Gardens of the Moon

“And with Whiskeyjack between commissions,” Dujek continued inexorably, “he's just coming along for the ride, if you follow me, Captain.”



Paran grinned. “I do.”



“Now, the Black Moranth will know the story by the time they pick you up, so go with them.”



“Yes, High Fist.”



Dujek growled, “Questions, Whiskeyjack?”



“No,” the grizzled veteran answered glumly.



“All right. Hopefully, we'll talk later.”



The bones” glow died.



Captain Paran rounded on the soldiers. He studied each face. They were to have been my command. I could not have done better anywhere.



“Very well,” he said gruffly. “Who is ready to be outlawed and counted among Dujek's rebels?”



Trotts was the first to rise, his teeth bared. He was followed by Quick Ben, Hedge and Mallet.



ey re.



ed i There was a shocked silence, then Kalam nodded at Fiddler and cleared his throat. “We're with you, only we're not going with you. Me and Fiddler, that is.”



“Can you explain that?” Paran asked quietly.



Apsalar spoke up, surprising everyone. “They'll find that hard to do, Captain. And, I admit, I'm not sure what they're up to, but they're coming with me. Back to the Empire. Home.”



With an uneasy shrug, Fiddler rose and faced Whiskeyjack. “We feel we owe it to her, sir,” he said. He looked to the captain. “And we're settled on it, sir. But we're coming back, if we can.”



Bemused, Whiskeyjack pushed himself painfully to his feet. As he turned to face Paran, he froze. Behind the captain, Coll sat upright on the bed. “Um,” Whiskeyjack said, gesturing.



Tension burgeoned in the room once again as everyone swung to Coll.



Paran stepped forward in genuine relief.



“Coll! I'm-” He stopped abruptly, then said tonelessly, “You've been awake for some time, I see.”



Coll's eyes flicked to the bones stuck in the tabletop, then returned to Paran. “Heard it all,” he said. “So tell me, Paran, do you soldiers need any help getting out of Darujhistan?”



Rallick stood in the darkness beneath the trees at the edge of the glade.



It seemed that his magic-deadening powers had proved insufficient after all. He'd been driven from his seat by what had felt like a giant hand-a god's hand, sure and powerful and unyielding. He'd watched in astonishment as a maze of roots clambered swiftly across the clearing, headed towards the terrace. He'd heard a shriek, then the roots returned, wrapped around a man-shaped: apparition, which the roots pulled unceremoniously into the earth.



Rallick had been filled suddenly with near-euphoria. He knew with unaccountable certainty, that what grew here was right, and Just.



It was new, young. Even now, as he continued watching it, he saw trembles of shaping ripple beneath its angular, geometric surfaces. What had been no more than a tree stump less than an hour ago was now a house. A massive door lay half buried in shadows beneath an arching branch. Vines barred shuttered windows. A balcony hung above and to the left of the door, festooned with leaves and creepers. It led into a kind of tower, turreted above the second storey and shingled to a gnarled peak. Another tower marked the house's front right flank, this one stockier and windowless, its roof flat with jagged merlons lining the edge. He suspected that this roof was a platform, with access through a trap-door of some kind.



The glade around the structure had changed, too, becoming mounded here and there as if the house's yard was a burial ground. Young, scraggly trees ringed each oblong mound, each growing as if an invisible wind twisted them away from the humped, grassy earth. The roots had dragged the apparition into one such mound.



It felt right, and just. These two words echoed in the assassin's head, with an appeal that wrapped calm around his heart. He almost imagined he felt an affinity with this child-house-as if it knew of him and accepted him.



He knew the house to be empty. Another sourceless certainty.



Rallick continued watching, as the lines of the house grew firm, sharply defined. A musty smell pervaded the area, as of freshly turned earth. The assassin felt at peace.



A moment later he heard thrashing behind him, and whirled to see Vorcan stagger through the undergrowth. Her face was covered in blood from a gash to her brow, and she nearly collapsed into Rallick's arms.



“Tiste And?” she gasped. “After me. Hunting. They seek to avenge a murder!”



Rallick looked past her, and his eyes, long accustomed to the surrounding darkness, detected silent movement among the trees, closing in. He hesitated, gripping the now unconscious woman in his arms. Then he bent down, threw Vorcan over one shoulder, turned and ran towards the house.