Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1) 54

And his sense of outrage at the injustices around him, the corruptions of the world, would wither in the unlit tunnels beneath Darujhistan. In the exactness of the methods of assassination, his final victim would be himself.

And this, more than anything, made his and Murillio's scheme the last act of humanity he'd ever make. Betrayal was the greatest of all crimes in Rallick's mind, for it took all that was human within a person and made it a thing of pain. In the face of that, murder itself was surcease: it was quick, and it ended the anguish and despair of a life without hope.

If all went as planned, Lady Sinital and those men who'd conspired with her in the betrayal of her husband, Lord Coll, would die. Could that right the wrong, could it even the scales of retribution? No, but it might return to a man his life and his hope.

For himself, Rallick, such gifts had long since been lost, and he was not the kind of man to stir the ashes. No embers survived, no flame could be born anew. Life belonged to other people, and his only claim to it was his power to take it from them. Nor would he recognize hope if it came to him. Too much a stranger, too long a ghost.

As he neared the inn's entrance, Rallick saw Crokus approaching from down the street. He increased his pace. “Crokus,” he called.

The boy flinched, then, seeing Rallick, he stopped and waited.

Rallick took his arm and steered him towards the alley without saying a word. Once in the shadows he tightened his grip, swung Crokus round and pulled him close. “Listen to me,” he hissed, his face inches from the boy's own astonished visage, “the Guild's best were slaughtered tonight. This isn't a game. You stay off the rooftops, do you understand me?”

Crokus nodded.

“And tell your uncle this. There's a Claw in the city.”

The boy's eyes widened.

“And,” Rallick continued, “there's someone else. Someone coming down from the sky, killing everything in sight.”

“Uncle Mammot?”

“Just tell him. And now listen carefully, Crokus. What I'm about to say is from me to you, one to one, understand?”

Crokus nodded again, his face pale.

“You stay on this path and you'll end up dead. I don't give a damn how exciting it all seems-what's excitement to you is desperation to others. Stop feeding off the city's lifeblood, lad. There's no hero's role in sucking others dry. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Crokus whispered.

Rallick released the boy's arm and stepped back. “Now, leave.” He shoved Crokus up the street, watched the boy stagger away and disappear around a corner. He drew a deep breath, surprised to find his hands trembling as he loosened his cloak's collar.

Murillio stepped from the shadows. “I'm not sure it'll work, friend, but it was a good try.” He laid a hand on the assassin's shoulder. “Master Baruk has a job for us. Kruppe insists we bring Crokus along.”

Rallick frowned. “Along? Are we leaving Darujhistan, then?”

“Afraid so.”

“Go without me,” Rallick said. “Tell Baruk I can't be found. Everything's at a critical juncture-our planning included.”

“Something else happening, Nom?”

“You heard the message I gave Crokus for his uncle?”

Murillio shook his head. “I came late to your scene. Saw you dragging the lad into the alley.”

“Well,” Rallick said, “let's go inside. It's been a night to make Hood smile, friend.”

Together, the two men strode from the alley. In the street outside the Phoenix Inn, dawn's light crept through the mists of the lingering rain.

In the centre of the rooftop lay a large patch of ash and bone that crackled faintly and cast out the occasional hissing spark. Anomander Rake slammed his sword into its sheath. “I sent twelve of you,” he said, to the black-caped figure standing beside him, “and I see but eight. What happened, Serraff?”

The Tiste And? woman was clearly exhausted. “We've been working hard, Lord.”

“Details,” Rake said abruptly.

Serrat sighed. “Jekaral has a broken neck and three cracked ribs. Boruld's face is a mess, broken nose, broken cheekbone, broken jaw-”

“Who were they fighting?” Rake asked, turning to his lieutenant in exasperation. “Has the Guild Master come out of hiding?”

“No, Lord. Both Jekaral and Boruld fell to a single man, not of the city's Guild.”

Rake's eyes flashed dangerously. “Claw?”

“Possibly. He was accompanied by a High Mage. The one who gave us this Korvalah to play with.”