A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

through that one's head was from you?'
    'At that range, I never miss.'
    They turned then as Studious Lock, limping, emerged
from the wreckage of the main entrance. And behind him
strode the Lady of the house. She was wearing leather
gloves that ran up to the elbow on which dagger-sheaths
had been riveted. Her usual voluminous silks and linens
had been replaced by tight-fitting fighting clothes. Torvald
squinted thoughtfully.
    Studious Lock was making his way towards the heap of
bodies.
    Lady Varada saw Rallick and Torvald and approached.
    Rallick bowed. 'Did the mage give you any trouble,
Mistress?'
    'No. Is the rooftop clear?'
    'Of course.'
    'And Seba?'
    'Probably scampering for his warren as fast as his legs
can take him.' Rallick paused. 'Mistress, you could walk
back in—'
    'And who is left in my Guild, Rallick? Of any worth, I
mean.'
    'Krute, perhaps. Myself. Even Seba would manage, so
long as he was responsible for a single cell and nothing
more.'
    Torvald was no fool, and as he followed this conversation,
certain things fell into place. 'Lady Varada,' he said.
'Er, Mistress Vorcan, I mean. You knew this was coming,
didn't you? And you probably hired me, and Scorch and
Leff, because you believed we were useless, and, er, expendable.
You wanted them to get through – you wanted them
all in here, so you could wipe them out once and for all.'
    She regarded him for a moment, one eyebrow lifting, and
then turned away and headed back to her house.
    Torvald made to pursue her but Rallick reached out a
hand and held him back. 'Cousin,' he said in a low voice,
'she was Mistress of the Assassins' Guild. Do you think
she's anything like us? Do you really think she gives a damn
if we live or die?'
    Torvald glanced over at Rallick. 'Now who's the fool,
cousin? No, you're right, about me and Scorch and Leff
– and those fallen Seguleh over there – she doesn't care.
But you, Rallick, that's different. Are you blind? Soon as
she stepped out, her eyes went to you, and all the stiffness
relaxed, and she came over to make sure you weren't
wounded.'
    'You can't be serious.'
    'And you can't be so stupid, can you?'
    At that moment the main gates crashed open and two
bloody figures staggered in.
    'We was attacked!' Scorch shouted in outrage.
    'We killed 'em all,' Leff added, looking round wildly, 'but
there could be more!'
    Torvald noted his cousin's expression and softly laughed,
drawing Rallick's attention once more. 'I got some wine in
my office,' Torvald said. 'We can sit and relax and I can tell
you some things about Scorch and Leff—'
'This is not the night for that, Tor – are you deaf?'
    Torvald scowled, then thumped at the side of his head.
Both sides. 'Sorry, got water in my ears. Even you here, you
sound to me like you're under a bucket.'
    The thumping worked, at least for one ear, and he could
hear now what everyone else was listening to.
    Screams, all through the city. Buildings crashing down.
Echoing howls. Recalling the fireball he'd seen, he looked
skyward. No stars in sight – the sky was filled with smoke,
huge bulges underlit by wildfires in the city. 'Gods below!'
    Harllo ran down the road. His knees were cut and deeply
scored by his climb up the slope of scree, and blood ran
down his shins. Stitches bit into his sides and every muscle
was on fire. And Venaz was so close behind him that he
could hear his harsh gasps – but Venaz was older, his legs
were longer, and it would be soon now, no matter how tired
he sounded.
    To have come so far, and everything was about to
end . . . but Harllo would not weep. Would not plead or beg
for his life. Venaz was going to beat him to death. It was as
simple as that. There was no Bainisk to stand in the way,
there were no rules of the camp. Harllo was not a mole any
more; he was of no use to anyone.
    People like him, big and small, died all the time. Killed
by being ignored, killed because nobody cared what
happened to them. He'd walked the streets of Darujhistan
often enough to see for himself, to see that the only thing
between those huddled shapes and himself was a family
that didn't even want him, no matter how hard he worked.
They were Snell's parents, and Snell was what they'd made
between them, and nothing in the world could cut through
those tethers.
    That was why they let Snell play with Harllo, and if he
played using fists and feet and something went bad, well,
that stuff happened all the time, didn't it? That's why
they never came to get him. And the one man