A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

Tell him Vorcan is a High Mage – and she'll kill them all unless they gather to defend each other.' The assassin reached out a hand to Crokus's shoulder. The boy flinched, his eyes wary. 'And if Baruk has gone home, find Mammot. I saw him here not long ago. He wears the mask of a tusked beast.'
    'Uncle Mammot? But he's—'
    'He's a High Priest of D'riss, Crokus, and a member of the T'orrud Cabal. Now, hurry. There's no time to waste.'
    'You mean you're going to stay here, Rallick? Just sit there on that ... that stump?'
    The assassin's grip tightened. 'Vorcan spoke true, lad. Whatever this thing is, it seems I can hold it in check. Baruk needs to know of this conjuring. I trust his senses more than I do Vorcan's, but for now I will obey her in this.'
    For a moment Crokus resisted, his thoughts on Apsalar. They'd done something to her, he was certain – and if they'd harmed her, he'd make them pay. But ... Uncle Mammot? Vorcan was planning to kill his uncle? The thief's eyes hardened as he looked up at Rallick. 'Consider it done,' he said.
    At that instant, a roar of rage and agony, coming from the terrace, shook the trees. The block of wood behind them responded with a burst of bright yellow fire, its roots writhing and swelling like groping fingers.
    Rallick pushed Crokus hard then whirled and dived on to the block. The yellow fire winked out and cracks opened in the earth, spreading in all directions. 'Go!' yelled Rallick.
    The thief, his heart hammering, turned and sprinted for Lady
    Simtal's estate.
     
    Baruk's hand snapped out and yanked savagely on the bell cord. Above him, he heard the wagoner cry out. The carriage skidded to a halt. 'Something's happened,' he hissed to Rake. 'We left too early, dammit!' He moved on the seat to the window and opened its shutters.
    'A moment, Alchemist,' Rake said levelly, his brows knitted and his head cocked as if listening for something. 'The Tyrant,' he pronounced. 'But he is weakened, and enough mages remain to deal with him.' He opened his mouth to add something, then shut it again. His eyes deepened to azure as he studied the alchemist. 'Baruk,' he said quietly, 'return to your estate. Prepare for the Empire's next move – we'll not have long to wait.'
    Baruk stared at the Tiste Andii. 'Tell me what's happening,' he said angrily. 'Will you challenge the Tyrant or not?'
    Rake tossed his mask on to the floor between them and clasped the collar of his cloak. 'If it proves necessary, I shall.'
    Fists pounded on the carriage and voices shouted good-naturedly. The crowds around them pushed in on all sides, rocking the carriage. The festival approached the Twelfth Bell, the Hour of Ascension as the Lady of Spring took to the sky in the coming of the moon.
    Rake continued, 'In the meantime the city's streets must be cleared,' he said. 'I imagine it's your desire to minimize the loss of life.'
    'And this is all you give me, Rake?' Baruk gestured sharply. 'Clear the streets? How in Hood's name do we manage that? There are three hundred thousand people in Darujhistan, and they're all in the streets!'
    The Tiste Andii opened the door beside him. 'Then leave that to me. I need to find a high vantage-point, Alchemist. Suggestions?'
    Baruk's frustration was so great that he had to fight the desire to defy Anomander Rake. 'K'rul's Belfry,' he said. 'A square tower near Worry Gate.'
    Rake stepped out of the carriage. 'We'll speak again at your estate, Alchemist,' he said, leaning back inside. 'You and your fellow mages must prepare yourselves.' He faced the crowds, pausing for a moment as if smelling the air. 'How far to this belfry?'
    'Three hundred paces – surely you don't mean to go on foot?'
    'I do. I am not yet ready to unveil my Warren.'
    'But how—?' Baruk fell silent, as Anomander Rake provided the answer to his question.
    Standing head and shoulders above the jostling crowds, he unsheathed his sword. 'If you value your souls,' the Son of Darkness bellowed, 'make way!' Raised high, the sword groaned awake, chains of smoke writhing from the blade. A terrible sound as of wheels creaking filled the air and behind it arose a chorus of moaning filled with hopelessness. Before Lord Anomander Rake the crowd in the street shrank back, all thoughts of festivity swept away.
    'Gods forfend!' Baruk whispered.
     
    It had begun innocently enough. Quick Ben and Whiskeyjack stood together near the fountain. Servants scurried as, despite the night's bloodshed and the hostess's absence,