Agonized seconds passed as he struggled to draw air into his tortured chest He rolled on to his back. Vorcan, he saw, lay motionless almost against his feet. The boy's face came into view, streaked with sweat, brow e boy sighed, then grinned. «You're alive. Good. Rallick sent me to. Baruk sat up. «The witch,» he said hoarsely. He pointed. «Tend to her, He felt his strength returning as he watched the boy crouch beside her. «She's breathing,» Crokus announced. «There's some kind of knife in her looks like it's covered in paralt.» He reached down to touch it.
«Poison,» the alchemist said, climbing to his feet. «Help me to her, quickly.» A moment later he knelt beside Derudan. A quick glance at the sap-like substance coating the blade confirmed his suspicion. While Baruk laid a hand on Derudan. «Your knowledge surprises me, boy,» he said. «Fortunately, she's in the home of the one man who possesses its antidote.» He muttered something and a phial appeared in his hand «Rallick said there was no antidote to white paralt.»
«It's not something I'm likely to announce.» Baruk unstoppered the phial and poured the contents down the witch's throat, triggering coughing fit. As Derudan's breathing became even, Baruk leaned back and eyed Crokus. «You seem well acquainted with Rallick. What's your name?»
«Crokus. Mammot was my uncle, sir. I saw him die.»
Derudan's eyelids flickered, then opened. She smiled lazily. «What I see pleases me,» she said weakly. «Yes?»
Baruk returned the smile. «Yes, my friend. But I make no claim for defeating Vorcan. That falls to Crokus, nephew of Mammot.»
Derudan's gaze swung to the youth. «Ah, the one I came near to treading on earlier this evening.» The amusement left her expression. «I am sorry for Mammot, child.»
«So am I,» he replied.
Baruk rose and turned. He hissed a vehement curse. Vorcan's body was gone. «She's fled.» He hurried over to the Tiste And? woman, he bent down and examined her. She was dead. «I will soon know your name,» he whispered, «and I will remember it.»
«I have to go!» Crokus announced.
Baruk wondered at the sudden panic in the boy's face.
«I mean,» Crokus continued, «if everything's over here, that is.»
«I believe it is,» the alchemist answered. «I thank you, Crokus, for your skill at throwing bricks.»
The boy went to the door. He paused, then tossed a coin into the air. He caught it, and grinned tightly. «Just lucky, I suppose.» Then he was gone.
Captain Paran crouched beside Coll's bed. «Still asleep,» he said, rising, and facing Whiskeyjack. «Go ahead.»
Kalam and the two saboteurs had arrived minutes earlier. So far, the sergeant mused, no losses, though the captain's armour had taken a beating and the look in his face when he'd entered the room with Lorn's body in his arms warned Whiskeyjack away from probing Paran's state of mind too deeply. The Adjunct's body now occupied a second bed, motionless and pale, a strange ironic smile curving her bloodless lips.
The sergeant studied everyone in the small room, the faces he knew so well all watching him, waiting. His gaze held on Sorry, or Apsalar as she now called herself. Whatever Mallet had done to her, she was a changed woman from the one he'd known. Less, and somehow more as well.
Even Mallet was unsure of what he'd done. Certain memories, skills had been freed, and with them a brutal knowledge. The pain was there in the woman's eyes, a pain layered in years of horror-yet it seemed that she had it under control, that she'd found a way, a strength, to live with what she'd been. Her only words upon meeting him had been: «I wish to return home, Sergeant.»
He had no objection, though he wondered how she planned to cross two continents and the ocean between them. Whiskeyjack reached for the wrapped forearm bones lying on the table. «Yes, sir." he said, in answer to Paran's command.
The hot sweaty air in the room thickened with tension. Whiskeyjack hesitated. There'd been a battle in Darujhistan's streets, and Quick Ben had confirmed the Galayn lord's death. In fact, the black wizard seemed still in shock. The sergeant sighed under his breath and massaged his newly healed leg, then drove the forearm's blade into the tabletop.
Contact was immediate. High Fist Dujek's gravelly voice filled the room. «About time, Whiskeyjack! Don't bother telling me about the Galayn lord-Tayschrenn's in a coma or something. Everyone in Headquarters heard his scream. So Anomander Rake took out the beast.
«What else?»
Whiskeyjack glanced at Paran, who nodded deferentially. «Adjunct Lorn's gambit failed,» the sergeant said. «She's dead. We have her body with us. The intersections remain mined-we're not detonating them, High Fist, since they're likely to open the gas caverns beneath the city and turn us all into ash. So.» He drew a deep breath, feeling a twinge from his leg-Mallet had done what he could, and that'd been a lot, but some damage remained, and it made him feel fragile. «So,» he repeated softly, «we're pulling out, High Fist.»
Dujek was silent, then he grunted. «Problems, Whiskeyjack. One, we're about to lose Pale. As I suspected, Caladan Brood left the Crimson Guard to handle things up north, and marched down here with his Tiste And?. He's also got Rhivi with him, and Jorrick's Barghast, who've just finished chewing up Gold Moranth. Two, it gets worse.» The High Fist swallowed audibly. «Seven Cities is maybe a week away from open rebellion. The Empress knows it. Some Claw from Genabaris arrived half an hour ago, looking for Tayschrenn. My people got to him first.
«Whiskeyjack, he was carrying a handwritten message from the Empress to Tayschrenn. I've just been outlawed by the Empire. It's official, and Tayschrenn was to have effected my arrest and execution. We're on our own, friend.»
The room was silent. Whiskeyjack closed his eyes briefly. «Understood, High Fist. So, when do you march?»
«Seems the Black Moranth are with us-don't ask why. Anyway, I have a parley at dawn tomorrow with Caladan Brood and Kallor. That will decide matters, I suspect. Either he lets us walk, or he kills us taking Pale. Everything's riding on what he knows about the Pannion Seer.»
Whiskeyjack said, «We're rendezvousing with some Black Moranth in a couple of days, High Fist. Makes me wonder how much they'd guessed when that arrangement was made. Anyway, they'll take us to you, wherever you are.»
«No,» Dujek replied. «We may be under siege here. The Black will drop you off on the Catlin Plain. Their orders are clear on this, but you're welcome to try overruling them.»
The sergeant grimaced. Not likely. «Catlin Plain it is. just means it'll take us longer to get to you, sir.»
The glow surrounding the bones flickered briefly and they heard an echoing thump. Fiddler chuckled. Dujek had just pounded a fist on the table at his end of the conversation.
Whiskeyjack shot the saboteur a ferocious look.
«Captain Paran?» Dujek bellowed.
«Here, High Fist,» Paran replied, stepping forward.
«What I'm about to say is to Whiskeyjack, but I want you to hear it, Captain.»
«I'm listening.»
«Sergeant, if you want to be in my army, you'd better get used to the new order. First, I'm placing the Bridgeburners under Captain Paran's command. Second, you're not a sergeant any more, Whiskeyjack. You are my second-in-command, and that means responsibilities. I don't want you anywhere near Pale. And you know I'm right, dammit. Captain Paran?»