A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

were contemptuous
of him and men like him, believing him weak by simple
virtue of his using them – as if that use came from actual,
genuine need. But he had always known how to wipe the
smirks from their painted faces.
    He envied the interrogators. That bitch Nisall – she was
no different from his wife, he suspected.
    Our enemies are legion, Karos Invictad had said, so you must understand, all of you – this war, it will last for ever. For ever.
    Sirryn Kanar was content with that notion. Kept things
simple.
    And it is our task , the Master of the Patriotists had
continued, to ensure that. So that we are never expendable .
    Somewhat more confusing, that part, but Sirryn felt no
real compulsion to pursue the notion. Karos was very
clever, after all. Clever and on our side. The right side.
    His thoughts shifting to the bed that awaited him, and
the whore he'd have delivered to him there, the lieutenant
marched down the empty palace corridor, his men falling in
behind him.
    Bruthen Trana stepped into the chamber. His eyes settled
on the corpses of the two handmaidens. 'How long ago?' he
asked the Arapay warlock who was crouched over the
bodies. Two other Edur entered the First Concubine's bedroom,
emerged again a moment later.
    The warlock muttered something inaudible under his
breath, then said in a louder voice, 'A bell, perhaps.
Shortswords. The kind used by the Palace Guard.'
    'Gather ten more warriors,' Bruthen Trana said. 'We are
marching to the headquarters of the Patriotists.'
    The warlock slowly straightened. 'Shall I inform Hannan
Mosag?'
    'Not yet. We cannot delay here. Sixteen Edur warriors
and a warlock should suffice.'
    'You mean to demand the release of the woman?'
    'There are two, yes?'
    A nod.
    'They will begin interrogations immediately,' Bruthen
Trana said. 'And that is not a pleasant procedure.'
    'And if they have wrung confessions from them?'
    'I understand your concern, K'ar Penath. Do you fear
violence this night?'
    The other warriors in the chamber had paused, eyes fixed
on the Arapay warlock.
    'Fear? Not in the least. With confessions in hand, however,
Karos Invictad and, by extension, Triban Gnol, will
be able to assert righteous domain—'
    'We are wasting time,' Bruthen Trana cut in. 'My
patience with Karos Invictad is at an end.' And where is the guard I set in the hallway outside? As if I cannot guess.
    A new voice spoke from the outer doorway: 'Personal
enmity, Bruthen Trana, is a very dangerous guide to your
actions.'
    The Tiste Edur turned.
    The Chancellor, with two bodyguards hovering in the
corridor behind him, stood with hands folded. After a
moment he took a step into the room and looked about.
An expression of regret when he saw the two dead women.
'Clearly, there was some resistance. They were most loyal
servants to the First Concubine, probably innocent of all
wrongdoing – this is tragic indeed. Blood on Nisall's hands
now.'
    Bruthen Trana studied the tall, thin man for a long
moment, then he walked past him and out into the hall.
    Neither bodyguard was suspicious, and neither had time
to draw their weapons before the Edur's knives – one in
each hand – slid up under their jaws, points driven deep
into their brains. Leaving the weapons embedded, Bruthen
Trana spun round, both hands snapping out to grasp the
Chancellor's heavy brocaded collar. The Letherii gasped as
he was yanked from his feet, flung round to face Bruthen,
then slammed hard against the corridor's opposite wall.
    'My patience with you,' the Edur said in a low voice, 'is
at an end as well. Tragic demise for your bodyguards. Blood
on your hands, alas. And I am not of a mind, presently, to
forgive you their deaths.'
    Triban Gnol's feet dangled, the stiff-tipped slippers kicking
lightly against Bruthen Trana's shins. The Letherii's
face was darkening, eyes bulging as they stared into the
Edur's hard, cold gaze.
    I should kill him now. I should stand here and watch him suffocate in the drawn folds of his own robe. Better yet, retrieve a knife and slice open his guts – watch them tumble onto the floor.
    Behind him, K'ar Penath said, 'Commander, as you said,
we've no time for this.'
    Baring his teeth, Bruthen Trana flung the pathetic man
aside. An awkward fall: Triban Gnol threw a hand down to
break his descent, and the snap of finger bones – like iron
nails driven into wood – was followed immediately by a
gasp and squeal of pain.
    Gesturing for his warriors to follow, Bruthen Trana
stepped over the