Reaper's Gale

The Emperor is in the arena. The mad fool is still fighting his pointless, pathetic fights. And the Chancellor would be there, attending, ironic witness to the last Tiste Edur’s drooling stupidity. The last Tiste Edur in the city. Yes.

He hurried on, leaving the sounds of fighting well behind him.

A day of madness-would it never end?

Chancellor Triban Gnol stepped back. The realization had come suddenly to him, with the force of a hammer blow. Rhulad Sengar will not return. The Emperor of a Thousand Deaths… has died his last death.

Toblakai. Karsa Orhng, I do not know what you have done, I do not know how-but you have cleared the path.

You have cleared it and for that I bless you.

He looked about, and saw that the meagre audience had fled-yes, the Eternal Domicile was breached, the enemy was within. He turned to the Finadd standing nearby. ‘Varat Taun.’

‘Sir?’

‘We are done here. Gather your soldiers and escort me to the throne room, where we will await the conquerors.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And we bring that witch with us-I would know what has happened here. I would know why she laid open her hand with that knife. I would know everything.’

‘Yes, Chancellor.’

The captain was surprisingly gentle taking the pale woman into his custody, and indeed, he seemed to whisper something to her that elicited a weary nod. Triban Gnol’s eyes narrowed. No, he did not trust this new Finadd. Would that he had Sirryn with him.

As they made their way from the arena, the Chancellor paused for one look back, one last look at the pathetic figure lying on the bloody sand. Dead. He is truly dead.

I believe I always knew Karsa Orhng would be the one. Yes, I believe I did.

He was almost tempted to head back, down onto the arena floor, to walk across the pitch and stand over the body of Rhulad Sengar. And spit into the Emperor’s face.

No time. Such pleasure will have to wait.

But I vow I will do it yet.

Cuttle waved them to the intersection. Fiddler led the rest of his squad to join the sapper.

‘This is the main approach,’ Cuttle said. ‘It’s got to be.’

Fiddler nodded. The corridor was ornately decorated, impressively wide, with an arched ceiling gleaming with gold leaf. There was no-one about. ‘So where are the guards, and in which direction is the throne room?’

‘No idea,’ Cuttle replied. ‘But I’d guess we go left.’

‘Why?’

‘No reason, except everyone who tried to get away from us was more or less heading that way.’

‘Good point, unless they were all headed out the back door.’ Fiddler wiped sweat from his eyes. Oh, this had been a nasty bloodletting, but he’d let his soldiers go, despite the disapproving looks from Quick Ben. Damned High Mage and his nose in the air-and where in Hood’s name did all that magic come from? Quick had never showed anything like that before. Not even close.

He looked across at Hedge.

Same old Hedge. No older than the last time Fiddler had seen him. Gods, it doesn’t feel real. He’s back. Living, breathing, farting… He reached out and cuffed the man in the side of the head.

‘Hey, what’s that for?’

‘No reason, but I’m sure I was owed doing that at least once.’

‘Who saved your skin in the desert? And under the city?’

‘Some ghost up to no good,’ Fiddler replied.

‘Hood, that white beard makes you look ancient, Fid, you know that?’

Oh, be quiet.

‘Crossbows loaded, everyone? Good. Lead on, Cuttle, but slow and careful, right?’

They were five paces into the corridor when a side entrance ahead and to their right was suddenly filled with figures. And mayhem was let loose once more.

Tarr saw the old man first, the one in the lead, or even if he didn’t see him first, he got off his shot before anyone else. And the quarrel sank into the side of the man’s head, dead in the centre of his left temple. And everything sprayed out the other side.

Other quarrels caught him, at least two, spinning his scrawny but nice-robed body round before it toppled.

A handful of guards who had been accompanying the old man reeled back, at least two stuck good, and Tarr was already rushing forward, drawing his shortsword and bringing his shield round. He bumped hard against Corabb who was doing the same and swore as the man got in front of him.

Tarr raised his sword, a sudden, overwhelming urge to hammer the blade down on the bastard’s head-but no, save that for the enemy-

Who were throwing down their weapons as they backed down the corridor.

‘For Hood’s sake!’ Quick Ben shouted, dragging at Tarr to get past, then shoving Corabb to one side. ‘They’re surrendering, damn you! Stop slaughtering everyone!’

And from the Letherii group, a woman’s voice called out in Malazan, ‘We surrender! Don’t kill us!’

That voice was enough to draw everyone up.

Tarr swung round, as did the others, to look at Fiddler.

After a moment, the sergeant nodded. ‘Take ‘em prisoner, then. They can lead us to the damned throne room.’

Smiles ran up to the body of the old man and started pulling at all his gaudy rings.