A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

prolonged one, yes,' said T'amber. 'That, and a lust for
power.'
    'Laseen is desperate.'
    'Yes, Kalam, she is.'
    'Why not stay right here, the both of you? Wait for me to
kill them. Wait, and I will convince the Empress that this
pogrom needs to be stopped. Right now. No more blood
spilled. There's six hundred assassins in the city below – we
can crush this madness, scour away this fever—'
    'No more blood, Kalam Mekhar?'
    T'amber's question stung him, then he shook his head.
'Ringleaders, nothing more will be required.'
    'It is clear that something has not occurred to you,'
T'amber said.
    'What hasn't?'
    'The Claw. They are infiltrated. Extensively. The Jhistal
priest has not been idle.'
    'How do you know this?'
    Silence once more.
    Kalam rubbed at his face with both hands. 'Gods
below ...'
    'May I ask you a question?'
    He snorted. 'Go ahead, T'amber.'
    'You once railed at the purging of the Old Guard. In fact,
you came to this very city not so long ago, intending to
assassinate the Empress.'
    How does she know this? How could she know any of this? Who is she? 'Go on.'
    'You were driven by outrage, by indignation. Your own
memories had been proclaimed nothing but lies, and you
wanted to defy those revisionists who so sullied all that
you valued. You wanted to look into the eyes of the one
who decided the Bridgeburners had to die – you needed to
see the truth there, and, if you found it, you would act. But
she talked you out of it—'
    'She wasn't even here.'
    'Ah, you knew that, then. Well, no matter. Would that
alone have stopped you from crossing to Unta? From
chasing her down?'
    He shook his head.
    'In any case, where now is your indignation, Kalam
Mekhar? Coltaine of the Crow Clan. The Imperial
Historian Duiker. The Seventh Army. And now, the
Wickans of the Fourteenth. Fist Temul. Nil, Nether. Gall of
the Khundryl Burned Tears, who threw back Korbolo Dom
at Sanimon – cheating Korbolo's victory long before Aren.
The betrayers are in the throne room—'
    'I can make that stay shortlived.'
    'You can. And if you so choose, the Adjunct and I will
die possessing at least that measure of satisfaction. But in
dying, so too will many, many others. More than any of us
can comprehend.'
    'You ask where is my indignation, but you have the
answer before you. It lives. Within me. And it is ready to
kill. Right now.'
    'Killing Mallick Rel and Korbolo Dom this night,'
T'amber said, 'will not save the Wickans, nor the
Khundryl. Will not prevent war with the Perish. Or the
destruction of the Wickan Plains. The Empress is indeed
desperate, so desperate that she will sacrifice her Adjunct
in exchange for the slaying of the two betrayers in her
midst. But tell me, do you not think Mallick Rel understood
the essence of Laseen's offer to you?'
    'Is that your question?'
    'Yes.'
    'Korbolo Dom is a fool. Likely he comprehends
nothing. The Jhistal priest is, unfortunately, not a fool. So,
he is prepared.' Kalam fell silent, although his thoughts
continued, following countless tracks. Potentials,
possibilities. 'He may not know I possess an otataral
weapon—'
    'The power he can draw upon is Elder,' T'amber said.
    'So, after all we've said here, I may fail.'
    'You may.'
    'And if I do, then we all lose.'
    'Yes.'
    Kalam opened his eyes, and found that the Adjunct had
turned away. T'amber alone faced him, her gold-hued eyes
unwavering in their uncanny regard.
    Six hundred. 'Tell me this, T'amber: between you and the
Adjunct, whose life matters more?'
    The reply was immediate. 'The Adjunct's.'
    It seemed that Tavore flinched then, but would not face
them.
    'And,' Kalam asked, 'between you and me?'
    'Yours.'
    Ah. 'Adjunct. Choose, if you will, between yourself and
the Fourteenth.'
    'What is the purpose of all this?' Tavore demanded, her
voice ragged.
    'Choose.'
    'Fist Keneb has his orders,' she said.
    Kalam slowly closed his eyes once more. Somewhere, at
the back of his mind, a faint, ever faint sound. Music. Filled
with sorrow. 'Warrens in the city,' he said in a soft voice.
'Many, seething with power – Quick Ben will be hardpressed
even if I can get through to him, and there's no
chance of using gates. Adjunct, you will need your sword.
Otataral out front ... and to the rear.'
    Strange music, the tune unfamiliar and yet ... he knew
it.
    Kalam opened his eyes, even as the Adjunct slowly
turned.
    The pain in her gaze was like a blow against his heart.
    'Thank you,' she said.
    The assassin drew a deep breath, then rolled his
shoulders.