A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

He'd let no one stop him. His eyes fixing on the unsuspecting guard, Turban Orr stepped forward.
    He collided with a hard shoulder and staggered back. A large man in a tiger mask turned to him. Orr waited for an apology, but received only silence. He moved to step past the man.
    The stranger's arm intercepted him. Turban Orr cursed as a gloved hand poured wine down his chest. 'Idiot!' he snapped. 'I am Councilman Turban Orr! Out of my way.'
    'I know who you are,' the man said quietly.
    Orr jabbed a finger into the man's chest. 'Keep that mask on, so I'll know who to look for later.'
    'I didn't even notice your mask,' the man said, his voice cold and flat. 'Fooled by the nose, I suppose.'
    The councilman's eyes narrowed. 'Eager to die, are you?' he grated. 'I will oblige you.' His hand twitched on his sword's pommel. 'In a few minutes. Right now I have—'
    'I wait on no man,' Rallick Nom said. 'And certainly not for some thin-lipped prancer pretending to manhood. If you've the belly for a duel, make it now or stop wasting time with all this talk.'
    Shaking, Turban Orr took a step back and faced the man directly. 'What's your name?' he demanded hoarsely.
    'You are not fit to hear it, Councilman.'
    Turban Orr raised his hands and whirled to the crowd. 'Hear me, guests! Unexpected entertainment for you all!' Conversation died and everyone faced the councilman. He continued, 'A fool has challenged my honour, friends. And since when has Turban Orr permitted such an insult?'
    A duel!' someone cried excitedly. Voices rose.
    Orr pointed at Rallick Nom. 'This man, so bold as to wear Trake's face, will be dead shortly. Look upon him now, friends, as he looks upon you – and know that he is all but dead already.'
    'Stop babbling,' Rallick drawled.
    The councilman pulled the mask from his face, revealing a tight grin. 'If I could kill you a thousand times,' he said, 'it would not be enough to satisfy me. I must settle with you but once.'
    Rallick removed his mask and tossed it on to the carpeted stairs. He looked upon Turban Orr with flat, dark eyes. 'Done breaking wind, Councilman?'
    'Unmasked and still a stranger,' Orr said, scowling. 'So be it. Find yourself a second.' A thought struck him, and he turned back to the crowd, searching it. Towards the back he saw the mask he sought, that of a wolf. His choosing of a second could well have political benefits, assuming the man accepted. And, in this crowd, he'd be a fool to deny Orr. 'For myself,' he said loudly, 'I would be honoured if Councilman Estraysian D'Arle act as my second.'
    The wolf started. Beside him stood two women, one no more than a girl. D'Arle's wife was dressed as a veiled woman of Callows, while the girl had selected – outrageously – the minimal garb of a Barghast warmaiden. Both wife and daughter spoke to Estraysian. He stepped forward. 'The honour is mine,' he rumbled, completing the ritual acceptance.
    Turban Orr felt a surge of triumph. To have his most powerful enemy in the Council at his side for this duel would send a message mixed enough to panic half the Council members present. Pleased at his coup, he faced his nameless opponent again. 'And your second?'
    Silence fell over the room.
     
    'I haven't much time,' Lady Simtal said in a low voice. 'After all, as the hostess for this fête ...'
    'It's your duty,' murmured the man before her, 'to satisfy your guests.' He reached forth and brushed the hair from her forehead. 'Which is something I'm certain you can do, and do well.'
    She smiled and walked to the door. She locked its latch, then spun to face the man again. 'Perhaps half an hour,' she said.
    The man strode to the bed and tossed down his leather gloves. 'I'm confident,' he said, 'that those thirty minutes will be satisfying indeed, each more than the last.'
    Lady Simtal joined him beside the bed. 'I suppose,' she whispered, as she slipped her arms around the man's neck and drew his face down to her lips, 'that you've no choice now but to tell the Widow Lim the sad news.' She touched her lips to his, then ran her tongue along the line of his jaw.
    'Mmm? What sad news is that?'
    'Oh, that you've found yourself a more worthy lover, of course.' Her tongue reached into his ear. Abruptly she pulled back and met his eyes searchingly. 'Do you hear that?' she asked.
    He brought his arms around her and drew her closer. 'Hear what?'
    'That's just it,' she said. 'It's suddenly quiet downstairs. I'd better—'
    'They're in the garden, no doubt,' the man