Steven Erikson - Gardens of the Moon

There was a slight chance that the garden entrance to Baruk's estate was unguarded by magic-a very slight chance. He ran down the street and turned into the first alley to his right. There'd be a wall to scale, but he did not consider that much of an obstacle.

He came to the alley's end and skidded to a halt on the street beyond.

The wall was high, he saw. He'd need a running start. Crokus trotted across the street, trying to catch his breath. What was the point of all this? Couldn't Baruk take care of himself, after all? Wasn't he a High Mage, and hadn't even Fingers commented on the alchemist's sorcerous defences?

He hesitated, scowling at the wall opposite him.

At that moment a piercing, earth-shaking scream was loosed directly above the street. Crokus threw himself against the wall behind him as an enormous shape descended into the gaslight. Filling the street, it struck the ground less than twenty yards to the thief's left. He was thrown from his feet by the impact. Stones shattered.

He ducked beneath the hail of bricks and cobbles, then, as the scatter of rubble diminished, he jumped to his feet.

A dragon, its wings tattered and streaked with blood, slowly regained its feet in the street, wagging its massive wedge-shaped head from side to side. Along its brown flanks, scales had been torn away, revealing deep puncture wounds. Its neck and shoulders glistened with blood.

Crokus saw that the wall beyond it-Baruk's-had been obliterated, opening the garden to his view. Snapped tree trunks rose amid steaming earth. A raised patio marked the approach of the estate's back entrance.

Two toppled statues lay in pieces before the doors.

The dragon looked stunned. Crokus tensed. Now was the time to move. Almost disbelieving his own temerity, the thief darted into the street behind the creature, hoping to reach the cover of the garden. His gaze remained on the dragon as he ran, his thoughts on the coin of luck in his pocket.

Then, before his eyes, the creature's shape changed, drawing into itself in a shimmering haze. Crokus slowed, then stopped, unable to pull away his attention. His heart hammered against his ribs, as if seeking escape.

Each drawn breath was a painful gasp. His luck, he told himself in terror, had just ended.

The shimmering faded, and a giant man-shaped apparition now stood on the street cloaked and cowled.

Crokus tried to will himself to move, but his body refused to obey. He stared, eyes widening, as the demon turned to him. It snarled and removed an enormous axe from its belt. Hefting the weapon, it spoke in a deep, soft voice. «What reason to continue this?» it asked reasonably.

«The Empress permits your escape, Lord. Once again she grants you

«Good idea,» the thief whispered. Then he frowned, for the demon's attention, he now saw, was directed past him.

A man spoke behind him. «We run no further, Galayn.»

A hand fell on the thief's shoulder, breaking the spell of immobility.

Crokus ducked and spun to one side, then looked up into shifting, indigo eyes set in a black, narrow face.

Flee, mortal,» the silver-haired man said, drawing a two-handed sword from the scabbard slung between his shoulder-blades. The black weapon seemed almost invisible, as if it swallowed all light that found it.

«You were at the f?te!» Crokus blurted.

The man's eyes flickered, as if seeing him for the first time. «Coin Bearer,» he said, with a wry smile, «fear not. Brood has convinced me to spare you, at least for the moment. Begone, child.» His gaze returned to the Galayn lord. «This will be a close thing.»

«I know that weapon,» the demon snarled. «Dragnipurake. And I smell the reek of Tiama in you, Lord. There is more of her in you than Tiste And? blood.»

Crokus backed against what remained of Baruk's wall.

The Galayn lord grinned, revealing long, curved canines. «The Empress would reward your services, Lord. You've only to say yes, and this battle

Anomander Rake stepped forward. «Attend, Galayn.»

With a roar the demon attacked axe whistling through the air and Rake whirled his sword in a circle, catching the axe and adding to its momentum. As the double-blades swept past, the Tiste And? stepped in close, sword drawn back, pommel against his left hip. In a blur of motion he extended the blade. The demon ducked and, releasing one hand from the axe haft, reached for Rake's throat. The Tiste And? twisted his right. Thrown backwards, Rake landed heavily on the cobbles.

The demon pounced, flaming weapon above its head.

Rake regained his feet in time to catch the axe with his swords the clash of weapons sent a jolt through the air and ground. The demon's axe flared bright white, cascading light like liquid. Rake's sword was swallowed in darkness, devouring the lashing waves of light that struck The flagstones beneath Crokus's feet tilted sickeningly, as if the stones themselves had turned to soft clay. Overhead the stars swam wildly.

Rake began to launch attacks, savage swings of his black weapon. At first the demon held its ground, delivering fierce ripostes, then staggered back a step, then another. Relentless, Rake pressed his attack. «To the Mother's regret,» he grated between blows, «was Light granted birth. To her dismay: she saw too late: its corruption. Galayn: you are the unintended victim: to punishment: long overdue.»

The demon reeled beneath the blows, desperately parrying every attack, no longer counter-attacking. The light bleeding from the axe flickered, dimmed, flared fitfully as darkness closed in around the blade.

Shrieking, the demon launched itself at Rake. As it descended over the Tiste And? Crokus saw a streak of black burst from the demon's back, slicing through the cloak. The axe flew from the creature's hands, its fire dying as it clattered on the ground.

Squealing in horror, the demon clawed at the sword impaling it. Black smoke spread in swift tendrils from the weapon, engulfing the demon.

The smoke twisted, became chains, drawing taut. The Galayn screamed in earnest.

Rake regained his feet and pushed the sword through the demon's chest until the hilt jammed against bone. The demon sank to its knees, its black eyes locking with Rake's own.

The swimming stars settled, the flagstones beneath the thief became solid once again, though warped and twisted. Crokus swallowed bile, his eyes fixed on the demon. It seemed to collapse in on itself, the chains of black smoke ever tightening, pulling the creature into the sword. It toppled backwards and Rake drove the weapon's point into the cobbled street, pinning the demon. Then the Tiste And? leaned heavily on the hilt, and Crokus now noticed the blood-soaked cloth surrounding Rake's shoulder, where the demon's hand had struck. Wearily, the Tiste And? swung his gaze to the thief.

«Move quickly,» he rasped. «The alchemist is in danger. I cannot protect him now. Hurry, Coin Bearer.»

Crokus whirled and ran.

The death of Travale, third in the Cabal, still echoed in their thoughts.

The witch Derudan had inscribed an ash circle on the floor in the centre of the chamber. With Baruk's help, she placed the two plush chairs within it, and now sat, smoking steadily, her dark eyes following the alchemist as he paced.

Baruk found himself reluctant to enter the protective circle. While they would be safe there, surrounded by High Tennes sorcery, they would not be able to counter-attack, should Vorcan arrive. More, some things could penetrate the defences of magic. Otataral, that strange rust-like ore from the Tanno Hills of Seven Cities, immediately came to mind. It was unlikely that Vorcan would possess such material, given that she was a High Mage, yet still Baruk felt reluctant to place himself in a position where he could not use his Warren against the assassin.