for succession. Dassem, and the two others of the Sword who survived the battle, died that night. Some say Surly had a hand – or a Claw – in that breaking and in those deaths, but that is neither here nor there.
‘Perhaps you didn’t know that lately Kellanved and Dancer have been seen less and less. I’ve heard they’ve become engrossed in their own arcane research. The Imperial generals, governors and Fists have been complaining to Surly that Kellanved neglects his duties. No doubt her Claws fan the flames of discontent while eliminating their competition, the Talons. Many say that Kellanved and Dancer are dead, consumed in an experiment into the nature of the Warrens that went awry. Oleg believed he knew the truth of that. In any event, a prophecy arose that Kellanved would return here to Malaz Island where everything began so long ago. And behold, a few years later comes a Shadow Moon to Malaz. So, various parties and interests have gathered together in the rather tight confines of this small island, gambling that the future of the Imperium will take a radical turn this very night. As if things weren’t dangerous enough with a Shadow Moon . . . and all the rest.’
Agayla squeezed the cloth over the basin. Kiska straightened. ‘That’s pretty much what Oleg said, that he was coming.’ But she remembered more – Oleg snarling that he would claim the Realm. But what did the Deadhouse have to do with Shadow? What on earth did the old man mean?
It all sounded so foolish now. Transubstantiation, entombment – though Edgewalker had recognized it. And who and what was he anyway? And that riddle of Oleg’s. Pure foolishness: ‘His victory would be sealed by his defeat.’
Kiska glanced sharply at her aunt: ‘And all the rest?’
‘Oleg Vikat,’ Agayla continued, preparing a white cloth dressing. ‘A one-time acolyte of Hood and a theurgical scholar. Claims to have discovered a foundational understanding of the Warrens, and even beyond.’ She sighed. ‘Mad, perhaps. But the Imperial High Mage himself, Tayschrenn, acknowledged a certain bizarre logic haunting the thicket of his theories. The man has been in hiding these past decades.’ She shook her head again. ‘To think he feared death from the knives of the Claws.’
‘The man in grey. Wasn’t he a Claw, sent to silence Oleg?’
Agayla got to her feet to wrap the dressing around Kiska’s neck. She folded it tight from behind. ‘No, dear. That was a cultist. A worshipper of the Warren of Shadow. Assassins all. They are here as well, gathered for their worship and blood rites under the Shadow Moon.’
Kiska touched at the rough cloth of the dressing. When she swallowed it felt almost too tight. ‘Yes . . . he said he’d send me to his Master. But what of the other things? The shadows shifting, the other sights?’
Her aunt’s shrug told her that she considered the full explanation beyond even her knowledge. ‘You saw these things simply because on this one night of all nights every portal, every gateway, every fault between Warrens, all open a crack. Every ghost, revenant or god can touch the world, however tenuously. So far you have been unusually lucky in your encounters, given what you may have run into, which is why—’ She stopped herself, dried her hands. ‘Well, we can talk of that later.’ She sat at Kiska’s side, took her hands in a surprisingly strong grip. ‘You see? There is too much here for any one person to get hold of. This is a night for long-awaited vengeance and desperate throws. A rare chance for the settling of old scores when the walls between this world and others weaken . . . when shadows slip through. Dawn will come – and it will – no matter what occurs tonight. It will, no matter who lives or dies. Tomorrow there will still be a need for spices and herbs, and for nosey non-commissioned intelligence agents who know the town. Even fat old Sub-Fist Pell will probably still command the garrison. Life goes on, you see?’
Kiska pulled her hands free. ‘I know what you’re getting at. But I can’t just sit here. Not again. Not after the riots.’
Agayla’s mouth thinned. ‘I probably saved your life, child.’
‘I’m not a child. I won’t stay locked up tonight – or forever. I can’t. I’d go insane. In any case, I’m involved. I have a message to deliver.’
Snorting lightly, Agayla waved that aside. ‘The insane predictions of a selfish, power-hungry