Silk crossed his arms. ‘Fine. Brass tacks, as they say. What sort of upheaval?’
The old witch turned away, hunching once more. She probed the mud before her. ‘Ancient,’ she murmured. ‘Very ancient. That is all I can say, to my peril.’
‘Peril? You mean whatever this is – it threatens even you?’
She turned upon him, suddenly, peering about. ‘Oh yes. Everyone. Even the Elders. None can escape this.’
Despite his scepticism, Silk retreated a short distance from the woman. ‘Elders? You mean, even the … Tiste?’
The hag shambled off. ‘I can say no more. It may come. Beware. That is all I dare say.’
Silk remained – ankle-deep in the muck – watching the old witch as she wandered off. Madness perhaps? A sad need for attention? Nothing more? Or so much more than that? Who could say?
He set his hands to his hips and let out a great breath, nodding to himself.
Fine! Time to talk to Ho …
Chapter 1
Dancer slipped silently into the main reception hall of Mock’s Hold and peered round. It was night and only the torches in their sconces lit the broad empty chamber. Turning, he nodded to Surly and indicated the stairs. ‘He’s in his rooms,’ he mouthed as quietly as possible.
Surly, a Napan woman bearing the characteristic blue hue of those isles’ natives, turned to the two men hanging back, also Napans. Cartheron Crust and Urko Crust were brothers, but as unalike as night and day, since Cartheron stood short and wiry while Urko bulked as wide as an ox. ‘No one comes down or up,’ she ordered.
Cartheron nodded, while his brother smacked one meaty fist into the other palm. Dancer and Surly glared at the loud slap of flesh and he grimaced, muttering, ‘Sorry.’
Surly started up. Her bare feet were silent on the polished stone. Dancer glided with her almost as if he were floating up the steps. Together, they reached one particular door in the hall and took up positions to either side.
They nodded in unison, then Dancer took the latch and threw open the door. Both stormed into the chamber.
An aged, dark-skinned Dal Hon native snorted at the interruption, feet up on a desk, arms crossed over his paunch. He blinked, surprised, then frowned his displeasure. ‘So,’ he announced, ‘it has come to this.’
‘You leave us no choice, Kellanved,’ Dancer answered. ‘If you cooperate we’ll make it quick.’
The wizened elder twisted up his lips and turned his face away. He crossed his arms. ‘Never. You wouldn’t dare.’
With a gesture as graceful as his name, Dancer invited Surly forward. She leaned up against Kellanved’s desk. Crossing her arms, she cleared her throat and began, ‘Let me see … Nom Purge remains in perpetual warfare with Quon Tali. Dal Hon is currently probing a weakened Itko Kan’s borders. The Seti continue to attack anyone other than travellers who enters the central plains. The War Marshal of the Bloorian League, in secret connivance with Unta, is steadily isolating Gris from its surrounding principates and allies, while the city state of Cawn sells arms and provides mercenaries to all sides.’
The wrinkled ancient had pressed his hands to his ears and was shaking his head. ‘No! Stop this horrible babble – you’re killing me!’
‘Then how are we to proceed?’ Dancer demanded. ‘Tell us what you have in mind. For once.’
‘Never! The element of surprise …’
‘Surprise our enemies,’ Dancer pleaded. ‘Not us!’ He nodded for the woman to continue. ‘Surly here has spent a great deal of time thinking about Nap.’
The ancient mage rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, please. Who cares about Nap now? Dancer, a much more profound errand beckons …’
The assassin glared a warning. ‘Hear her out, at the least.’
Kellanved groaned and let his head fall to the desk.
Ignoring this, Surly went on, ‘We should approach Dal Hon for an agreement exempting their shores and merchants from all attacks. We could ask for twenty ships with crews – or funding to the equivalent. For if we take Nap we will be the sole raiders of the Southern Seas. And they know this.’
Kellanved’s head snapped up. ‘We? What is this we business?’ He eyed Dancer narrowly.
