Gardens of the Moon

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

As rallick nom approached the phoenix inn from the alleyway, a large, beefy woman stepped out from a shadowed niche and conronted him. He raised an eyebrow. «You want something, Meese?»

«Never mind what I want.» She grinned invitingly. «You've known about that for years. Anyway, I come to tell ya something, Nom. So relax.»

He crossed his arms and waited.

s a Meese glanced back up the alley, then hunched close to the assassin.

«There's someone in the bar. Been asking for ya. By name.»

Startled, Rallick straightened. «What's he look like?» he asked casually.

«Like a soldier outa uniform,» Meese replied. «Never seen him around before. So what do ya think, Nom?»

He looked away. «Nothing. Where's he sitting?»

Meese grinned again. «At Kruppe's table. Home ground. Now ain't that fine?»

Rallick stepped past the woman and headed towards the inn. As she moved to follow he held out his hand. «A minute between us, Meese,» he said, without turning. «Where's Irilta?»

«Inside,» she said, behind him. «Good luck, Nom.»

«Luck's never free,» Rallick muttered, as he turned the corner and climbed the steps.

He stood still just within the door and surveyed the crowd. A few strangers, not enough to cause him concern, however. His gaze slid across to a man sitting at Kruppe's table. He almost had to take a second look, so nondescript was he. Then Rallick strode straight for him, the crowd parting as he went-something he'd never noticed before.

Amused, he held his eyes on the stranger until he was noticed. They locked gazes, though the man made no move other than to take a sip from his tankard then set it down carefully on the table.

Rallick pulled out a chair and dragged it opposite. «I'm Rallick Nom.»

There was something solid about this person, a kind of assurance that was calming. Rallick felt himself relaxing in spite of his habitual caution.

The man's first words changed that, however.

«The Eel has a message for you,» he said quietly. «Direct, by word of mouth only. Before I deliver it, though, I'm to give you some background-as only I can.» He paused to drink from the tankard, then resumed.

«Now, Turban Orr has hired another dozen hunters. What are they hunting? Well, me, for one. Your problem is that he's going to be harder to reach. The Eel approves of your effort's concerning Lady Sinital. Coll's return is desired by all who value integrity and honour within the Council. If you require anything, ask now and it's yours.»

Rallick's eyes had hardened. «Never knew Murillio had such a big mouth,» he said.

The man shook his head. «Your compatriot has revealed nothing. Nor have you. It is the Eel's business. Now, what do you require?»

«Nothing.»

«Good.» The stranger nodded, as if he'd expected that reply and was pleased. «Incidentally, Turban Orr's efforts to pass the proclamation have been: impeded. Indefinitely. The Eel wishes to thank you for your unwitting role in that. Nevertheless, the councilman explores other options. He has been watched closely. Hence our fortunate discovery that is at the heart of the Eel's message to you. Last night, beneath Despot's Barbican, Turban Orr met with a representative of the Assassins» Guild-how he managed that was quite a feat, considering how difficult your comrades have been to find. In any case, a contract was tendered by Turban Orr.» The man waited for the shock to wear off Rallick's face, then continued. «Tendered by Turban Orr, as I said, but not on his own behalf. Rather, Lady Sinital has decided that Coll's death should be a fact in the real world as it is on paper.»

«Who?» Rallick rasped. «Who was the contact?»

«I'm coming to that. First, it was accepted, for the payment was substantial. They are aware that Coll is presently outside Darujhistan. They simply await his return.»

«The assassin's name.»

«Ocelot.» The man rose. «The Eel wishes you success in all your ventures, Rallick Nom. Thus the message ends. Good evening.» He turned to leave.

«Wait.»

«Yes?»

«Thank you,» Rallick said.

The stranger smiled, then left.

The assassin took the man's seat, and leaned against the wall. He waved at Sulty, who had a pitcher of ale and a tankard waiting. She hurried over. Behind her strode, at a more leisurely pace, Irilta and Meese. They sat down without preamble, each with her own tankard.

