of ploughed up corpses – but then it had always had something of that atmosphere. No one else seemed to be about. Clouds of fog still obscured the distance, anonymous as ever. She wondered if it were dawn yet over the town. She felt chill, as if the fog and dark beyond belonged to a typical Malaz Island mid-winter morning, when the fishing boats snapped and moaned with sea-rime.
Down the slope from the gate, shadowy figures flickered in and out of sight. More fighting? The final savage exchanges? But she heard not a sound. Maybe it was just another of the mist’s shifting tricks. Nevertheless, she felt exposed just standing there. From out of the fog forms were coming towards her. They looked familiar, and once Kiska was sure who they were, she crossed her arms and grinned, waiting.
Tayschrenn and Hattar climbed the shallow slope out of the fogbank, the bodyguard supporting the mage, who sagged at his side. Was he injured? She saw no wound upon him. He merely appeared pale and haggard and exhausted. He gave a slow shake of his head as he recognized her. Hattar scowled as if a cat he’d tossed into a river had just reappeared.
Kiska tried to hide the immense relief the High Mage’s presence instilled in her. She remembered her earlier cockiness – the girl who had followed him to Mock’s Hold – what seemed so long ago. She shouted, ‘Are you all right? What are you doing here?’
Tayschrenn called out in a weak voice, ‘And how did you get here?’
‘A friend brought me.’
‘Your friend shows poor judgement.’
She ached to tell him all that she’d seen, but if tonight had taught her anything, it was a caginess with information. Coming closer, she noticed an uncomfortable chill emanating from him like an aura of winter. Vapour coiled from his shoulders.
‘What’s going on back there?’
Tayschrenn hesitated. Then with a sigh he told her, ‘Surly had long suspected that renegades from her order had joined the Shadow cult. They’re just cleaning up now.’
Kiska snorted. ’Cleaning up? Why so delicate? They’re wiping out the cult. They’re rivals, aren’t they?’
‘Something like that. Old rivals.’
‘Well, it’s too late now for that anyway.’
It seemed to Kiska that his drained expression became brittle. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that while the cultists sacrifice themselves to lead the Claws on a useless chase, I saw two men reach the House at the rear. The two Surly claimed dead.’
Tayschrenn winced as if physically pained by her words. He shook his head. ‘No. You’re mistaken.’
‘Mistaken? I saw them!’
The magus swallowed an angry retort, took a slow breath to calm himself. ‘Kiska,’ he said carefully, emphatically, ‘you must be mistaken, because both Surly and I have agreed that those two are dead and gone. Do you understand?’
For the third time that night Kiska wanted to object, to say but, and for the third time she suspected that remaining silent, resisting the urge, might save her life. She simply nodded at Tayschrenn’s assertion, her jaw clamped shut. Hattar echoed the nod, underscoring it as a standing warning.
Tayschrenn waved a hand as if to say that was all behind them now. ‘I’m going to see if the Guardian will speak to me, then we’ll return to Mock’s Hold. You should accompany us.’
Kiska looked about. There was still no sign of Corinn or Lubben. She agreed. She had no idea how else to get out of wherever, or whatever, this was.
Tayschrenn straightened from Hattar’s grip and, leaving him behind, continued unsteadily on to the gate. He stopped a respectful distance from the old man and addressed him. Kiska was too far away to hear much. The old man replied curtly. His gaze didn’t waver from the armoured giant who stood like a statue of solid bronze just inside the open gate. It no longer attacked, but nor did it give any impression of defeat. Rather, Kiska sensed, it was waiting for something, gathering strength for a new onslaught. A few steps away the guard remained at ready, pike-axe held high. While tall, he barely reached the giant’s shoulders. He was almost as broad though, shaped like a blunt spur of stone. A match for the giant so far.
The two men spoke, unlike in appearance yet somehow brethren to Kiska’s eye. Was this the end of the encounter then? A civilized exchange over a carpet of bodies, then a warm fire and off to another errand tomorrow? And what of her? Could she return to the usual rounds