Night of Knives_ A Novel of the Malazan Empire - By Ian C. Esslemont Page 0,47

with the lozenge armour drew two curved swords and went to the door. With a sharp blow of his elbow he shoved aside the young hiresword who had been standing guard. Just back from the door two veterans knelt, crossbows levelled. The remaining soldier, along with the commander and the woman, positioned themselves behind. All of them waited, tense, focused upon the door. In her chair far to the back near stairs down to a lower room, Kiska watched as well. Oddly, she too had felt something at the door: a nagging pull like faint scratching.

One of the others, a hiresword Kiska supposed, crept away from the side door he’d been guarding, past Kiska, until he was close to the commander. ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

Glaring savagely, the commander waved him back to his post.

The veteran by the door crouched, looked back to the woman who nodded. Grinning like a fool, he yanked the door open.

It swung inward, revealing an empty street of gleaming rain-slick cobbles and, barely visible through the mist and shadows, Mossy Tors Commons across the way. The man poked his head out only to suddenly flinch back and scramble away.

Light flickered over the door’s solid recessed panels in a restless curving design of shadow and phosphorescence. The woman pushed forward, studied the restless glow. After a few seconds she backed away.

’Well?’ demanded the commander.

The woman clenched and unclenched her hands as if she wished to do something with them but dared not. ‘It’s a Hood-damned invitation. A summons. We’ve got to go. Now!’

‘That’s fine with me.’ He motioned his men away from the door, flashed a hand signal.

‘We’re movin’ out!’ bellowed the soldier in lozenge armour. Those covering the windows and at the tables blinked at him. Their gazes shifted to the street front. ‘That’s right my pretties,’ he said, as cheerily as if facing a summer’s day. ‘Back into the teeth of it!’

Kiska stared at him. Was he mad?

The sergeant – Kiska decided he must be – set his fists at his belted hips and regarded the room as if he smelled something distasteful. ‘Get your—’

A howl as brassy as the largest temple bell tore through the night. The timbers of the wall and floor vibrated, so loud and close did it sound. Kiska flinched violently, causing her chair to jump and almost canter over with her. The men froze, eyes round. Only the commander and the woman seemed unaffected. ‘Shut the blasted door!’ he snarled.

The sergeant moved to obey, but gripped the door only to stare out, immobile. ‘Hood’s own demons,’ he gasped in awe.

From where she sat, Kiska couldn’t see the street. Instead, all she saw was one young hiresword at a window as he screamed and gagged, vomiting while the commander drew his blade. With all his strength the sergeant hurled the door shut then leapt aside. ‘Ready crossbows!’ he yelled, and the men scrambled to raise their weapons.

At that instant the door burst inward in splinters that flew apart like shards of glass. A hound thrust its head and shoulders through the doorway. It was larger than Kiska had ever imagined: the size of a mule, its shaggy coat dappled light tan and grey. It swung its massive head from side to side as if to study everyone, first through one brown eye, then a pale-grey eye. A fusillade of quarrels met it only to slam into the jambs or skitter from its flesh. It shoved forward, its muscular shoulders bunching. The jambs to either side shattered.

The room erupted in cries. Furniture crashed, the hound’s snarls and coughs burst like explosions. Its hot moist breath filled the room. Men slashed at the creature, but to no effect Kiska could discern. Most just tried to flee out of the windows or hide under the tables. Tipping her chair, she threw herself to the floor just in time to see the commander running upstairs. The woman had vanished already. A few feet away the sergeant grabbed one screaming hiresword by his hauberk and threw him fully at the hound, then leapt through a shuttered window. Kiska reached up and back and snatched the knife from behind her neck. She sawed furiously at the rope around her ankles and thanked the twin gods of chance that her hands had merely been bound at the wrists.

Rolling under a table at a booth, she watched while the beast barged about the room, slashing left and right, knocking men spinning as it lunged and snapped. Catching one