Steven Erikson: Gardens of the Moon

Crokus nodded numbly.

The man's grin widened. «I'll escort you, then. And don't worry, you're covered from the roofs, too. Cowl's up there, damn his snakeskin hide. But he's a powerful mage, anyway. Serrat was furious, I hear. Let's walk, then.»

Crokus let the man take his arm and lead him away from the duel. The thief cast a glance over his shoulder. The woman was trying to disengage now, her left arm hanging useless and glistening in the gaslight. Her opponent continued pressing, silent as a ghost.

«Don't worry,» the man beside him said, pulling him along. «That's Corporal Blues. He lives for this stuff.»

«C–Corporal?»

«We've been covering your back, Coin Bearer.» The man's other hand reached up to his collar, which he turned back to reveal a brooch. «The name's Fingers, Sixth Blade, Crimson Guard. You're being protected, boy, compliments of Prince K'azz and Caladan Brood.»

Crokus stared, then he scowled. «Coin Bearer? What's that mean? I think you've got the wrong person.»

Fingers laughed drily. «We figured you was walking blind and dumb, boy. The only explanation. You've got other people trying to protect you, too, you know. There's a coin in your pocket, probably two-headed, right?» He grinned at the thief's stunned expression. «It's Oponn's own. You've been serving a god and you didn't even know it! How's your luck been, lately?» He laughed again.

Crokus stopped at a gate.

«This is the place, then?» Fingers asked, glancing at the estate rising behind the compound wall. «Well, there's a powerful mage living in there, ain't there? Well,» he released the thief's arm, «you should be safe enough inside. Good luck, boy, and I mean that. But listen,» Fingers» eyes hardened, «if your luck goes sour, you dump that coin, y» hear?»

Confusion flickered across Crokus's face. «Thank you, sir.»

«Our pleasure,» Fingers said, as he placed his hands in his pockets again. «Get a move on, then.»

The Adjunct broke away, taking a cut across her right shoulder blade as she did so. She ran, blood spraying with the effort, and the man did not pursue.

What a fool she'd been! Thinking that the Coin Bearer wasn't protected! But who was that man? Never before had she faced such a swordsman, and the most appalling thing was that he had fought without the aid of sorcery. For once, her Otataral blade and her skill had not been enough.

She staggered, half blind, down the street, then wheeled round a corner. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of movement. The Adjunct threw her back to a wall and raised her sword again.

A large woman stood before her, regarding her quizzically. «Looks to me,» she drawled, «like you're already done.»

«Leave me be,» Lorn gasped.

«Can't do it,» Meese said. «We been on you since Circle Breaker picked you up at the gate. The Eel says you've got some things t» pay for, lady. And we're here to collect.»

As soon as the woman said that, the Adjunct sensed another presence, immediately on her left. She cried out as she tried to spin into a defensive crouch, and in the cry was an overwhelming sense of frustration and despair. What a waste! she cursed. No, not like this!

Even as that thought thundered through her head, both women attacked. She parried the blade coming at her from the left, but could only watch in horror as the woman who'd spoken revealed two blades, both driving for her chest.

The Adjunct screamed in rage as the weapons punched into her. Her sword clanged and bounded as it struck the cobbles. Hands groping, Lorn slid down the wall. «Who?» she managed, a blind need behind the word. «Who?»

One of the women bent low over her. «What's that?»

Anguish filled Lorn's face, the corners of her mouth drooping as her eyes closed. «Who?» she asked again. «Who is this Eel?»

«Let's go, Meese,» the woman said, ignoring the body at her feet.

Paran found her sprawled on the grimy cobbles of an alley-mouth.

Something had drawn him to her unerringly, a final closing of the mysterious link between them. Her sword was beside her, the grip slick with blood, its edges gouged and nicked. The captain crouched beside her.

«You made it a hard fight,» he whispered, «for what that is worth.»

He watched her eyes flicker open. She stared up at him as recognition arrived. «Captain. Ganoes.»

«Adjunct.»

«They have killed me.»

«Who?»

She managed a stained smile. «I don't know. Two women. Looked like: thieves. Thugs. Do you see: the irony, Ganoes Paran?»

Thin-lipped, he nodded.

«No: glorious end: for the Adjunct. If you'd come: a few minutes sooner. .»

The captain said nothing. He watched the life leave Lorn, feeling nothing. Ill luck, knowing me, Adjunct. I'm sorry for that. Then he collected the Otataral sword and slipped it into his scabbard.

Above him two voices spoke in unison. «You gave him our sword.»

He straightened to find himself facing Oponn. «The Rope took it from me, to be more precise.»

The Twins could not conceal their fear. They looked upon Paran with something akin to pleading. «Cotillion spared you,» the sister said, «the Hounds spared you. Why?»

Paran shrugged. «Do you blame the knife, or the hand wielding it?»

«Shadowthrone never plays fair,» the brother whined, hugging himself.

«You and Cotillion both used mortals,» the captain said, baring his teeth, «and paid for it. What do you want from me? Sympathy? Help?»

«That Otataral blade-» the sister said.

«Will not be used to do your dirty work,» Paran finished. «You'd best flee, Oponn. I imagine even now Cotillion has given Shadowthrone the sword Chance, and the two are putting their heads together to plan how best to use it.»

The Twin jesters flinched.

Paran laid a hand over the sword's sticky grip. «Now. Else I return Cotillion's favour.»

The gods vanished.

The captain drew a deep breath. He turned once again to Lorn.

Her armour removed, she proved light in his arms.

The air roared around Anomander Rake as he plummeted, but he made no other sound, his Warren drawn in tight around him. Below, now sweeping lazy circles over Darujhistan, was the dun dragon-Rake's equal in size, with the power to match.

But it was a fool, hunting for him in the streets below.

Rake carefully spread his wings, angling towards the Galayn lord. His hind limbs reached down, talons spreading. He drew in the air around him, preparing for a burst of power. He was Kurald Galain, Tiste And? and darkness was his home.

The Galayn lord was immediately beneath him now, growing larger with incredible speed. Rake opened his mouth, head snapping back as he bit into a wall of air. This sound brought the dun dragon's gaze upward, but it was already too late.

I am the House imprisoning in my birth demonic hearts, so locked in each chamber some trembling enraged antiquity.

And these roots of stone spread the deepest cracks in parched ground holding for ever the dream of fruit, ah, pilgrims come to my door and starve:

I Azath (?.?i)

Adaephon (b.?)

The compound beyond the gate was empty. Crokus ran across it, wondering if he was too late. He bounded up the steps and reached "Cowfoor the door latch. A burst of energy flung him backwards.

Dazed, the thief found himself sitting on the paving stones before the steps, his flesh tingling. At the door a deep crimson glow slowly faded.

A ward. «Hood!» he hissed, climbing to his feet. He'd run into barriers like these before, in the Higher Estates. There was no way to get through them.

Cursing again, Crokus whirled and raced to the gate. He emerged on to the street and looked around, seeing no one. If those Crimson Guard still protected him, they weren't showing themselves.