Reaper's Gate & Toll the Hounds - By Steven Erikson Page 0,307

the Malazans, with the exception of Deadsmell, of course, whose snores were waves rolling ashore in the little dank cavern of a room.

'Is that,' Tavore asked, 'irrelevant?'

'Sometimes seems that way,' Shurq conceded. Oh, she wished she could drink wine without its draining out everywhere. She could do with a tankard or two.

'An Emperor whose very rule is dictated by the sword,' Tavore said. 'What remain unhoned, however, are the necessities of administering an empire.'

'Very dull necessities, aye,' Shurq said, smiling.

'The Tiste Edur, leaning hard against the undying solidity of their ruler, exist under the delusion of mastery,' Tavore continued. 'But reality is not so generous.'

Nodding, Shurq Elalle said, 'The Tiste Edur were fisher folk, seal-hunters. Builders in wood. A half-dozen or so tribes. There was someone called the Warlock King, Hannan Mosag, who waged a war of subjugation – why he didn't end up with that dreadful sword only the Edur know and it is not something they talk about.'

'Does this Hannan Mosag still live?' Tavore asked.

'The Emperor's new Ceda.'

Deadsmell's snores ceased. 'Imperial High Mage,' he said. 'Ceda, a degradation of "Cedance", I'd wager. "Cedance" was some sort of ritual back in the days of the First Empire.' His eyes opened halfway. 'Ebron won't be at all surprised. These Letherii are some lost colony of the First Empire.' The heavy lids slid down once more, and a moment later his snores groaned back to life.

Shurq Elalle thought to clear her throat, changed her mind. Things were rank enough as it was. 'The point I was making, Adjunct, is that the Tiste Edur couldn't administer their way through a mooring tithe. They're warriors and hunters – the males, that is. The females are, as far as I can tell, completely useless mystics of some sort, and since the conquest they've virtually disappeared from sight.'

Boots echoed from the corridor and moments later the door opened. Accompanied by Galt and the odd little man named Widdershins, two Letherii soldiers strode into the chamber. One of them was an Atri-Preda.

Shake Brullyg lurched back in his chair, almost toppling it. Face twisting, he rose. 'Damn every damned witch to the deep!'

'It gets worse,' the Atri-Preda replied with a faint smile on her lips. 'I choose my own Rise, and you are not him. Yedan, throw this fool out on his arse – any window will do.'

Sudden alarm in Brullyg's eyes as he stared at the soldier at the captain's side, who made to move forward.

Galt's sword was out of its scabbard in a blur, settled flat against the soldier's stomach, halting the man in his tracks. 'Maybe we should all back this up a few steps,' he said in a drawl. 'Adjunct, allow me to present Atri-Preda Yan Tovis and Shore Watch Yedan Derryg – which I take it is some kind of sergeant in charge of some kind of coastal patrol. What's "Atri-Preda"? Captain? Commander? Whatever, they was in charge of that half-drowned bunch the Perish plucked from the storm.'

The Adjunct was frowning at Yan Tovis. 'Atri-Preda, welcome. I am Adjunct Tavore Paran of the Malazan Empire—'

Yan Tovis glanced across at her. 'You're commanding this invasion? How many soldiers did you land on the coast, Adjunct? Ten thousand? Twenty? I saw the ships, the burning ships – you followed our fleets all the way from your empire? That's a long way for a little vengeful bloodletting, isn't it?'

Shurq dreamed of downing another tankard of wine. At least the Malazans weren't looking her way any more.

The Adjunct's frown deepened, accentuating her drab plainness. 'If you wish,' she said coolly, 'we can formalize your status as prisoners of war. Yet I find it difficult to characterize your sinking ferry as a punitive invasion expedition. According to the reports I have received, your status is better likened as refugees, yes? A modest company of soldiers overseeing a sizeable collection of old men and women, children and other non-combatants. Were you sailing here assuming the island remained independent?' She flicked her gaze across to Brullyg, who stood leaning against the far wall. 'That you and Shake Brullyg are acquainted suggests you are here to resolve some private matter between you.'

Yan Tovis's eyes were flat as she shrugged and said, 'Hardly private. "Shake" is a tribe's name and could, if desired, precede the names of myself and Yedan here, as well as our "collection" of "refugees". The Shake were the original inhabitants of the central west coast and some of the islands off shore. We were long ago subjugated