A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

either
dissolved or fled the empire. Sedition. A charge to silence
debate. Somewhere, therefore, there must exist a list of the
accepted beliefs, the host of convictions and faiths that
composed the proper doctrine. Or was something more
insidious at work?
    There was a scratch at the carriage door, and a moment
later it opened.
    Brohl Handar studied the figure stepping onto the
runner, the carriage tilting with his weight. 'By all means,
Orbyn,' he said, 'enter.'
    Muscle softened by years of inactivity, fleshy face, the
jowls heavy and slack, Orbyn 'Truthfinder' seemed to sweat
incessantly, regardless of ambient temperature, as if some
internal pressure forced the toxins of his mind to the
surface of his skin. The local head of the Patriotists was, to
Brohl Handar's eye, the most despicable, malicious creature
he had ever met.
    'Your arrival is well timed,' the Tiste Edur said as Orbyn
entered the carriage and settled down on the bench
opposite, the acrid smell of his sweat wafting across.
'Although I was not aware that you personally oversee the
daily activities of your agents.'
    Orbyn's thin lips creased in a smile. 'We have stumbled
on some information that might be of interest to you,
Overseer.'
    'Another one of your non-existent conspiracies?'
    The smile widened momentarily, a flicker. 'If you are
referring to the Bolkando Conspiracy, alas, that one
belongs to the Liberty Consign. The information we have
acquired concerns your people.'
    My people. 'Very well.' Brohl Handar waited. Outside,
the two agents were dragging their prisoner away, and
around them the flow of humanity resumed, furtive in their
avoidance.
    'A party was sighted, west of Bluerose. Two Tiste Edur,
one of them white-skinned. This latter one, I believe, has
become known as the White Crow – a most disturbing title
for us Letherii, by the way.' He blinked, the lids heavy.
'Accompanying them were three Letherii, two female and
one an escaped slave with the ownership tattoos of the
Hiroth tribe.'
    Brohl forced himself to remain expressionless, although
a tightness gripped his chest. This is none of your business. 'Do you have more details as to their precise location?'
    'They were heading east, to the mountains. There are
three passes, only two open this early in the season.'
    Brohl Handar slowly nodded. 'The Emperor's K'risnan
are also capable of determining their general whereabouts.
Those passes are blocked.' He paused, then said, 'It is as
Hannan Mosag predicted.'
    Orbyn's dark eyes studied him from between folds of fat.
'I am reminded of Edur efficiency.'
    Yes .
    The man known as Truthfinder went on, 'The Patriotists
have questions regarding this white-skinned Tiste Edur,
this White Crow. From which tribe does he hail?'
    'None. He is not Tiste Edur.'
    'Ah. I am surprised. The description . . .'
    Brohl Handar said nothing.
    'Overseer, can we assist?'
    'Unnecessary at this time,' Brohl replied.
    'I am most curious as to why you have not already closed
in on this party and effected a capture. My sources indicate
that the Tiste Edur is none other than Fear Sengar, the
Emperor's brother.'
    'As I said, the passes are blocked.'
    'Ah, then you are tightening the net even as we speak.'
    Brohl Handar smiled. 'Orbyn, you said earlier the
Bolkando Conspiracy is under the purview of the Liberty
Consign. By that, are you truly telling me that the
Patriotists are without interest in that matter?'
    'Not at all. The Consign makes use of our network on a
regular basis—'
'For which you are no doubt rewarded.'
    'Of course.'
    'I find myself—'
    Orbyn raised a hand, head cocking. 'You will have to
excuse me, Overseer. I hear alarms.' He rose with a grunt,
pushing open the carriage door.
    Bemused, Brohl said nothing, watching as the Letherii
left. Once the door was closed he reached to a small
compartment and withdrew a woven ball filled with
scented grasses, then held it to his face. A tug on a cord
stirred the driver to collect up the traces. The carriage
lurched as it rolled forward. Brohl could hear the alarms
now, a frantic cacophony. Leaning forward, he spoke into
the voice-tube. 'Take us to those bells, driver.' He hesitated,
then added, 'No hurry.'
    The Drene Garrison commanded a full dozen stone buildings
situated on a low hill north of the city centre.
Armoury, stables, barracks and command headquarters
were all heavily fortified, although the complex was not
walled. Drene had been a city-state once, centuries past,
and after a protracted war with the