[Riot]

here is some fan fiction i wrote. i'm certainly not trying to make some money out of it, its more just for entertainment value. tell me what you think, and i might write some more:


1162nd year of burn sleep
Evinor, continent of Genabackis.


The desolate landscape was carved from fossilised granite, the rough passage of years flaying the ground so to leave it pock marked and turbulent. What grass grew from the small lakes of soil that dotted its progression were demented in colour, greens dissolved so much that they appeared to be offshoots of yellow’s, of murky browns. Scant else grew in the wasteland, allowing for the breeze that skirted its limits to pick up very little in the way of debris, pacing its route with an energetic but empty passage.
Riot squeezed his eyes to small slits as he allowed his sight to skim over what laid before him, his emotions chilled as he contemplated what had left the land in such a barren occupation.
‘What do you think?’ beside him, the smaller man asked the question with poised intention, his eyes darting back and forth from the deserted land, back to the man who stolidly stared at the terrain before them both.
Shrugging, Riot attempted no reply, not caring what was asked of him, believing that the entire venture was of waste and that any attempt to dissuade his employer would only fall upon deaf ears.
‘Yes, I think we can work here, plenty of potential, I can smell it,’ Earn Paltroll rubbed his hands together, his face full of glee with what he believed remained hidden beneath the ragged mound of granite.
Riot remained silent, knowing that his presence was not truly needed, instead his role as silent employee deemed necessary only so much as a presence that would not deter his wishful employer.
‘I’ll think we’ll start as soon as possible, cut away the waste on top and than begin the fruitful search into the rich vein beneath…’ Earn Paltroll voice drawled on to himself as he stepped forward, moving away from his motionless employee.
Riot kept his emotions bottled, refusing to utter aloud the sigh that wished to breath life from his mouth. Instead he turned away from his master’s muttering voice, facing back towards where they had journeyed.
The city of Evinor was north of their position, rising above them both so to appear as if in worship to the sky itself. Settled upon the cliffs of Horan bay, the once free city welcomed all seafaring vessels as they entered the bay from the Hudd sea.
The past two years, such endeavours had vastly increased, as trade supplied by the empire’s embrace laid siege to the demand of regular transportation of supplies and soldiers. Demand had grown even more so in the past three months, as divisions of Malazan forces increased in number, fuelling the ever constant greed of war between the empire and its enemies that harassed its every turn.
Riot shielded his eyes as the peak rotation of the sun reached its zenith, the blooming mass of its endeavour veiling Evinor in a rosy patch of light. The tall spanning buildings that homed the merchant leaders were embraced by the stealing light, casting a fierce glow around their allotted self’s, giving off the impression that they were of honoured appearance, where in truth Riot knew that the impression was false. These towers were built upon the remains of far older foundations, established in a style that was found usually within the homelands of the far south. In cities such as Pale, or Darujhistan. In ignorant belief, the merchant leaders had torn down the older buildings, beginning anew with these copied imitations that were starved of any true zeal.
Since his arrival in the city, the towers had always been there, yet he had heard from older residence of what had been before. The pain expressions that denoted their faces gave true heart to the dishonour that had been done to the city, warning to Riot of what the city’s leaders were truly like.
‘I’ll get Sheep to come down here tomorrow, begin work straight away,’ Earn returned to Riots side, either not noticing his employee’s lack of approval or plainly ignoring it.
Riot turned his eyes up at the mention of the mage’s name. Sheep was unreliable as most men went, but as a mage the combination of erratic stumbling was a danger that Riot could do without. Tomorrow he would make sure that he was busy elsewhere, not caring if Earn found discomfort in such lack of resolve.
‘I wonder if Gouver will allow me a grant, maybe some men to help with the mine. I could say that it would help the city in its growth,’ Earn continued speaking aloud to himself ‘If not, I’ll go directly to the Fist, he would listen to a fellow Malazan,’
Riot lightly shook his head as Earn began to walk ahead, back towards where the horses were tied to a stranded tree. The Malazan trader had entered Evinor with the current Fist, crossing the threshold of the city once it fell into the empire’s control. Rich in enterprises throughout the empire, Earn had come to Evinor for its mining contracts, forming his own trading company to back his interests, he had than brought contracts from the Fist so to begin the mining of the surrounding land.
This stretch of apparent barren land was his fifth such venture, all but one of which had been a wasted effort, empty of any such precious finds. From what Riot could make out, this could be Earn’s second failure since making Evinor his new home.
With the thought to mind, he turned his head back, again allowing the unfurnished site to fall into play. Rumours were vast about this sterile stretch of land that led into the side of a large grass turf mound. The hill was said to be haunted by wraiths, yet Riot sensed nothing untoward. If anything it felt just as it appeared; empty.
‘Come now Riot, I have plans to discuss and resolve!’ Earn’s voice called from where he had made his way back to the horses side.
Without another look back, and without interest in what the rest of the day had planned, Riot rejoined his employers side, noting that the sun had passed its pinnacle and had now blanched Evinor in its usual state of darkened sullenness.

