A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

powerful
demanded both overt and covert diligence, after all.
    The emotions commanding him were similarly simple
and straightforward. He feared what he could not
understand, and he despised what he feared. But acknowledging
fear did not make him a coward – for he had
proclaimed for himself an eternal war against all that
threatened him, be it a devious wife who had raised walls
round her soul, or conspirators against the empire of Lether.
His enemies, he well understood, were the true cowards.
They thought within clouds that obscured all the harsh
truths of the world. Their struggles to 'understand' led,
inevitably, to seditious positions against authority. Even as
they forgave the empire's enemies, they condemned the
weaknesses of their own homeland – not recognizing that
they themselves personified such weaknesses.
    An empire such as Lether was ever under siege. This had
been the first statement uttered by Karos Invictad during
the recruitment and training process, and Sirryn Kanar had
understood the truth of that with barely a moment's
thought. A siege, inside and out, yes – the very privileges
the empire granted were exploited by those who would see
the empire destroyed. And there could be no room for
'understanding' such people – they were evil, and evil must
be expurgated.
    The vision of Karos Invictad had struck him with the
force of revelation, yielding such perfect clarity and,
indeed, peace in what had been, at times, a soul in turmoil
– battered and assailed on occasion by a world blurry with
confusion and uncertainty – that all that raged within him
settled out as certainty arrived, blazing and blinding in its
wondrous gift of release.
    He now lived an untroubled life, and so set an example
to his fellow agents in the palace. In their eyes he had seen,
again and again, the glimmer of awe and fear, or, equally
satisfying, a perfect reflection of his own – flat, remorseless,
as impervious to every deceit the enemy might attempt as
he himself was.
    Untroubled, then, he gestured to two burly Patriotists
who stepped forward and kicked in the door. It virtually
flew off its flimsy hinges, crashing down into the opulent
chamber beyond. A scream, then another, from the gloom
to the left – where the handmaidens slept – but already the
lead agents were crossing the room to the door opposite.
More violence, wood splintering beneath heavy boots.
    Sprawled in the hallway behind Sirryn was the corpse
of a Tiste Edur – someone had set a guard. Curious, but of
little consequence. Poisoned quarrels had proved both
quick and virtually silent. Already two of his men were
preparing to carry the corpse away – just one more Edur
who mysteriously vanished.
    Sirryn Kanar positioned himself in the centre of the first
chamber, as another agent arrived with a hooded lantern to
stand off to one side, shedding just enough light. Too much
would not do – the shadows needed to be alive, writhing,
confusion on all sides. Sirryn delighted in precision.
    His men emerged from the inner room, a figure between
them – half naked, hair tousled, a look of disbelief— No.
Sirryn Kanar's eyes narrowed. Not disbelief. Resignation. Good, the traitor knew her fate, knew she could never escape it. Saying nothing, he gestured for his agents to take her out.
    Three handmaidens, weeping now, huddled against the
wall, near their sleeping pallets. 'Attend to them,' Sirryn
commanded, and four from his squad moved towards them.
'The senior one will be questioned, the other two disposed
of immediately.'
    He looked around, pleased at the ease of this operation,
barely noticing the death-cries of two women.
    In a short while, he would deliver his two prisoners to
the squad waiting at a side postern of the palace, who would
move quickly through the night – alone on the streets this
long after curfew – to the headquarters of the Patriotists.
Deliver the two women into interrogation cells. And the
work would begin, the only release from the ordeal full
confession of their crimes against the empire.
    A simple, straightforward procedure. Proven effective.
Traitors were invariably weak of will.
    And Sirryn Kanar did not think the First Concubine
would be any different. If anything, even more flimsy of
spirit than most.
    Women delighted in their airs of mystery, but those airs
vanished before the storm of a man's will. True, whores hid
things better than most – behind an endless succession of
lies that never fooled him. He knew they