A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

Chancellor and marched quickly down
the corridor.
    As the footfalls echoed away, Triban Gnol, clutching one
hand against his torso, slowly climbed to his feet. He glared
down the now empty corridor. Licked dry lips, then hissed,
'You will die for that, Bruthen Trana. You and every other
witness who stood back and did nothing. You will all die.'
    Could he warn Karos Invictad in time? Not likely. Well,
the Master of the Patriotists was a capable man. With more
than just two incompetent, pathetic bodyguards.
Perfunctory notes to their widows: Your husbands failed in their responsibilities. No death-pensions will be forthcoming. Leave the family residences of the Palace Guard immediately – barring your eldest child who is now Indebted to the estate of the Chancellor.
    He despised incompetence – and to be made to suffer its
consequences . . . well, someone paid. Always. Two children, then, yes. Hopefully boys. And now he would need
two new bodyguards. From among the married guard, of
course. Someone to pay the debt should they fail me.
    His broken fingers were growing numb, although a heavy
ache throbbed in his wrist and forearm now.
    The Chancellor set off for the residence of his private
healer.
    Her nightgown half torn, Nisall was pushed into a windowless
room that was lit by a single candle positioned on
a small table in the centre. The chill, damp air stank of old
fear and human waste. Shivering from the night's march
through the streets, she stood unmoving for a moment,
seeking to wrap the gauze-thin material closer about herself.
    Two young innocent women were dead. Butchered like
criminals. And Tissin is next – as close to a mother as I have ever had. She has done nothing – no, stop that. None of us have. But that doesn't matter – I cannot think otherwise. I cannot pretend that anything I say will make a difference, will in any way change my fate. No, this is a death sentence. For me. For Tissin.
    The Emperor would not hear of this. She was certain of
that. Triban Gnol would announce that she was missing
from the palace. That she had fled – just one more betrayal.
Rhulad would flinch back in his throne, seeming to shrink
in upon himself, as the Chancellor carefully, remorselessly
fed the Emperor's many insecurities, then stood back to
observe how his poisoned words stole the life from Rhulad's
tortured eyes.
    We cannot win against this. They are too clever, too ruthless. Their only desire is to destroy Rhulad – his mind – to leave him gibbering, beset by unseen terrors, unable to do anything, unwilling to see anyone. Anyone who might help him.
    Errant save him—
    The door was thrown open, swinging to slam hard
against the wall, where old cracks showed that this violent
announcement was part of the pattern. But she had noted
those, and so did not start at the cracking crunch, but
merely turned to face her tormentor.
    None other than Karos Invictad himself. A swirl of
crimson silks, onyx rings on his fingers, the sceptre of his
office held in one hand and resting between right shoulder
and clavicle. A look of faint dismay in the mundane
features. 'Dearest woman,' he said in his high voice, 'let us
be quick about this, so that I can be merciful. I've no wish
to damage you, lovely as you are. Thus, a signed statement
outlining your treason against the empire, then a quick, private
execution. Your handmaiden has already complied,
and has been mercifully decapitated.'
    Oh, well done, Tissin. Yet she herself struggled, seeking
similar courage – to accept things as they were, to recognize
that no other recourse was possible. 'Decapitation is not
damage?'
    An empty smile. 'The damage I was referring to, of
course, concerned wresting from you your confession. Some
advice: compose your features in the moment before the
blade descends. It is an unfortunate fact that the head lives
on a few moments after it has been severed from the neck.
A few blinks, a roll or two of the eyes, and, if one is not . . .
mindful, a rash of unpleasant expressions. Alas, your handmaiden
was disinclined to heed such advice, too busy as she
was with a pointless tirade of curses.'
    'Pray the Errant heard her,' Nisall said. Her heart was
thudding hard against her ribs.
    'Oh, she did not curse me in the Errant's name, sweet
whore. No, instead she revealed a faith long believed to be
extinct. Did you know her ancestry was Shake? By the
Holds, I cannot even recall the name of the god she
uttered.' He shrugged and smiled his empty