«Everybody's still breathing,» Irilta said, raising her drink. «And here's t» that.»

Meese lifted hers as well and the two women drank deep. Then Meese bent forward. «Any word of Kruppe and the boy?»

Rallick shook his head. «I may not be here when they come back,» he said. «Tell Murillio to go ahead if I don't show, and if other: events occur. And, if that happens, tell him our man's eyes are open.» Rallick filled his tankard and drained it immediately. Then he rose. «Don't wish me luck,» he said.

«How about success?» Meese asked, a worried expression on her broad face.

Rallick jerked his head in a nod. Then he left the inn.

Anomander Rake was hiding something. Baruk was certain of it as he stared moodily into the fireplace. In his right hand was a goblet of goat's milk, and in his left a large fragment of Daru flatbread. Why had the Tiste And? permitted the Imass to enter the barrow? He'd asked that question already of the Lord sitting beside him, but an answer didn't seem forthcoming. Instead, all the alchemist got from Rake was that irritating smugness. Baruk took a bite from the flatbread, the crack loud between them.

Rake stretched out his legs and sighed. «An odd hour to dine,» he said.

«All my hours have been odd, lately,» Baruk said, around the bread. He drank a mouthful of milk.

«I'd no idea that both the Shadow Lord and Oponn had become involved in affairs,» Rake said.

Baruk felt the Lord's eyes on him, but he remained staring at the fire.

«I had an intimation of Oponn,» he said. «But nothing definite.»

Rake snorted in reply.

Baruk downed some more milk. «You hold your hunches close to your chest. I do the same.»

«This avails us nothing,» Rake snapped.

The alchemist turned in his chair to face the Tiste And?. «Your ravens watched that woman and the T'lan Imass enter the barrow. Do you still believe they will fail?»

«Do you?» Rake retorted. «I seem to recall that that was your position on the matter, Baruk. As far as I was and am concerned, I don't much care whether they succeed or not. Either way, there'll be a fight. I suspect you'd imagined there would be a way to avoid one. Obviously, your intelligence concerning the Malazan Empire is sorely lacking. Laseen knows only one thing, and that's force. She'll ignore power until it's unveiled, and then she'll hit you with everything at her disposal.»

«And you just wait for it to happen?» Baruk scowled. «That's how cities are destroyed. That's how thousands of people die. Does any of that matter to you, Anomander Rake? So long as you win in the end?»

A tight smile played on the Lord's thin lips. «An accurate assessment, Baruk. In this case, however, Laseen wants Darujhistan intact. I mean to prevent that. But destroying the city to defy her would be too easy. I could have managed that weeks ago. No, I want Darujhistan to remain as it is. Yet out of Laseen's reach. That, Alchemist, is victory.» His grey eyes were on Baruk. «I would not have sought an alliance with you otherwise.»

The alchemist frowned. «Unless you plan treachery.»

Rake was silent for a time, studying his hands clasped on his lap. «Baruk, he said soffly, «as any commander of long standing knows, treachery breeds its own. Once committed, whether against an enemy or an ally, it become a legitimate choice for everyone in your command, from the lowest private seeking promotion, to your personal aides, bodyguards and officers. My people know of our alliance with you, Alchemist. If I were to betray it, would not long remain the Lord of Moon's Spawn. And rightly so Baruk smiled.

«And who could challenge your power, Rake?»

«Caladan Brood, for one,» Rake replied immediately. «And then there's my four assassin mages. Even Silanah, the dweller within the Moon's caverns, might take it upon herself to exact judgement on me. I can thint

«So fear holds you in check, Son of Darkness?»

Rake scowled. «That title is held by those fools who think me worthy of worship. I dislike it, Baruk, and would not hear it again from you. Does fear hold me in check? No. As powerful as fear is, it is no match for what compels me. Duty.» The Lord's eyes had shifted into a dun tone as they remained fixed on his hands, which he now turned palms up.

