A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

through the neck of the man to the
right, who, in lurching upright, seemed to offer his throat
to that slashing edge like a willing sacrifice. As his head
tumbled away, the body stumbling as it backed over the
chair, Seerdomin grasped one edge of the table and flipped
it into the air, hammering it into the man on the left, who
fell beneath the table's weight. Leaving one man directly
opposite Seerdomin.
    Pleading eyes, a hand scrabbling at the ornate dagger at
the belt, backing away—
    Not nearly fast enough, as Seerdomin moved forward
and swung his heavy tulwar down, cutting through the
upraised forearms and carving into the man's upper chest,
through clavicle and down one side of the sternum. The
edge jammed at the fourth rib, forcing Seerdomin to kick
the corpse loose. He then turned to the last conspirator.
    The old palace retainer. Spittle on his lips, the reek of
urine rising like steam. 'No, please—'
    'Do you know me, Hegest?'
    A quick nod. 'A man of honour – what you have done
here—'
    'Defies what you would expect of an honourable man,
and it is that very expectation that frees you to scheme and
plot. Alas, Hegest, your expectation was wrong. Fatally so.
Black Coral is at peace, for the first time in decades – freed
of terror. And yet you chafe, dreaming no doubt of your old
station, of all the excesses you were privileged to possess.'
    'I throw myself upon the mercy of the Son of Darkness—'
    'You can't throw yourself that far, Hegest. I am going to
kill you, here, now. I can do it quick, or slow. If you answer
my questions, I will grant you the mercy you have never
spared others. If you refuse, I will do to you as you have
done to many, many victims – and yes, I well remember.
Which fate will it be, Hegest?'
    'I will tell you everything, Seerdomin. In exchange for
my life.'
    'Your life is not the coin of this deal.'
    The man began weeping.
    'Enough of that,' Seerdomin growled. 'Today, I am as you
once were, Hegest. Tell me, did the tears of your victims
soften your heart? No, not once. So wipe your face. And
give me your answer.'
    And so the man did, and Seerdomin began asking his
questions.
    Later, and true to his word, Seerdomin showed mercy, in
so far as that word meant anything when taking someone
else's life, and he well knew it didn't mean much. He
cleaned his weapon on Hegest's cloak.
    Was he any different, then, from these fools? There were
countless avenues he could take that would lead him to
assert otherwise, each one tortured and malign with deceit.
Without doubt, he told himself as he made his way out,
what he had done ended something, whereas what these
fools had been planning was the beginning of something
else, something foul and sure to spill innocent blood. By
this measure, his crime was far the lesser of the two. So
why, then, did his soul feel stained, damaged?
    Cogent reasoning could lead a man, step by logical step,
into horror. He now carried with him a list of names, the
sordid details of a scheme to drive out the Tiste Andii, and
while he knew it was destined to fail, to leave it free was
to invite chaos and misery. And so he would have to kill
again. Quietly, revealing nothing to anyone, for this was
an act of shame. For his kind, for humans and their stupid,
vicious inclinations.
    Yet he did not want to be the hand of justice, for that
hand was ever bloody and often indiscriminate, prone to
excesses of all sorts.
    The cruellest detail among all that he had learned this
night was that this web of conspiracy reached out to the
pilgrim camp. Hegest had not known who the players were
out there, but it was clear that they were important, perhaps
even essential. Seerdomin would have to go back to
the camp and the very thought sickened him.
    Salind, the High Priestess, was she one of the
conspirators? Was this act of usurpation at its heart a
religious one? It would not be the first time that a religion
or cult ignited with the fires of self-righteous certainty and
puritanical zeal, leading to ghastly conflict, and had he not
heard – more than once – the bold assertion that the Son
of Darkness held no claim upon the region outside Night?
An absurd notion, yes, an indefensible one, the very kind
fanatics converged upon, clenched fists held high in the
air.
    He had, for a time, nurtured the belief that he was not
unique in his appreciation of the rule of the Tiste Andii,
and his respect for the wisdom displayed again and again
by the Son of Darkness. The gift of peace and