Gardens of the Moon

The assassin's head was in his hands, his elbows on his thighs, staring gloomily at the ground.



Kalam hissed a sigh through his teeth and shook his head. A moment later both men left, in the direction of the terrace.



Crokus hesitated, a part of him wanting to rush into the glade and confront Rallick. Assassinate the mages! Hand Darujhistan to the Malazans? How could the man allow such a thing to happen? He did not move, however, a fear growing inside him that he, in truth, knew nothing of this man. Would the assassin listen to him? Or would he answer Crokus with a knife in the throat? Crokus didn't feel like taking chance.



In the last minute Rallick had not moved. Then he rose, turned directly to where Crokus lay hidden.



The thief groaned.



Rallick beckoned.



Slowly, Crokus approached.



“You hide well,” Rallick said. “And you were lucky Vorcan kept her mask on-she couldn't see much out of it. You heard, then?”



Crokus nodded, his eyes drawn to what he'd called a tree stump in spite of himself. It looked more like a small wooden house. The pocks on its sides could well have been windows. Unlike Vorcan, he sensed not hunger but a kind of urgency, almost frustration.



“Before you condemn me, listen carefully, Crokus.”



The thief dragged his attentioh from the wooden block. “I'm listening.”



“Baruk may yet be at the party. You must find him, tell him exactly what's happened. Tell him Vorcan is a High Mage-and she'll kill them all unless they gather to defend each other.” The assassin reached out a hand to Crokus's shoulder. The boy flinched, his eyes wary. “And if Baruk has gone home, find Mammot. I saw him here not long ago. He wears the mask of a tusked beast.”



“Uncle Mammot? But he's-”



“He's a High Priest of D'riss, Crokus, and a member of the T'orrud Cabal. Now, hurry. There's no time to waste.”



“You mean you're going to stay here, Rallick? just sit there on that: that stump?”



The assassin's grip tightened. “Vorcan spoke true, lad. Whatever this thing is, it seems I can hold it in check. Baruk needs to know of this conjuring. I trust his senses more than I do Vorcan's, but for now I will obey her in this.”



For a moment Crokus resisted, his thoughts on Apsalar. They'd done something to her, he was certain-and if they'd harmed her, he'd make them pay. But: Uncle Mammot? Vorcan was planning to kill his uncle? The thief's eyes hardened as he looked up at Rallick. “Consider it done,” he said.



At that instant, a roar of rage and agony, coming from the terrace, shook the trees. The block of wood behind them responded with a burst of bright yellow fire, its roots writhing and swelling like groping fingers.



Rallick pushed Crokus hard then whirled and dived on to the block.



The yellow fire winked out and cracks opened in the earth, spreading in all directions. “Go!” yelled Rallick.



The thief, his heart hammering, turned and sprinted for Lady Sinital's estate.



angrily Baruk's hand snapped out and yanked savagely on the bell cord. Above him, he heard the wagoner cry out. The carriage skidded to a halt.



“Something's happened,” he hissed to Rake. “We left too early, dammit!”



He moved on the seat to the window and opened its shutters.



“A moment, Alchemist,” Rake said levelly, his brows knitted and his head cocked as if listening for something. “The Tyrant,” he pronounced. “But he is weakened, and enough mages remain to deal with him.” He opened his mouth to add something, then shut it again. His eyes deepened to azure as he studied the alchemist. “Baruk,” he said quietly,” return to your estate. Prepare for the Empire's next move-we'll not have long to wait.”



Baruk stared at the Tiste And?. “Tell me what's happening?” he said y. “Will you challenge the Tyrant or not?”



Rake tossed his mask on to the floor between them and clasped the collar of his cloak. “If it proves necessary, I shall.”



Fists pounded on the carriage and voices shouted good-naturedly. The crowds around them pushed in on all sides, rocking the carriage. The festival approached the Twelfth Bell, the Hour of Ascension as the Lady of Spring took to the sky in the coming of the moon.



Rake continued, “In the meantime the city's streets must be cleared,” he said. “I imagine it's your desire to minimize the loss of life.”



“And this is all you give me, Rake?” Baruk gestured sharply. “Clear the streets? How in Hood's name do we manage that? There are three hundred thousand people in Darujhistan, and they're all in the streets!”