«You have a duty to your city, Baruk. It drives you, shapes you. I'm no stranger to such a thing. Within Moon's Spawn are the last of the Tiste And? on this world. We are dying, Alchemist. No cause seems great enough to return to my people the zest for life. I try, but inspiration has never been a great talent of mine. Even this Malazan Empire could not make us rise to defend ourselves-until we ran out of places to run to.»

«We still die on this continent. Better that it be by the sword.» He let his hands slip from his lap. «Imagine your spirit dying while your body lives on. Not for ten years, not for fifty. But a body that lives on for fifteen, twenty thousand years.»

Rake rose swiftly. He looked down upon a silent Baruk, and smiled a smile that launched a dagger of pain into the alchemist's heart. «Thus duty holds me, yet a duty that is in itself hollow. Is it enough to preserve the Tiste And?? Simply preserve them? Do I raise Moon's Spawn into the heavens, where we live on, beyond any risk, any threat? What, then, will I be preserving? A history, a particular point of view.» He shrugged. «The history is done, Baruk, and the Tiste And? point of view is one of disinterest, stoicism and quiet, empty despair. Are these gifts to the world worthy of preservation? I think not.»

Baruk had no immediate response. What Anomander Rake had described was almost beyond comprehension, yet its anguished cry reached through to the alchemist. «And yet,» he said, «here you are. Allied with the Empire's victims. Do you stand alone in this, Anomander Rake? Do your people approve?»

«They care not,» Rake said. «They accept my commands. They follow me. They serve Caladan Brood when I ask them to. And they die in the mud and forests of a land that is not their own, in a war not their own, for a people who are terrified of them.»

Baruk sat forward. «Then why? Why do you do all this?»

A harsh laugh was Rake's response. After a moment, however, his bitter amusement fell away and he said, «Is an honourable cause worth anything these days? Does it matter that we've borrowed it? We fight as well as any man. We die alongside them. Mercenaries of the spirit. And even that is a coin we scarcely value. Why? It doesn't matter why. But we never betray our allies.

«I know you are worried that I did nothing to prevent the T'lan Imass from entering the barrow. I believe the Jaghut Tyrant will be freed, Baruk. But better now, with me here beside you, than at some other time when the Jaghut has no one capable of opposing him. We'll take this legend and carve the life from it, Alchemist, and never again will the threat haunt you.»

Baruk stared at the Tiste And?. «Are you that certain you'll be able to destroy the Jaghut?»

«No. But when it is finished with us, it will have been much reduced. Then it falls to others-to your Cabal, in fact. There's no certainty in this, Baruk. That seems a fact particularly galling to you humans. You'd better learn to accept it. We may well be able to destroy the Jaghut Tyrant, but even this will serve Laseen's plans.»

The alchemist was bemused. «I don't understand.»

Rake grinned. «When we are finished with it, we will have been much reduced. And then will come the powers of the Malazan Empire. So, you see, either way she wins. If anything has her worried, it's your T'orrud Cabal, Baruk. Of your abilities she knows nothing. Which is why her agents seek this Vorcan. The Guild Master accepting the contract will solve the problem you represent.»

«Yet,» Baruk mused,» there are other factors involved.»

«Oponn,» Rake stated. «That is a danger to everyone involved. Do you think Oponn cares for a mortal city? For its people? It is the nexus of power that matters to Oponn, the whirlwind where games get nasty. Will immortal blood be spilled? That's the question the gods are eager to have answered.»

Baruk stared down at his goblet of goat's milk. «Well, at least we've avoided that so far.» He took a sip.

«Wrong,» Rake said. «Forcing Shadowthrone out of the game marked the first spilling of immortal blood.»

Baruk almost choked on the milk. He set down the goblet and stared up at the Tiste And?. «Whose?»

«Two Hounds died by my sword. Knocked Shadowthrone somewhat off-balance, I believe.»