Dancer pressed a hand to his brow in frustration. ‘That’s all you take away from that? This is sound strategy. I think we should listen.’
The mage set his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers before his chin. He regarded Dancer with some scepticism. ‘And just which we are we talking about here?’
‘You, me, us – whoever! Just listen, dammit all to Burn!’
Kellanved pursed his lips and bounced his steepled fingers from them then lowered his hands to grip the desk. ‘Very well. I shall reveal my plans! They are as follows … we shall take all our ships, attack Dariyal, and take Nap!’ He thrust a bent finger into the air. ‘Ha!’
Surly and Dancer eyed one another, appalled. Dancer pulled a hand down his face. ‘Gods have mercy,’ he muttered, and turned away to pour a drink.
‘That’s just what Tarel would expect,’ Surly explained, rather acidly. ‘The same thing’s been tried again and again for hundreds of years.’ She pressed her hands together, almost at a loss for words. ‘Nap invading Malaz, Malaz invading Nap. It always fails in the end. We need an alliance. I suggest Dal Hon.’
Kellanved waved that aside. ‘I need no damned allies. Duplicitous betrayers! Two-faced turncoats! I curse them all.’
‘Then what exactly do you suggest?’ Dancer demanded.
‘Exactly what I just outlined.’
Dancer sipped his wine. He eyed the mage over the glass. ‘Haven’t you been listening?’
Kellanved nodded. ‘Yes I have. I hear that my plan is exactly what Talen and his admirals would expect of a new impetuous leader such as myself.’ He cocked a brow at Surly. ‘Yes?’
Now the Napan raider frowned, uncertain of the man’s tack. ‘Well, yes …’
Kellanved gave a curt nod. ‘Excellent. Because said invasion will be a diversion to draw their forces out of the capital. The real attack will come from the landward side. I myself shall transport a small force on to the island, led perhaps by our friend Dassem, to take the palace and replace its ruler.’
Surly snapped up a hand. ‘Agreed – so long as you swear to leave Tarel to me.’
Kellanved inclined his head. ‘Agreed.’ He waved, shooing Surly from his chambers. ‘Very good. Now, make the same offer to Itko Kan and Cawn in secret. But we will renege on those – yes?’
Dancer and Surly turned to eye one another, their brows rising: neither had thought of that.
Kellanved waved Surly off. ‘Go on! Make the arrangements. Dancer and I have things to talk over.’
Surly did not move. Her gaze slid between the two, suspicious. ‘If you disappear again how can I count on you being where you need to be?’
‘Tayschrenn should be able to contact us,’ Kellanved supplied, untroubled. ‘And in any case, I see your point. We shan’t be leaving for some time.’
She backed away to the door. ‘Very well. But how can we know you’ll be there …’
He fluttered a hand. ‘We shall. Do not worry.’
She pulled the door open, and could not help but add a last, dark, muttered, ‘You’d better be.’
The Crust brothers met her at the bottom of the stairs and Cartheron asked, ‘So? How’d it go? What’s the plan?’
She eyed the upper rooms and ran her fingertips over the ridged calloused knuckles of her other hand. ‘Remind me to stop underestimating that damned fool mage.’
* * *
Baron Elath Lallind, Sentry of the Seti Marches and High General of Nom Purge, was very pleased with his prosecution of the campaign against Quon Tali to date. He’d taken over from General Yellen of the Agar family – now stripped of all rank and disgraced – two seasons ago, and since then had proved victor far more often than the reverse. The most recent retreat of Quon Talian forces had brought the contending armies to the very border of Quon lands, at the shore-side plains of Sighing Grasses. A victory here would open the way to the rich northern provinces of their traditional enemy, and not too inconsequentially seal his name as the greatest leader in the history of Nom Purge. So it was that confidence was high and the mood one of barely suppressed glee at this last meeting of his command staff before battle.