Deadhouse Landing

‘You have, I understand, served as Ithill’s secretary. Relieving him of the burden of administrative duties.’

‘Indeed.’

‘The committee of transition may call upon you, then.’

‘I would serve however I may.’

Tallow stopped. ‘Of the many qualified to take over the mantle of Demidrek,’ he asked, ‘to whom do you think the position ought to go?’

Tayschrenn shrugged. ‘It is not for me to choose.’

The Invigilator stepped closer and Tayschrenn found himself pressed up against the cold damp wall. He was suddenly aware of how intimidating a physical presence the heavy-set, frowning man projected. ‘Of course not. However … if you had to?’

‘It would not be proper for me to name anyone.’

The man snorted. ‘Because your name is among the candidates.’ The man’s thick fleshy lips drew down even further. ‘Do not think me a fool, young Tayschrenn. You may have squirmed and politicked your way into the confidence of a doddering old man, but you carry no such favour with me. If I detect any evidence of efforts to influence or intimidate the committee I will not hesitate to act. Do I make myself clear?’

At that moment Tayschrenn held in his head the image of Koarsden howling in laughter at the idea of his ever conniving with or ‘politicking’ anyone. Yet all that was swept aside when he glimpsed once more in this man’s theurgic aura something strange. A tinge he’d not witnessed in any other’s – almost a discoloured moiling of power. So faint was it, and buried so deep within the core of the man’s projecting energies, that he half imagined he’d mistaken it.

Forgetting everything, even their discussion, he frowned, quite puzzled, and searched for it once again.

Tallow’s own gaze narrowed then and he pushed Tayschrenn away, adjusting his robes. He snapped, ‘I will tolerate no interference,’ and stalked away up the tunnel.

Tayschrenn watched him go; from this distance could not detect anything odd. Perhaps he had imagined it. In any case, it was clear that the Invigilator did not want him interfering in the process of transition – though what form the other man imagined his interference might take he had no idea.

*   *   *

Dassem kicked the burning wrack from the doorway of the mausoleum, ducking, as he did so, the heaved cow manure, rocks, and burning brands. The besieging crowd shouted curses, waved fists, spat and damned him.

It was halfway through yet another night of attacks. He kept his face impassive as he nudged a flaming torch from the tossed broken wood. At least, he reflected, oil was expensive and rare. Otherwise he could find himself in a conflagration.

A louder note entered the shouted cursing – one of fear and surprise – and Dassem squinted through the smoke, ducking more rocks. He was certain it was no adherent of Hood, as he’d forbidden any street battles.

A huge dark silhouette reared above the crowd and people ran, shouting in sudden panic. As Dassem watched, the giant figure of Koroll, a city mage, swung his tall staff sideways, cutting a great swath through the crowd.

‘Disperse!’ the newcomer bellowed. ‘By order of the Protectress!’

The ring of protesters scattered in all directions and quite quickly the Thelomen giant was alone among the wreckage and abandoned crackling torches. Alone but for a smaller version who came stepping over the guttering brands and kicking through the broken crates and rubbish. Ho.

There was something about this particular mage that disturbed Dassem more than any other. Hood, he sensed, did not approve of this one. Ho shook his head, his arms crossed. ‘You’re causing a disturbance, swordsman.’

‘I am but a peaceful worshipper.’

‘Your presence is a lightning rod for rage. Nothing generates fear and panic like a plague – and you’re seen as its very author!’

‘It is everywhere, you know that.’

Ho was shaking his head. ‘Yes, yes. But tell that to someone who’s just lost a loved one.’

Dassem rested a hand on the grip of his sword. ‘Is this an eviction notice?’

‘It is a summons. Shalmanat wishes to see you.’

He glanced back to the mausoleum. ‘I cannot leave the temple unguarded.’

‘Koroll will keep watch.’ Ho turned to the Thelomen giant, peering up. ‘Is that not so?’

Beneath the tangled forest of knotted and matted hair a wide grin split the giant’s craggy tattooed features. ‘I will indeed. Fear not, Hood’s Mortal Sword.’

Dassem frowned, wondering whether to bother disputing the assumption that he was afraid, but the Thelomen’s grin was so open and honest he chose not to argue. He inclined his head instead, in gratitude. ‘My thanks.’

Ho swept an arm, inviting him onward. ‘The Protectress awaits.’

With Ho at his side Dassem passed through gates and checkpoints unimpeded. The armies of Itko Kan had withdrawn long ago, and no outside threat currently menaced the city, but Shalmanat was maintaining strict martial law until all the damage from the recent siege could be repaired; it was not incidental that it also helped to maintain order in the face of the plague.