A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

face, heard the
crack of her forehead, felt the vague sting, then darkness
closed in. Oh, Tissin—
    Bruthen Trana shouldered a wounded guard aside and
entered Invictad's office.
    The Master of the Patriotists was stepping back from the
crumpled form of Nisall, the sceptre in his hand – the blade
at its base – gleaming crimson. 'Her confession demanded—'
    The Tiste Edur walked to the desk, kicking aside the toppled
chair. He picked up the sheet of vellum, squinted to
make out the Letherii words. A single line. A statement. A
confession indeed. For a moment, he felt as if his heart stuttered.
    In the corridor, Tiste Edur warriors. Bruthen Trana said
without turning, 'K'ar Penath, collect the body of the First
Concubine—'
    'This is an outrage!' Karos Invictad hissed. ' Do not touch her! '
    Snarling, Bruthen Trana took one stride closer to the
man, then lashed out with the back of his left hand.
    Blood sprayed as Karos Invictad staggered, sceptre flying,
his shoulder striking the wall – more blood, from mouth and
nose, a look of horror in the man's eyes as he stared down at
the spatter on his hands.
    From the corridor, a warrior spoke in the Edur language.
'Commander. The other woman has been beheaded.'
    Bruthen Trana carefully rolled the sheet of vellum and
slipped it beneath his hauberk. Then he reached out and
dragged Karos Invictad to his feet.
    He struck the man again, then again. Gouts of blood,
broken teeth, threads of crimson spit.
    Again. Again.
    The reek of urine.
    Bruthen Trana took handfuls of the silk beneath the
flaccid neck and shook the Letherii, hard, watching
the head snap back and forth. He kept shaking him.
    Until a hand closed on his wrist.
    Through a red haze, Bruthen Trana looked over, met the
calm eyes of K'ar Penath.
    'Commander, if you continue so with this unconscious
man, you will break his neck.'
    'Your point, warlock?'
    'The First Concubine is dead, by his hand. Is it for you to
exact this punishment?'
    'Sister take you,' Bruthen Trana growled, then he
flung Karos Invictad to the floor. 'Both bodies come with
us.'
    'Commander, the Chancellor—'
    'Never mind him, K'ar Penath. Wrap well the bodies.
We return to the Eternal Domicile.'
    'What of the dead Letherii below?'
    'His guards? What of them? They chose to step into our
path, warlock.'
    'As you say. But with their healer dead, some of them
will bleed out unless we call upon—'
    'Not our concern,' Bruthen Trana said.
    K'ar Penath bowed. 'As you say, Commander.'
    Half blind with terror, Tanal Yathvanar approached the
entrance to the headquarters. She was gone. Gone, from
that place, that most hidden place – her shackle snapped,
the iron bent and twisted, the links of the chain parted as
if they were nothing but damp clay.
    Karos Invictad, it was your work. Again. Yet another warning to me – do as you command. You know all, you see all. For you, nothing but games, ones where you make certain you always win. But she was not a game. Not for me, you bastard. I loved her – where is she? What have you done with her?
    Slowly, it registered upon him that something was amiss.
Guards running in the compound. Shouts, wavering torchlight.
The front entrance to the building yawned wide – he
saw a pair of boots, attached to motionless legs, prone
across the threshold.
    Errant take us, we have been attacked!
    He hurried forward.
    A guard emerged, stepping over the body.
    'You!' shouted Tanal. 'What has happened here?'
    A rough salute. The man's face was pale. 'We have called
for healers, sir—'
    'What has happened, damn you?'
    'Edur – a vicious ambush – we did not expect—'
    'The Master?'
    'Alive. But beaten badly. Beaten, sir, by a Tiste Edur! The
liaison – Trana – Bruthen Trana—'
    Tanal Yathvanar pushed past the fool, into the hallway,
to the stairs. More bodies, guards cut down without so
much as their weapons drawn. What initiated this from the Edur? Did they catch word of our investigations? Bruthen Trana – does his file remain? Damn him, why didn't he just kill the bastard? Choke the life from him – make his face as red as those damned silks? Oh, I would run this differently indeed. Given the chance —
    He reached the office, stumbled to a halt upon seeing the
spattered blood on the walls, the pools of it on the floor.
The reek of piss was heavy in the air. Looking small and
broken, Karos Invictad sat hunched in his oversized chair,
stained cloths held to his swollen, bruised face. In the man's
eyes, a rage as