A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

smile once
more. 'No matter. Indeed, even had she called upon the
Errant, I would have no cause to panic. Coddled as you are
– or, rather, were – in the palace, you are probably unaware
that the handful of temples in the city purportedly sanctified
in the Errant's name are in truth private and wholly
secular – businesses, in fact, profiting from the ignorance of
citizens. Their priests and priestesses are actors one and all.
I sometimes wonder if Ezgara Diskanar even knew – he
seemed oddly devoted to the Errant.' He paused, then
sighed. The sceptre began tapping in place. 'You seek to
delay the inevitable. Understandable, but I have no wish
to remain here all night. I am sleepy and desire to retire at
the earliest opportunity. You look chilled, Nisall. And this
is a dreadful room, after all. Let us return to my office. I
have a spare robe that is proof against any draught. And
writing materials at hand.' He gestured with the sceptre
and turned about.
    The door opened and Nisall saw two guards in the
corridor.
    Numbed, she followed Karos Invictad.
    Up a flight of stairs, down a passageway, then into the
man's office. As promised, Karos Invictad found a cloak and
set it carefully on Nisall's shoulders.
    She drew it tight.
    He waved her to a chair in front of the huge desk, where
waited a sheet of vellum, a horsehair brush and a pot of
squid ink. Slightly off to one side of the ink pot was a small,
strange box, opened at the top. Unable to help herself,
Nisall leaned over for a look.
    'That is none of your concern.' The words were a pitch
higher than usual and she glanced over to see the man
scowling.
    'You have a pet insect,' Nisall said, wondering at the
flush of colour in Karos Invictad's face.
    'Hardly. As I said, not your concern.'
    'Do you seek a confession from it as well? You will
have to decapitate it twice. With a very small blade.'
    'Are you amusing yourself, woman? Sit down.'
    Shrugging, she did as he commanded. Stared down at the
blank vellum, then reached over and collected the brush.
Her hand trembled. 'What is it you wish me to confess?'
    'You need not be specific. You, Nisall, admit to conspiring
against the Emperor and the empire. You state this
freely and with sound mind, and submit to the fate awaiting
all traitors.'
    She dipped the brush into the ink and began writing.
    'I am relieved you are taking this so well,' Karos Invictad
said.
    'My concern is not for me,' she said as she completed the
terse statement and signed it with a flourish that did not
quite succeed in hiding the shakiness of her hand. 'It is for
Rhulad.'
    'He will spare you nothing but venom, Nisall.'
    'Again,' she said, leaning back in the chair. 'I do not care
for myself.'
    'Your sympathy is admirable—'
    'It extends to you, Karos Invictad.'
    He reached out and collected the vellum, waved it in the
air to dry the ink. 'Me? Woman, you insult me—'
    'Not intended. But when the Emperor learns that you
executed the woman who carried his heir, well, Master of
the Patriotists or not . . .'
    The vellum dropped from the man's fingers. The sceptre
ceased its contented tapping. Then, a rasp: 'You lie. Easily
proved—'
    'Indeed. Call in a healer. Presumably you have at least
one in attendance, lest the executioner be stung by a sliver
– or, more likely, a burst blister, busy as he is.'
    'When we discover your ruse, Nisall, well, the notion of
mercy is dispensed with, regardless of this signed confession.'
He leaned over and collected the vellum. Then
scowled. 'You used too much ink – it has run and is now
illegible.'
    'Most missives I pen are with stylus and wax,' she said.
    He slapped the sheet back down in front of her, the
reverse side up. 'Again. I will be back in a moment – with
the healer.'
    She heard the door open and shut behind her. Writing
out her confession once more, she set the brush down and
rose. Leaned over the odd little box with its pivoting two-headed
insect. Round and round you go. Do you know dismay? Helplessness?
    A commotion somewhere below. Voices, something
crashing to the floor.
    The door behind her was flung open.
    She turned.
    Karos Invictad walked in, straight for her.
    She saw him twist the lower half of the sceptre, saw a
short knife-blade emerge from the sceptre's base.
    Nisall looked up, met the man's eyes.
    And saw, in them, nothing human.
    He thrust the blade into her chest, into her heart. Then
twice more as she sagged, falling to strike the chair.
    She saw the floor come up to meet her