A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

round him, dressed as a thief, complete with face mask.
    'Excuse me,' the man muttered, as he walked into the crowd.
    The sergeant stared after him, then glanced back at the garden. How the hell had that lad got past them in the first place? He could've sworn they'd sealed off the woods. He loosened his sword surreptitiously in its sheath.
     
    Crokus had no idea what kind of costume Challice D'Arle would be wearing, and he was resigned to a long hunt. He'd left Apsalar at the garden's back wall, and now felt guilty. Still, she'd seemed to take it well – though in a way that made him feel even worse. Why did she have to be so nice about things?
    He spared barely a thought about the crowd's strange formation, looking as he was for a head somewhere at chest level to everyone else. As it turned out, that proved unnecessary, for Challice D'Arle's costume was no disguise.
    Crokus found himself between two burly house guards. Across from him, twenty feet away with no one to block his view, stood Challice and an older woman Crokus took to be her mother. Their attention was held unerringly on a tall, severe-looking man standing at one end of the cleared space and speaking with another man, who was strapping on a duelling glove. It slowly dawned on the thief that a duel was but moments away.
    Squeezing between the two guards, Crokus craned his neck to find the other duellist. At first he thought him the giant with the dragon mask and two-handed sword. Then his gaze found the man. Rallick Nom. His eyes snapped back to the first duellist. Familiar. He nudged the guard on his left. 'Is that Councilman Turban Orr?'
    'It is, sir,' the guard replied, an odd tightness in his tone.
    Crokus glanced up to see the man's face wet with sweat, trickling down from under his peaked helmet. Strange. 'So, where's Lady Simtal?' he asked casually.
    'Nowhere in sight,' the guard answered, with obvious relief. 'Otherwise she'd stop this.'
    Crokus nodded at that. 'Well,' he said, 'Rallick will win.'
    The guard's gaze was on him, the eyes hard and piercing. 'You know the man?'
    'Well—'
    Someone tapped his back and he turned to find a cherub's face smiling mindlessly at him. 'Why, Crokus lad! What an inventive costume you're wearing!'
    'Kruppe?'
    'Well guessed!' Kruppe replied. The painted wooden face swung to the guard. 'Oh, kind sir, I have a written message for you.' Kruppe placed a scroll into the man's hand. 'Compliments of a long-time secret admirer.'
    Crokus grinned. These guards had all the luck when it came to noble ladies.
    Circle Breaker accepted the scroll and slid from it the silk tie.
    More than once he had sensed Turban Orr's eyes on him. First in the central chamber, when it looked as if the councilman might accost him directly, and now, while others argued over who should referee the duel.
    Circle Breaker prayed Rallick would kill Turban Orr. He felt his own fear racing through his body, and it was with trembling hands that he read the Eel's message.
    The time has come for Circle Breaker to retire from active
    duty. The circle is mended, loyal friend. Though you have never seen the Eel,
    you have been his most trusted hand, and you have earned your rest. Think
    not that the Eel simply discards you now. Such is not the Eel's way. The sigil
    at the bottom of this parchment will provide you passage to the city of Dhavran,
    where loyal servants of the Eel have prepared your arrival by purchasing an
    estate and a legitimate title on your behalf. You enter a different world
    soon, with its own games.
    Trust your new servants, friend, in this and all other concerns.
    Proceed, this very night, to the Dhavran trader's pier in Lakefront. You seek the river longboat named Enskalader. Show the sigil to any crewman aboard – all are servants of the Eel. The time has come, Circle Breaker. The circle is mended. Fare you well.
     
    Baruk threw up his hands in exasperation. 'Enough of this!' he bellowed. 'I will referee this duel, and accept all responsibility. Judgement of victory is mine. Accepted by both parties?'
    Turban Orr nodded. Even better than Estraysian being his second. Baruk's proclaiming him victor in the duel would be a coup in its own right. 'I accept.'
    'As do I,' Rallick said, his short cloak drawn about his body.
    A sudden wind thrashed the treetops in the garden, sweeping down from the east. Thunder boomed from this side of the hills. A number of onlookers seemed to flinch. Turban On-grinned, stepping into the cleared