Night of Knives_ A Novel of the Malazan Empire - By Ian C. Esslemont Page 0,83
corpses,’ Surly told Possum. He bowed and backed away to the door. Kiska watched him sidelong as he passed and saw that he now bore a slash across his shirt-front, and that blood smeared his cloak. But his hood-shadowed face did not turn to regard her. It was as if the man had his mission and all else was mere dross.
Tayschrenn stepped out onto the balcony. The railing of low stone arch-work had been broken or blasted away, leaving a large gap into open air. He peered out and down, a gloved hand at the shattered edge. In the wind his cloak billowed and fluttered, and from below came the muted beat of the surf.
He returned to Surly, his boots scraping over the littered floor. ‘You can’t be sure—’
‘Certain enough,’ she snapped. ‘Absolutely. It is over and done. Finished. I’m surprised you bothered to come.’
Glancing back at the balcony, Tayschrenn murmured, ‘I was truthfully drawn here for another reason – if you must know.’
Rage flared like dark fires in Surly’s eyes and her good hand shot out to the High Mage as if she would crush him in her fist. Kiska almost shouted a warning, but as quickly as the fires rose so were they banked. She gave a small, low laugh. ‘Play the pompous lord to your underlings, Tay, not me. That you are here belies your words.’
The magus turned to her. Kiska watched him blinking, as if he were utterly unaware of the woman’s reaction. Yet how could that be? The two of them had worked, fought, and schemed together for generations. They must know to a hair’s breadth how far they could goad each other. Clearly, Tayschrenn wanted to remind Surly of something.
His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, indifferent shrug. ‘If you insist. Still, it would seem—’
‘I don’t care how it seems to you.’ She studied her bandaged hand. ‘It is over. I am Imperial Regent no longer. I will take the Throne, and my new name to rule it by. What say you to that?’
He said nothing. Kiska imagined he had already carefully thought through all possible outcomes.
‘Hail the Empress,’ prompted the Claw from the balcony, stroking his neck with a hand in a green leather glove. Tayschrenn eyed the man, who offered a predatory smile in return. There was open dislike here between Tayschrenn and these pet servants of the throne. Kiska wondered how such a meeting would have developed years ago, with Kellanved and Dancer also present. Likely a nest of vipers.
Tayschrenn gave a short bow. Kiska couldn’t tell if it was genuine or mocking. ‘Indeed. Hail,’ he echoed.
Surly answered with a curt nod, all business. ‘Good. Now, we have much to discuss . . .’ She inclined her head towards Hattar and Kiska, whose heart lurched at the attention.
Tayschrenn waved to the Claw. ‘And what of him?’
A thin smile tightened Surly’s lips. ‘The Claw is now part of the command structure, Tay. Each one speaks with a measure of my personal authority; each will be, in a measure, my representative. Topper will stay’
Tayschrenn bowed as briefly as before and backed away. To Hattar he said, ‘Your task is done for the night. Take her and return to the dining hall. Get some sleep. I’ll join you later.’
Hattar’s jaw tightened in distaste, but he nodded. Waving a brusque farewell to Kiska, Tayschrenn turned away. Hattar motioned to the hall, pushed her ahead of him. Startled by the abruptness of it, she peered back over her shoulder. Was that it? Not even a goodbye? Hattar urged her on with a jab at her back.
In the hall, Kiska glared and hissed, ‘Couldn’t I get a word in?’
The plainsman’s face remained set. ‘Not now. Tomorrow.’
Kiska relaxed, ceased resisting. ‘Okay’ She walked on. ‘I just don’t want to be shaken off, you know. I went to a lot of trouble to talk to him.’ She laughed at the thought of that. ‘Hood’s own trouble.’ But Hattar had set his face ahead, ignoring her. Kiska shut up. Here she was complaining to the one fellow who couldn’t possibly give a damn.
In the dining hall, Kiska watched while Hattar blocked the door with a chair, lit the candles, and sat. He thumped both booted feet onto the table, then untied his belt and lay it before him so that the sheathed knives rested within reach.
Kiska eased herself down into a chair across the table. ‘What was that about the red dust upstairs? What was it? Poison?’