammot has awakened and appears refreshed. More, your