[Karsa Orlong]

Hey Riot

I like it. You certainly have a nice prose. I would read more if you write on

Maybe i can interest you for this little rp here:
http://www.malazanem...read.php?t=4339

I hope that it will be a collaborative writing thing... if you want an idea of how such a project might look like, go here:
http://www.malazanem...read.php?t=2629

Cheers
Karsa

[Riot]

here's some more


The interior of the room still amazed Master Gouver, no matter that he had entered its boundary on many occasions over the last two years.
The manner in which the dark colouring gave the impression of foreboding, and the cramp settings of its layout still sent a shiver down his spine. The room had once been his own, back in the day when the word Malazan had been a detail too unreal to believe as truth. Now those days were past, as was the office that he had once worked whole heartedly in.
The man who sat at the desk now was a Fist, the representative and extension of will of the empress.
The desk was the same that he use to spend many a night working at, his papers once stacked neatly with an enthusiasm usually lacking upon its plain wood finish. Now its surface was crowded with reports and strewn papers that envisioned no coherency at all.
The man who sat snugly within the plump construction of the chair, was Fist Will D’more, a man who in all honesty disgusted Gouver with his every act. Everything about the man screamed out with opposition to his own nature. Whereas Gouver was a stick thin figure, finished off with a vastly retreating hairline, the Fist was a over jubilant mass of fat and scruffy mass of bright stinging ginger hair, plonked haphazardly upon his fat head.
It was said that D’more was a nobleman, given this routine role of administration as a reward for the wealth of his family. Gouver could easily believe it, as he had yet to see any form of skill being displayed by the pig brained Malazan in charge.
Even the Fist own men held no respect for him, and from what he had heard from the older soldiers who acted as guards to the city, the fat man would not have held such a post if the army had still been under Dassem Ultor’s command. Under the old guard, only those who proved their worth were given command, not by the wealth that backed them.
‘What do you want Gouver?’ the Fist spoke in that whinny way that itched at Gouver with its sharpened edge. The Fist kept his eyes downcast, supposedly upon the paperwork nearest at hand.
‘The trader Earn Paltroll has brought up the rights to mine the area just north of the Maggy hills,’ he said, maintaining his composure at a level denoted to normal routine.
‘Yes, I signed the contract myself,’
‘I’m aware of that sir. I was wondering if you were aware of the history of the purposed site,’ Gouver spoke with his most neutral of voices.
‘History?’ the Fist rose his head, his squint eyes now glaring at Gouver with imposed interest ‘What history?’
Clearing his throat, again maintaining his usual poise in the visible face of governing stupidity he spoke ‘The hills are renown for their legends, and usually I would not dare bring such minor myths to you attention…’
‘Yet you feel the need to now!’ the Fist spoke under his breath.
Gouver continued, ignoring the interruption as if the Fist had remained silent ‘…but I feel that its my duty to make it clear that the area that Earn Paltroll proposes to mine has been an area of activity for wraiths, dating back to the cities oldest records,’
The Fist’s attention had waned, his head again dropping, his flushed face tilted down back to the paper at hand.
‘I fear that any action taking by Earn Paltroll and his mining contract will result in these wraiths being aggravated, possibly even aggrieved by those who have disturbed their rest,’ Gouver realised that he had lost his appeal but was determined to at least voice his objection to the action that was out of his hands.
‘Master Paltroll has a mage at his disposal to help aid against any disobedient spirits that may cross his path, I believe he has contested every possibility,’ still as the Fist spoke he refused to make eye contact.
‘The mage he has under his command is aligned to D’riss, the path of stone, and I doubt that this warren will aid against any disruptions,’
‘Enough Gouver,’ D’more raised a hand to halt the mayor from speaking further ‘I believe in Earn’s ability, not only in gaining reward to the empire that he loves dearly, but also to the safety of the city that he now resides in. He would as soon cut his own throat than allow for a possible threat to materialise near Evinor,’
‘Yes, I don’t doubt that,’ Gouver explained ‘But accidents can occur, as well as…’ his voice faded out as again the Fist raised his hand.
‘Lets cut to the chase Gouver. I know, and you know that you’re here under direst from the merchant guild. This idea of wraiths threatening the mining site is obscure, and a suggestion I would have thought you too good to come up with,’ D’more stated.
Gouver felt himself struggling to deal with the fat Fist’s lack of vision yet forced down any dishonour that had been cast his way.
‘Sir, I assure you that the notion of wraiths was one not created in a manner to deceive you. Myself and those who number the merchant guild are fully aware of a possible threat and are frightened of what could be unleashed if mining is started,’
D’more remained motionless as Gouver spoke, yet when his turn arrived to answer, a small smile was created from the corner’s of his over girthed lips,
