A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

again.
    'I didn't betray you,' she said. 'What are you talking about?'
    'That murdered house guard. I never did it, but—'
    'Of course you didn't. Father hired a Seer. A woman killed that guard, a servant of the Rope's. The Seer was terrified and didn't even stay to be paid! Now get off me, thief.'
    He let her go and sat back on the ground. He stared into the trees. 'You didn't betray me? What about Meese? The guards at Uncle Mammot's? The big hunt?'
    Challice climbed to her feet and brushed dead leaves from her hide cloak. 'What are you babbling about? I have to get back. Gorlas will be looking for me. He's the first son of House Tholius, in training to be a master duellist. If he sees you with me, there'll be real trouble.'
    He looked up at her blankly. 'Wait!' He sprang to his feet. 'Listen, Challice! Forget this Gorlas idiot. Within the year my uncle will introduce us formally. Mammot is a famous writer.'
    Challice rolled her eyes. 'Get your feet back on the ground. A writer? Some old man with ink-stained hands who walks into walls – has his house power? Influence? House Tholius has power, influence, everything required. Besides, Gorlas loves me.'
    'But I—' He stopped, looking away. Did he? No. Did that matter, though? What did he want from her, anyway?
    'What do you want from me, anyway?' Challice demanded.
    He studied his feet. Then he met her eyes. 'Company?' he asked diffidently. 'Friendship? What am I saying? I'm a thief! I rob women like you!'
    'That's right,' she snapped. 'So why pretend otherwise?' Her expression softened. 'Crokus, I won't betray you. It will be our secret.'
    For the briefest of moments he felt like a child being stroked and consoled by a kindly matron, and he found himself enjoying it.
    'Before you,' she added, smiling, 'I'd never met a real thief from the streets.'
    His enjoyment ended in a surge of anger. 'Hood's Breath, no,' he sneered. 'Real? You don't know what's real, Challice. You've never had blood on your hands. You've never seen a man die. But that's the way it should be, isn't it? Leave the dirt to us, we're used to it.'
    'I saw a man die tonight,' Challice said quietly. 'I never want to again. If that's what "real" means, then I don't want it. It's all yours, Crokus. Goodbye.' She turned and walked away.
    Crokus stared at her back, her braided hair, as her words rang in his head.
    Suddenly exhausted, he turned to the garden. He hoped Apsalar had remained where he'd left her. The last thing he wanted now was to have to track her down. He slipped into the shadows.
     
    Mallet recoiled with his first step into the glade. Paran gripped his arm. Their eyes met.
    The healer shook his head. 'I'll not approach any closer, sir. Whatever lives there is anathema to my Denul Warren. And it ... it senses me ... with hunger.' He wiped sweat from his brow, drew a shaky breath. 'Best bring the girl to me here.'
    Paran released his arm and darted into the clearing. The block of wood was now the size of a table, veined in thick, twisting roots and pocked on its sides with rough squared holes. The earth around it looked soaked in blood. 'Corporal,' he whispered, chilled. 'Send the girl over to Mallet.'
    Kalam laid a hand on her shoulder. 'It's all right, lass,' he said, in the tone of a kindly uncle, 'you go on, now. We'll join you shortly.'
    'Yes,' she smiled, and moved to where the healer stood at the glade's edge.
    Kalam rubbed his bristly jaw, eyes following her. 'Never seen Sorry smile before,' he said, as Paran arrived. 'And that's a shame.'
    They stood and watched as Mallet spoke quietly to the girl, then stepped forward and laid a hand on her forehead.
    Paran cocked his head. 'The storm's stopped,' he said.
    'Yeah. Hope it means what we'd like it to mean.'
    'Someone's stopped it. I share your hope, Corporal.' For the captain however, it was a small hope. Something was building. He sighed. 'It's not even the twelfth bell yet. Hard to believe.'
    'Long night ahead of us,' the assassin said, making it clear that he, too, found himself sorely lacking in optimism. He grunted. Mallet had voiced an amazed cry that reached them. The healer drew back his hand and waved at Paran and Kalam. 'You go,' the assassin said.
    The captain frowned at the black man, confused. Then he went over to where the healer and Sorry waited. The girl's eyes were closed, and she seemed in a trance.
    Mallet was direct. 'The possession's gone,' he said.
    'Guessed as much,' Paran replied, eyeing the girl.
    'There's