A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

looking for a way down when the tiles
beneath his boots trembled to the sounds of running feet.
He spun round to find four figures charging towards him.
Clearly, they had not been expecting to find anyone up
here, since none carried crossbows. In the moment before
they reached him, he saw in their hands knives, knotted
clubs and braided saps.
    The nearest one wobbled suddenly – a bolt was buried
deep in his right temple – and then fell in a sprawl.
    Torvald threw himself to one side and rolled – straight
over the roof edge. Not quite what he had planned, and he
desperately twisted as he fell, knowing that it wouldn't help
in the least.
    He had tucked into his belt two Blue Moranth sharpers.
    Torvald could only close his eyes as he pounded hard
on to the pavestones. The impact threw him back upward
on a rising wave of stunning pain, but the motion seemed
strangely slow, and he opened his eyes – amazed that he
still lived – only to find that the world had turned into
swirling green and blue clouds, thick, wet.
    No, not clouds. He was inside a bulging, sloshing sphere
of water. Hanging suspended now, as it rolled, taking him
with it, out into the courtyard.
    Looking up at the rooftop as the misshapen globe
tumbled him over and over, he saw an assassin pitch
over the edge in a black spray of blood – and then he
was looking at Madrun and Lazan Door, wielding two
curved swords each, cutting through a mob that even now
scattered in panic.
    At that moment sorcery lit up the courtyard, rolling in
a spitting, raging wave that swept up the main building's
front steps and collided with the door, shattering it and
the lintel above. Clouds of dust tumbled out, and three
vague shapes rushed in, disappearing inside the house. A
fourth one skidded to a halt at the base of the cracked
steps, spun round and raised gloved hands. More magic,
shrieking as it darted straight for the two unmasked
Seguleh and those few assassins still standing. The impact
sent bodies flying.
    Torvald Nom, witnessing all this through murky water
and discovering a sudden need to breathe, lost sight of
everything as the globe heaved over one last time, even as
he heard water draining, splashing down out to the sides,
and watched the blurred pavestones beneath him draw
closer.
    All at once he found himself lying on the courtyard,
drenched, gasping for air. He rolled over on to his back,
saw a spark-lit, fiery black cloud tumble through the sky
directly overhead – and that was curious, wasn't it?
    Detonations from within the estate. A sudden scream,
cut bloodily short. He looked over to where Lazan Door
and Madrun had been. Bodies crowded up against the
inside wall, like a handful of black knuckles, and their
bouncing, skidding journey was at an end, every knuckle
settled and motionless.
    Someone was approaching. Slow, steady steps, coming to
a rest beside him.
    Blinking, Torvald Nom looked up. 'Cousin! Listen! I'm
sorry, all right? I never meant it, honest!'
    'What in Hood's name are you going on about, Tor?'
Rallick Nom was wiping blood from his tjaluk knives. 'I'd
swear you were scared of me or something.'
    'I didn't mean to steal her, Rallick. That's no lie!'
    'Tiserra?'
    Torvald stared up at his cousin, wide-eyed, his heart
bounding like an antelope with a hundred starving wolves
on its stumpy tail.
    Rallick made a face. 'Tor, you idiot. We were what, seven
years old? Sure, I thought she was cute, but gods below,
man, any boy and girl who start holding hands at seven and
are still madly in love with each other twenty-five years
later – that's not something to mess with—'
    'But I saw the way you looked at us, year after year – I
couldn't stand it, I couldn't sleep, I knew you'd come for me
sooner or later, I knew . . .'
    Rallick frowned down at him. 'Torvald, what you saw in
my face was envy. Yes, such a thing can get ugly, but not
with me. I watched in wonder, in admiration. Dammit, I
loved you both. Still do.' He sheathed his weapons and
reached down with a red-stained hand. 'Good to see you,
cousin. Finally.'
    Torvald took that hand, and suddenly – years of guilt
and fear shedding away – the whole world was all right. He
was pulled effortlessly to his feet. 'Hang on,' he said, 'what
are you doing here?'
    'Helping out, of course.'
    'Taking care of me—'
    'Ah, that was incidental, in truth. I saw you on the
rooftop earlier. There'd be a few trying that way. Anyway,
you did a nice job of catching their attention.'
    'That quarrel