‘Were the merchant guild so fearful that they offered a contract of their own to mine the site? I suppose the notions of wraiths was not considered when they made their own appeal to dig through to the veins of gold that reside there’
Gouver froze, feeling all his hopes evaporate in one boiling instance. The Fist continued to smile with his pig expression, leaving Gouver in the centre of his own embarrassment. The guild had made a fool of him, using him to try and gain a foothold whilst lying to him about fears that he had felt were justified.
Sighing aloud, he knew that his meeting had come to an end, yet he wondered if he should stand by his point, objecting for a principal that he alone appeared to whole as truth.
‘I will warn trader Paltroll of any possible hazards, I assure you Gouver. I want peace and commerce to reside together as much as you, have no fears,’ D’more spoke yet his smile remained beneath the surface, ready and willing to reappear as soon as Gouver turned his back.
Resenting to the fact that he was dismissed, Gouver nodded his head in ritual, before turning and departing through the latched door. Walking at a steady pace, he maintained coherency, making sure that his flight from his embarrassing dismissal had not affected him.
Closing the door behind himself, Gouver glanced at the guard that stood outside of D’more’s office. The Malazan’s expression was one of glum dejection, his stance disjointed as he rested his rump against the smooth plastered wall. The man’s appearance remained insensitive even when he noticed that Gouver was staring at him.
‘The bastard in a good mood is he?’ the guard indicated the closed door with a shrug of his shoulder.
‘Erm, yes, happy as ever!’ Gouver managed, trying not to look too surprised with the guards earnest appeal for his commanding officer.
‘Aye, happy as bloody ever,’ the guard grunted, wiping at his hooked nose with the back of his dirtied hand.
‘Yes, well, I best be going,’ he nodded in what he hoped was his most gracious of acknowledgments.
The guard seemed content enough with what had been said already, not bothering to look at Gouver as he walked his way down the small causeway that led to the main entranceway.
Twice on his way out of the former mayor’s office did Gouver nod his head in greeting to former staff workers who remained employed with the new government. They greeted him back with soft tones, as if almost embarrassed by their former employers appearance in the building that use to be his place of business. The head may have been cast off, yet the body remained functioning, even if its path was diverted towards new motorised functions of leadership.
Finally Gouver exited the building, feeling the breeze of late evening stroke his face. Darkness was settling in, casting the streets before him into shadowed worlds of illusion.
Shivering with the image of shadows to mind, Gouver passed yet another guard, before settling into a new established speed as he made his way back towards his apartment.
After the meeting with D’more, Gouver was suppose to meet and greet with the trader’s guild; to report upon what had passed between himself and the Fist, yet his felt no such incentive to appeal to such needs. Instead he planned on retiring to his bed and to attempt some form of sleep.
The manner in which the guild had played him, had used him was a thing too fresh to mind. He felt stung, felt betrayed by their selfish desires. The belief that the denial of the mining contract was in the best interest of the city, was apparently only held by himself. Everyone else just wanted to line their own pockets with the rewards that was possibly awaiting the person who was granted the contract.
In his deepest emotions, Gouver hoped that Earn Paltroll was compensated in riches, if only to anger the trading guild further. The thought was a pleasing one, yet it made him guilty, leaving his cheeks flushed with the lingering image.
‘Won’t happen anyway,’ he admitted aloud, finding that by voicing his momentary concern that he was almost relived of his guilt.
Making his way down Anchor Way, bypassing the globes of light that must have only been ignited in the recent past, Gouver noticed a figure heading in his direction on the other side of the road.
The figure was recognisable as the man who was supposedly Earn Paltroll’s personal guard; the man known as Riot.
Gouver knew very little of the man, knowing only that the man always appeared to be attired in dark clothing, with twin swords shelved by his waist. This evening seemed to prove such assertions as every time the man stepped out of the blazing illumination of the street lights, he seemed to disappear in the dark that crept willing along every building.
Gouver kept the same pace, yet found that he was enticed by the man’s steady route. The man was almost elegant in his motions, and Gouver could easily believe that he was a man often feared.
He was physically cheered when they bypassed each over, the man Riot silently moving off behind him so to leave Gouver again alone.
A couple hundred yards and he would be home, the joys of unwinding opening up before him. Tomorrow would bring further distress, yet tomorrow was a distance that had yet to be travelled and he was content enough with the reprieve he would receive during the nights solace study pf peace.
Sighing with this enticement, Gouver quickened his pace.

