Though the Civic Pit lay far across the city, Silla could still hear the muted distant roar of the gathered crowd. Even in this court overlooking the sea from a far side chapel of the temple, even here she could not escape it.
As if she ever would for the rest of her life.
She wrung her cold hands together, pacing. Why was the fool still here! Wasn’t enough enough? Must he go to the end to prove his point?
That thought froze her in her pacing.
Of course he would. He was right. He knew he was right. And he would go to the end to prove it.
But Tallow had promised her it would never come to this. That he would send him away to a new life on the mainland.
The Invigilator! She grasped the stone lip of the ledge overlooking the sea. Damn the man! Nothing but lies!
She stilled, watching the dizzying glimmer of the waves far below. But that wasn’t true. He hadn’t lied. He’d showed her concocted evidence and testimony that he could’ve used to condemn Tayschrenn to the death of the Fang that very day in court. Only her cooperation had saved his life. Only her testimony saved him from the poison that day.
Only today …
She jumped then as the reverberation of the drums struck her.
He’s still there? Why? Why won’t he flee?
She pressed her fists to her mouth. Damn him! Damn the stubborn fool! Would he really be that wilfully determined? To go to his death rather than yield to anyone?
She nodded then, a fist at her mouth, and sighed. Yes … Yes, he would.
The distant commingled awe and delight of thousands now swelled and she clutched at the ledge for support. Great D’rek! He’s being taken! Taken!
And all because of her. No – she saved him! Saved his life that day. And Tallow assured her it wouldn’t come to this …
Tallow! She straightened then, her breath easing from her in a hiss. From inside her robes she drew a small sheathed dagger and examined the wax seal at the lip of the bronze sheath.
This she had meant for herself. But another had earned its kiss far more than she. She would play the part of the beaten-down disciple for now. Until the moment came. Then he would pay for his lies. He will pay.
She pushed the sheathed blade back down within her robes, wiped the wetness from her face, and slipped back within the temple precincts.
Chapter 15
Cartheron stood with Choss and Hawl on board the Twisted, awaiting Surly. It had been nearly a week since they’d limped into Malaz harbour, and now their commander wanted a detailed appraisal of the ship’s condition.
The news was grim and Surly, he knew, would not be happy.
He watched from the railing as she marched out on to the pier, accompanied by Urko, Shrift, and ten or so local Malazan toughs – her bodyguard now that they’d hardened their control of the majority of the island’s black market. Also trailing along was this new follower, Nedurian, old and scarred, in plain travel-stained leathers, looking more like a retired fisherman than a veteran mage. Cartheron had to say that he wasn’t certain he trusted the fellow yet.
The toughs remained at the gangway while Surly, Urko, Shrift and the mage came stamping up. On deck, she crossed her arms and faced him; her habitual sour expression demanded, Well? He noticed she favoured her side, where, he understood, Geffen had cut her quite badly before she broke his neck. Local healers had done their work, but these things still smarted, he knew.
Cartheron cleared his throat, glanced to Choss and Hawl. Might as well jump into the depths, he reasoned. ‘We recommend laying up the entire winter season for a proper refit.’
That he’d said the wrong thing was immediately evident in her flat side-to-side denial. ‘Not what I want to hear, Crust. I want off this island.’
‘We need the time,’ Choss put in. ‘We struck two ice floes.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be here all winter.’
‘She won’t be ready,’ Hawl said.
Shrift now waved her impatience, butting in. ‘What’s the problem? We just take another!’ She motioned all about. ‘There’re plenty.’
‘Not like this one,’ Nedurian drawled from where he leaned against the railing outside their circle.
Shrift turned a sneer on the man. For some unknown reason the swordswoman had no time for the mage. ‘Oh? How so?’
By way of answer, the fellow rested his lazy gaze on Hawl. ‘Because she’s ensorcelled. Isn’t that so, Hawl?’
Hawl eyed him in turn, then nodded. ‘Aye.’
‘No other vessel could have made it out of the strait,’ the mage continued. ‘Isn’t that true?’
‘Possibly,’ Hawl granted.
Cartheron was thinking of the Just Cause. They’d lost sight of it soon after entering the Strait of Storms, and after that they had all been too busy fighting the ice buildup and evading the floes to consider its fate. But he still couldn’t let go of his worry – what if it had made it after all? Wouldn’t it be prudent …
He cleared his throat again, saying, ‘Surly might be right. Perhaps we should push off as soon as possible. Finish the repairs elsewhere.’
‘And just where?’ Hawl answered, exasperated. ‘We can’t show our faces anywhere on the mainland.’
‘Kartool?’ Choss offered.
Shrift shuddered and Urko’s blunt face twisted in disgust. ‘Gods, no,’ he rumbled.
‘Further afield,’ Surly said, crossing her arms. ‘We offer our services to one of the Seven Holy Cities. Aren, or Ubaryd.’
‘Got no navies worth the name,’ Urko offered, nodding and scratching his chin.
‘We’d be facing the Falari,’ Hawl warned.
Urko waved one great paw in dismissal. ‘Faugh! We can take them.’
But Surly would not move her steady gaze from Cartheron. He tapped his fingers on the scarred railing. ‘Heard troubling things about that sea cult of theirs. What is it? The … Jhistel? Blood sacrifices.’
Surly’s gaze did not waver. ‘We’ll face that when we must. But right now we’ve hung about too long.’
Cartheron nodded his agreement. Yes. By now Tarel must know they were here, word from the Just Cause or not. He already seemed to have the island in his sights. ‘Yes,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘Minimal repairs. Just enough to get us to Seven Cities.’
Choss snorted, commenting under his breath, ‘That’s some journey, I’ll have you know.’
‘Regardless,’ Surly said, and she uncrossed her arms. ‘How long?’ she asked Choss.
Their best boatwright twisted up his features, thinking. ‘Two moons, soonest.’
‘One.’
The man jerked his head as if pained. ‘What?’
‘One,’ she warned, pointing. ‘We’re done. Everyone help out on the repairs,’ and she turned and headed down the gangway, followed by Urko, Shrift and the new mage.
Choss leaned against the railing and looked to Cartheron, shaking his head. ‘Plenty of work ahead for all of us. So where’s your new guy, Dujek, and his tag-along?’
‘Out whipping our Malazan boys and girls into shape.’
Choss raised his chin to the pier. ‘What do you think of the new mage?’
Cartheron considered, lifted his shoulders. ‘Looks like a veteran.’
‘He is,’ Hawl said from behind. Cartheron turned to her; she was eyeing the retreating figures. ‘He has ex-legionnaire written all over him.’
‘Ex-legionnaire?’ Cartheron echoed. ‘As in the Talian iron legions?’ He whistled. ‘We could use him.’
‘If we can trust him.’
‘Trust him? What do you mean?’
But the heavy mage simply hugged her broad chest and tilted her head in thought. ‘Don’t know. Got a funny feeling on the ship just then with everyone … Keep an eye on him, Crust.’
Cartheron nodded his full agreement. ‘If you say so, Hawl.’