Baruk leaned back and closed his eyes. «Then the stakes have risen,» he said.

«As far as Moon's Spawn, Alchemist.» Rake returned to his chair and sat, once again stretching his legs out to the fire's warmth. «Now, what more can you tell me about this Jaghut Tyrant? I recall you said you wished to consult an authority.»

Baruk opened his eyes and tossed the flatbread into the fire. «There's a problem there, Rake. I'm hoping you can help explain what's happened. Please,» he said, rising, «follow me.»

Grunting, Rake climbed back to his feet. This night he'd not worn his sword. To Baruk the Lord's broad back looked incomplete, but he was thankful for the weapon's absence.

He led Rake from the room and down the central stairs to the lower chambers. The first of these subterranean rooms held a narrow cot, and on the cot lay an old man. Baruk indicated him. «As you see, he appears to be sleeping. He is named Mammot.»

Rake raised an eyebrow. «The historian?»

«Also a High Priest of Urek.»

«That explains the cynicism in his writings,» Rake said, grinning. «The Worm of Autumn breeds an unhappy lot.»

Baruk was surprised that this Tiste And? had read Mammot's Histories but, then, why not? A life spanning twenty thousand years necessitated hobbies, he supposed.

«So,» Rake said, striding to the bed, «this Mammot sleeps a deep sleep. What triggered it?» He crouched before the old man.

Baruk Joined him. «That is the odd part. I admit to knowing little of earth magic. Uriss is a Warren I've never explored. I called on Mammot, as I indicated to you, and upon his arrival I asked him to tell me all he knew of the Jaghut Tyrant and the barrow. He promptly sat down and closed his eyes. They've yet to open, and he's not uttered a single word since.»

Rake straightened. «He took your request seriously, I see.»

«What do you mean?»

«As you guessed, he opened his Uriss Warren. He sought to answer your question by rather, shall we say, direct means. And now something's trapped him.»

«He travelled by Warren to the Jaghut Tyrant's barrow? The old foo!»

«Into a concentration of Tellarm sorcery, not to mention Jaghut Omtose Phellack. On top of all that, a woman with an Otataral sword.»

Rake crossed his arms. «He'll not come round until both the T'lan Imass and the Otataral have left the barrow. And even then, if he's not quick, the awakening Jaghut might take him.»

A chill burgeoned in Baruk's bones. «Take, as in possession?»

Rake nodded, his expression grim. «A High Priest, is he? The Jaghut would find him very useful. Not to mention the access Mammot provides to Urek. Do you know, Baruk, if this Tyrant's capable of enslaving a goddess?»

«I don't know,» Baruk whispered, sweat trickling down his round face as he stared at Mammot's recumbent form. «Dessembrae fend,» he added.

The old woman sitting on the tenement steps squinted at the late afternoon sky while she tamped dried Italbe leaves into her steatite pipe. On the wooden steps beside her was a small covered bronze brazier. Thin kindling sticks jutted from holes around the bowl. The old woman withdrew one and set it to her pipe, then tossed it into the street.

The man walking down the opposite side of the street caught the signal and ran a hand through his hair. Circle Breaker felt near to panic.

This taking to the streets was far too risky. Turban Orr's hunters were close to him-he could feel it with dread certainty. Sooner or later, the councilman would recall his many meetings beneath Despot's Barbican, and the guard who'd been stationed there every time. This brazen showing of himself compromised everything.

He turned a corner, passing beyond the old woman's sight, and continued for three blocks until he came opposite the Phoenix Inn. Two women lounged by the door, laughing at some joke between them.

Circle Breaker tucked his thumbs into his sword-belt and angled the scabbard out to the side. Its bronze-capped end scraped against the stone wall beside him. Then he withdrew his hands and continued on his way towards Lakefront. Well, it's done. All that remained for him was one final contact, possibly redundant, but he would follow the Eel's orders.