Riot heard the steps accelerate behind him. He had recognised the former mayor, yet had displayed no acknowledgement. The man had visibly shrunken since Riot’s first entrance to the city, and he knew what pressure the man was under with the trade guild on one hand, and the Malazan occupiers on the other.
He shook his head in pity for the man. Glad that his own life was no where as near as threatening.
Laughing aloud at his own yarn, Riot continued on his way through the crowding shadows.

[Riot]

The tavern was half occupied as Riot entered through the front door, the warmth and scent of crowded men flowing over him. Blinking his eyes to adjust to the sudden light source that pulsated from the wall hangings, Riot moved towards the bar.
Eyes of those who sat around the confines of round tables followed his progress, yet he ignored them, placing his attention fully upon the barman that stood behind his place of custom.
‘Tombs!’ Riot nodded to the barman as he came to rest beside the bar, his hands resting lightly against the engraved surface.
Tombs nodded with his usual non deliverance of speech, his hands already moving as he readied the drink that Riot regularly consumed.
Riot took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. The tavern was formally a sailor only drinking ground, yet with the Malazan occupation the tavern had soon become a favoured meeting place for guards and soldiers alike. Riot could understand why; the bar was near enough to the guards quarters so allow for a short trip back to the barracks when the nights drinking had grown to such a level when walking was nearly a ability too advanced for those drinking members. Occasionally sailors new into port would stumble across the bar, but their stay would remain to only one night; too intelligent to spend further time with those who found complaints with the smallest of things.
As he looked around, noticing that no such sailors were in tonight, Riot saw a single guard amongst three who was studying him with open hostility.
They sat in the far corner, nestled together around a uneven table. Riot recognised them; Creases, Splinter, and the one who stared at him Faith.
The three were regulars to the bar, spending every night within its well lit establishment. Riot had never spoken to them directly, hearing only their usual monotonous tones, as they gestured wildly with their hands and their laughter gaining momentum as the nights progressed.
Now however the three were silent, and Riot wondered at their silence. He especially wondered about the one named Faith; why was he staring with such malice.
A light clink of glass sounded upon the bar, and Riot turned to find that Tombs had settled his drink before him.
‘Thanks!’ he mentioned, passing over what was owned.
Raising the glass to his lip, he took his first sip, just as the door that he himself had only just entered opened behind him.
‘Hood’s balls on a stick!’ the voice that followed the sound of the door closing flowed through the large room. Riot refused to turn, but he noticed from the corner of his eyes that the three guards were pulled free from their stupor by the voiced curse.
The man who entered was in his late fifties, his white hair cropped short to his exposed head. Banging his boots upon the stone cut floor, he than marched across the tavern, directly to the other Malazan guards.
