Memories of Ice & House of Chains - By Steven Erikson Page 0,609

Dom, yes? Well, I have a meeting pending with Korbolo. And with Kamist Reloe. So, we'll work together in convincing Captain Kindly. Agreed?'

'Agreed.'

The relief in her voice sent a twinge through the assassin. She'd been alone for far too long in her deadly quest. In need of help . . . but with no-one around to whom she could turn. Just one more orphan in this Hood-cursed rebellion. He recalled his first sight of those thirteen hundred children he had unwittingly saved all those months back, his last time crossing this land. And there, in those faces, was the true horror of war. Those children had been alive when the carrion birds came down for their eyes ... A shudder ran through him.

'What is wrong? You seemed far away.'

He met her eyes. 'No, lass, far closer than you think.'

'Well, I have already done most of my work this night. Irriz and his warriors won't be worth much come the morning.'

'Oh? And what did you have planned for me?'

'I wasn't sure. I was hoping that, with you up front, you'd get killed quick. Captain Kindly's mage wouldn't go near you – he'd leave it to the soldiers with their crossbows.'

'And what of this hole you were to blast into the cliff-face?'

'Illusion. I've been preparing for days. I think I can do it.'

Brave and desperate. 'Well, lass, your efforts seem to have far outstripped mine in ambition. I'd intended a little mayhem and not much more. You mentioned that Irriz and his men wouldn't be worth much. What did you mean by that?'

'I poisoned their water.'

Kalam blanched behind his mask. 'Poison? What kind?'

Tralb.'

The assassin said nothing for a long moment. Then, 'How much?'

She shrugged. 'All that the healer had. Four vials. He once said he used it to stop tremors, such as afflicted old people.'

Aye. A drop. 'When?'

'Not long ago.'

'So, unlikely anyone's drunk it yet.'

'Except maybe a guard or two.'

'Wait here, lass.' Kalam set out, silent in the darkness, until he came within sight of the three warriors manning the picket. Earlier, they had been seated. That was no longer the case. But there was movement, low to the ground – he slipped closer.

The three figures were spasming, writhing, their limbs jerking. Foam caked their mouths and blood had started from their bulging eyes. They had fouled themselves. A waterskin lay nearby in a patch of wet sand that was quickly disappearing beneath a carpet of capemoths.

The assassin drew his pig-sticker. He would have to be careful, since to come into contact with blood, spit or any other fluid was to invite a similar fate. The warriors were doomed to suffer like this for what to them would be an eternity – they would still be spasming by dawn, and would continue to do so until either their hearts gave out or they died from dehydration. Horribly, with Tralb it was often the latter rather than the former.

He reached the nearest one. Saw recognition in the man's leaking eyes. Kalam raised his knife. Relief answered the gesture. The assassin drove the narrow-bladed weapon down into the guard's left eye, angled upward. The body stiffened, then settled with a frothy sigh.

He quickly repeated the grisly task with the other two.

Then meticulously cleaned his knife in the sand.

Capemoths, wings rasping, were descending on the scene. Hunting rhizan quickly joined them. The air filled with the sound of crunching exoskeletons.

Kalam faced the camp. He would have to stove the casks. Enemies of the empire these warriors might be, but they deserved a more merciful death than this.

A faint skittering sound spun him around.

A rope had uncoiled down the cliff-face from the stone balcony. Figures began descending, silent and fast.

They had watchers.

The assassin waited.

Three in all, none armed with more than daggers. As they came forward one halted while still a dozen paces distant.

The lead man drew up before the assassin. 'And who in Hood's name are you?' he hissed, gold flashing from his teeth.

'A Malazan soldier,' was Kalam's whispered reply. 'Is that your mage hanging back over there? I need his help.'

'He says he can't—'

'I know. My otataral long-knife. But he need not get close – all he has to do is empty this camp's water casks.'

'What for? There's a spring not fifty paces downtrail – they'll just get more.'

'You've another ally here,' Kalam said. 'She fouled the water with Tralb – what do you think afflicted these poor bastards?'

The second man grunted. 'We was wondering. Not pleasant, what happened to them. Still, it's no