Things were coming to a head. He did not expect to live much longer, but he'd do what he must until that time. What more could be asked of him?

At the entrance of the Phoenix Inn, Meese nudged Irilta. «That's it,» she muttered. «You do the back-up this time. Usual pattern.»

Irilta scowled, then nodded. «Head off, then.»

Meese descended the steps and turned up the street. She reversed the route taken by Circle Breaker until she reached the tenement. She saw the old woman still sitting there, lazily watching passers-by. As Meese passed through her line of vision, the old woman removed the pipe from her mouth and tapped it against the heel of her shoe. Sparks rained on to the cobbles.

That was the signal. Meese came to the corner of the block, then turned right and entered the alley running the building's length. A door opened for her a third of the way down and she strode into a dimly lit room with an open door beyond. Someone hid behind the first door but she did not acknowledge that someone's presence. She passed through the second, inner door and found herself in a hallway. From there it was a quick jog up the stairs.

Apsalar-or Sorry, as she had been known before-hadn't been much impressed by her first sight of Darujhistan. For some reason, despite her excitement and anticipation, it had all seemed too familiar.

Disappointed, Crokus had wasted no time in taking her to his uncle's home once they'd stabled Coll's horse. The journey to the city, and then through its crowded streets, had been, for Crokus, a continual storm of confusion. This woman seemed to have a knack for catching him off guard, and all he desired now was to throw her into someone else's lap and be done with it.

Yet, if that was truly the case, why did he feel so miserable about it?

Crokus left Mammot's library and returned to the outer room. Moby chirped and stuck out its red tongue at him from Mammot's desk.

Ignoring the creature, Crokus stood before Apsalar, who'd seated herself in the better of the two chairs-his chair, of course. «I don't understand. From the looks of it, he's been gone for a couple of days at least.»

«So? Is that so unusual?» Apsalar asked casually.

«It is,» he grumbled. «Did you feed Moby as I asked?»

She nodded. «The grapes?»

«Yes.» He placed his hands on his hips. «Strange. Maybe Rallick knows something about it.»

«Who's Rallick?»

«An assassin friend,» Crokus replied distractedly.

Apsalar shot to her feet, her eyes wide.

«What's wrong?» Crokus asked, stepping close. The girl looked positively terrified. He glared around, half expecting to see some demon rise out of the floor or the cupboard, but the room was unchanged-a little messier than usual, though. Moby's fault, he assumed.

«I'm not sure,» she said, relaxing with an effort. «It was as if I was about to remember something. But it never came.»

«Oh,» Crokus said. «Well, we could-»

A knock sounded on the door.

Crokus brightened, walking over to it. «Oh, he probably lost his keys or something,» he said.

«It was unlocked,» Apsalar pointed out.

Crokus opened the door. «Meese! What're you-?»

«Quiet!» the big woman hissed, pushing past him and shutting the door. Her gaze fell on Apsalar and her eyes widened. Then she turned back to Crokus. «Good. I found you, lad! You've seen no one since getting Au, back?»

«Why, no. That's just it-»

«A stabler,» Apsalar said, frowning up at Meese. «Have we met?»

«She's lost her memory,» Crokus explained. «But, yes, we stabled Coll's horse.»

«Why?» Meese demanded, then as Crokus was about to elaborate she went on, «Never mind. The stabler shouldn't prove a problem. Well, we're in luck!»

«Dammit, Meese,» Crokus said. «What's going on?»

She met his eyes. «That D'Arle guard you killed the other night. The one in the garden. They've got your name and description, lad. Don't ask me how. But the D'Arles are talking high gallows when you're caught.»

The blood left Crokus's face. Then his head jerked to Apsalar. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. No, she truly didn't remember. But it must have been her. He collapsed into Mammot's chair.

«We've got to hide you, lad,» Meese said. «Both of you, I guess. But don't you worry, Crokus, me and Irilta, we'll take care of you till something can be worked out.»

