A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

from?'
    Tanal Yathvanar watched the Invigilator
slowly rotating the strange object in his pudgy
hands, the onyx stones in the many rings on the short
fingers glimmering in the shafts of sunlight that reached in
through the opened window. The object Karos Invictad
manipulated was a misshapen collection of bronze pins, the
ends bent into loops that were twisted about one another to
form a stiff cage. 'Bluerose, I believe, sir,' Tanal replied. 'One
of Senorbo's. The average duration for solving it is three days,
although the record is just under two—'
    'Who?' Karos demanded, glancing up from where he sat
behind his desk.
    'A Tarthenal half-blood, if you can believe that, sir. Here
in Letheras. The man is reputedly a simpleton, yet possesses
a natural talent for solving puzzles.'
    'And the challenge is to slide the pins into a configuration
to create a sudden collapse.'
    'Yes sir. It flattens out. From what I have heard the
precise number of manipulations is—'
    'No, Tanal, do not tell me. You should know better.' The
Invigilator, commander of the Patriotists, set the object
down. 'Thank you for the gift. Now,' a brief smile, 'have we
inconvenienced Bruthen Trana long enough, do you
think?' Karos rose, paused to adjust his crimson silks – the
only colour and the only material he ever wore – then
collected the short sceptre he had made his official symbol
of office, black bloodwood from the Edur homeland with
silver caps studded in polished onyx stones, and gestured
with it in the direction of the door.
    Tanal bowed then led the way out into the corridor, to
the broad stairs where they descended to the main floor,
then strode through the double doors and out into the
compound.
    The row of prisoners had been positioned in full
sunlight, near the west wall of the enclosure. They had
been taken from their cells a bell before dawn and it was
now shortly past midday. Lack of water and food, and this
morning's searing heat, combined with brutal sessions of
questioning over the past week, had resulted in more than
half of the eighteen detainees losing consciousness.
    Tanal saw the Invigilator's frown upon seeing the
motionless bodies collapsed in their chains.
    The Tiste Edur liaison, Bruthen Trana of the Den-Ratha
tribe, was standing in the shade, more or less across from
the prisoners, and the tall, silent figure slowly turned as
Tanal and Karos approached.
    'Bruthen Trana, most welcome,' said Karos Invictad.
'You are well?'
    'Let us proceed, Invigilator,' the grey-skinned warrior
said.
    'At once. If you will accompany me, we can survey each
prisoner assembled here. The specific cases—'
    'I have no interest in approaching them any closer than
I am now,' Bruthen said. 'They are fouled in their own
wastes and there is scant breeze in this enclosure.'
    Karos smiled. 'I understand, Bruthen.' He leaned his
sceptre against a shoulder then faced the row of detainees.
'We need not approach, as you say. I will begin with the
one to the far left, then—'
    'Unconscious or dead?'
    'Well, at this distance, who can say?'
    Noting the Edur's scowl, Tanal bowed to Bruthen and
Karos and walked the fifteen paces to the line. He crouched
to examine the prone figure, then straightened. 'He lives.'
    'Then awaken him!' Karos commanded. His voice, when
raised, became shrill, enough to make a foolish listener
wince – foolish, that is, if the Invigilator was witness to that
instinctive reaction. Such careless errors happened but
once.
    Tanal kicked at the prisoner until the man managed a
dry, rasping sob. 'On your feet, traitor,' Tanal said in a quiet
tone. 'The Invigilator demands it. Stand, or I will begin
breaking bones in that pathetic sack you call a body.'
    He watched as the prisoner struggled upright.
    'Water, please—'
    'Not another word from you. Straighten up, face your
crimes. You are Letherii, aren't you? Show our Edur guest
the meaning of that.'
    Tanal then made his way back to Karos and Bruthen.
The Invigilator had begun speaking. '. . . known associations
with dissenting elements in the Physicians' College
– he has admitted as much. Although no specific crimes
can be laid at this man's feet, it is clear that—'
    'The next one,' Bruthen Trana cut in.
    Karos closed his mouth, then smiled without showing his
teeth. 'Of course. The next is a poet, who wrote and distributed
a call for revolution. He denies nothing and
indeed, you can see his stoic defiance even from here.'
    'And the one beside him?'
    'The proprietor of an inn,