«I don't believe this,» he whispered, staring at the wall opposite him. «She betrayed me, damn her!»

Meese looked questioningly at Apsalar, who said, «It's a guess, but I'd say a girl named Challice.»

Meese closed her eyes briefly. «Challice D'Arle, the court's honey these days.» Compassion softened her face as she looked down on Crokus.

«Oh, lad. That's the way of it, then.»

He jerked in the seat and glared up at her. «It isn't any more.»

Meese grinned. «Right. For now,» she said, arms folded over her chest, «we just sit tight till night, then it's the rooftops for us. Don't worry, we'll handle things, lad.»

Apsalar rose. «My name's Apsalar,» she said. «Pleased to meet you, Meese. And thank you for helping Crokus.»

«Apsalar, huh? Well,» her grin broadened, «guess the rooftops will be no problem for you, then.»

«None,» she replied, knowing somehow that she was right in this.

«Good enough,» Meese said. «Now, how about we find something to drink?»

«Meese,» Crokus asked, «do you know where my uncle might have gone?»

«Can't help you there, lad. No idea.»

She wasn't sure about the old woman on the steps, but the one immediately below, tucked into a shadowed niche and steadily watching the tenement building-that one would have to be taken care of. It seemed, that this Coin Bearer had protection.

Serrat was not unduly concerned. Next to her lord, Anomander Rake, she ranked the deadliest among the Tiste And? of Moon's Spawn.

Finding this boy-servant of Oponn's had not proved difficult. Once her lord had given her the necessary details, Oponn's magical signature had been easy to find. It helped that she'd encountered it before-and from this very boy-on the rooftops two weeks past. Her agents had chased the Coin Bearer that night, abandoning him once he'd entered the Phoenix Inn-but only at her command. If she'd suspected then what she now knew, Oponn's presence would have ended that very night.

Ill luck, Serrat smiled to herself, taking a more comfortable position on the rooftop. They'd move at night, she suspected. As for the woman hiding below, she'd have to be removed. Indeed, with a spell of bluffing and enough in the way of shadows, she might as easily take the woman's place.

There'd be no suspicion from the other woman, then, the one presently inside with the Coin Bearer. Serrat nodded. Yes, that would be how she'd play it.

But for now, she'd wait. Patience ever rewards.

«Well,» Murillio said, as he scanned the crowd, «they're not here. Which means they're with Mammot.»

Kruppe drew a deep breath of the sweaty, smoky air. «Ah, civilization. Kruppe believes your assessment is accurate, friend. If so, then we might as well rest here, drinking and supping for an hour or two.» With that, he strode into the Phoenix Inn.

A few old hands, seated at Kruppe's table, gathered their tankards and pitcher and left, murmuring apologies and grinning among themselves.

Kruppe gave them a gracious nod and settled with a loud sigh into his usual chair. Murillio paused at the bar and spoke with Scurve, then he joined Kruppe.

Brushing dust from his shirt, Murillio frowned distractedly at his road-weary condition. «I look forward to a bath,» he said. «Apparently Scurve saw Rallick in here earlier, talking with some stranger. Since then, nobody's seen him.»

Kruppe waved an uninterested hand. «Kind Sulty arrives,» he announced. A moment later a pitcher of ale stood on the table. Kruppe wiped his tankard with his silk handkerchief, then filled it with the foaming brew.

«Weren't we supposed to report to Baruk?» Murillio asked, his eyes on his friend.

«All in due time,» Kruppe said. «First, we must recover from our ordeals. What if Kruppe were to lose his voice in very mid-sentence of said report? What would avail Baruk of that?» He raised his tankard and drank deep.

Murillio drummed the fingers of one hand restlessly on the table, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd. Then he straightened in his seat. He filled his tankard. «So now that you know what Rallick and I are up to,» he said, «what do you plan to do about it?»

Kruppe's eyebrows lifted. «Kruppe? Why, nothing but good, of course. Timely assistance, and such. No need for blatant fretting, friend Murillio. By all means proceed as planned. Think of wise Kruppe as no more than a kindly chaperon.»

«Hood's Breath,» Murillio groaned, eyes rolling. «We were doing fine without your help. The best thing you could do for us is stay out of our way. Don't get involved.»

«And abandon my friends to the fates? Nonsense!»

Murillio finished his ale and rose. «I'm going home,» he said. «You can make the report to Baruk in a week's time for all I care. And when Rallick finds out you know all about our plans, well, Kruppe, I'd hate to be in your boots.»

Kruppe waved dismissively. «See Sulty yon? Upon her tray is Kruppe's supper. Rallick Nom's nasty daggers and nastier temper pale to insignificance before such repast as now approaches. Goodnight to you, then, Murillio. Until the morrow.»

Murillio stared down at him, then grumbled, «Goodnight, Kruppe.»

He left the bar through the kitchen door. As soon as he stepped into the back alley a figure accosted him from across the way. Murillio, frowned. «That you, Rallick?»

«No,» the shadowed figure said. «Fear me not, Murillio. I have a message to you from the Eel. Call me Circle Breaker.» The man strode closer. «The message concerns Councilman Turban Orr:»

Rallick moved from rooftop to rooftop in the darkness. The need for absolute silence slowed his hunt considerably. There'd be no conversation with Ocelot. Rallick expected he'd have but one shot at the man.

If he missed his chance, his Clan Leader's sorcery would prove the deciding factor. Unless:

Rallick paused and checked his pouch. Years back, the alchemist Baruk had rewarded him for work well done with a small bag of reddish dust. Baruk had explained its magic-deadening properties, but Rallick resisted placing his trust in the powder. Had its potency survived the years? Was it a match for Ocelot's powers? There was no telling.

He crossed a high rooftop, skirting the edge of a dome. Off to his right and below was the city's eastern wall. The faint glow of Worrytown rose beyond it. The assassin suspected that Ocelot would await Coll's arrival at Worry Gate, hiding within crossbow range. Better to kill the man before he entered the city.

This limited the possibilities considerably. Lines of sight were few, and K'rul Hill was the best of them. Still, Ocelot might well have used sorcery already, and lie hidden from mundane eyes. Rallick might stumble right over him.

He reached the north side of the dome's skirt. Before him rose the K'rul Temple. From the belfry, there'd be a clean shot just as Coll entered the gate. Rallick removed the pouch from his bag. Whatever the dust covered, Baruk had said, would be impervious to magic. More, it had an area effect. The assassin scowled. How much of an area? And did it wear off? Most importantly, Baruk had said-and Rallick remembered this clearly-do not let it touch your skin. Poison? he'd asked. «No,» the alchemist had replied. «The powder changes some people. There is no predicting such changes, however. Best not to take the chance, Rallick.»

Sweat trickled down his face. Finding Ocelot was already a slim chance. Coll's death would ruin everything and, more, it would strip from Rallick his last claim: to what? To humanity. The price of failure had become very high. «Justice,» he hissed angrily. «It has to mean something. It has to!»

Rallick untied the pouch. He dipped into it and scraped out a handful of the powder. He rubbed it between his fingers. It felt like rust. «That's it?» he wondered. Maybe it had deteriorated. Shrugging, he began to massage it into his skin, starting with his face. «What changes?» he muttered. «I don't feel any changes.»

Reaching under his clothing as much as was possible, Rallick used up the last of the powder. The pouch itself was stained on the inside. He turned it inside out, then stuffed it into his belt. Now, he grimaced, the hunt continues. Somewhere out there an assassin waited, eyes fixed on Jammit's Worry Road. «I'll find you, Ocelot,» he whispered, his eyes fixed on K'rul's belfry tower. «And magic or no magic, you won't hear me, you won't even feel my breath on your neck until it's too late. I swear it.»

He began his ascent.