‘Faith you moody bastard, stop staring and move along, give me some space!’ the lieutenant bashed his gloved hand against the sergeant’s head, gaining his full attention and forcing him to move further along the cushioned seats so to allow the forth man to gain a place.
Riot sipped at his drink, knowing that the decibel level was to rise with the appearance of lieutenant Turmoil to the tavern. Rolling his eyes as Tombs sight roamed over him, Riot smiled inside, knowing that news was never far behind the appearance of Turmoil.
‘Those bastards have raided the second army again!’ Turmoil stated in a voice that could be heard by everyone.
‘Who’s raided what?’ Creases asked, his rosy face lacking any real attentive passion to what was being said by his lieutenant.
‘Who?’ Turmoil’s voice suddenly became shrill, his neck rising upwards and straightening as he strove to force out his admission ‘Why those bloody red bastards of course,’
‘Who?’ Splinter asked, confusing reigning supreme in his mind.
‘Crimson guards,’ Creases offered.
‘Of course the Crimson guard, what other red bastards do you know of?’ again Turmoil’s voice was in turmoil.
‘Oh Hood’s balls!’ Splinter whined ‘where did it happen?’
‘Somewhere near Genabaris, attacked a supply convoy, wiped ‘em out to the last man,’
‘Hood…’ Creases voice drained away.
‘Aye, well you mention Hood, he’ll be the only bastard to be smiling after what happened. He must look down at those red bastards with real affection,’ Turmoil’s own voice trailed off.
Silence settled around them and throughout the bar as everyone listened in to the broadcasted latest news and rumours. Finally the peace was broken by another question.
Faith spoke for the first time since Turmoil’s entrance ‘Any idea who lead the attack?’
‘Heard that it was Skinner,’ Turmoil answered.
A loud sigh seemed to escape from most mouths, even Riot felt his heart flutter at the mentioned name.
‘Truly?’ a man, not five feet away from Riot at the bar called aloud, his face showing his lack of belief.
Turmoil turned in his place, opening up his words to everyone so to embrace them all in the conversation ‘Aye, led the charge himself,’
Another man, a local who worked in the cities own protectors regiment voiced his own opinion ‘Crimson guard are nothing more than common mercenaries, don’t understand why you all fear them so much!’
Voices were raised, many in anger, yet Turmoil urged the anger down by waving his hands. Finally as some form of silence was returned he spoke, directly to the youth, his tone solid, his face expressing neither anger nor annoyance, simply patience
‘The guard are more than that, much more. I doubt anyone here who’s seen them in action will not recognise their prowess,’
‘Aye!’
‘Aye your right!’
‘By Hood your right,’ the voices were called out, and the youth had the decency to blush with embarrassment at the veterans who expelled their frustrations.
‘Skinner’s the worst of ‘em,’ Turmoil noted, breathing life back into his words.
‘First Blade, has been for years,’ the man again nearest to Riot spoke.
‘Aye, that’s truth, mean fighter of a man,’
‘Dassem would have beaten them back, never allowed them to flourish like they did,’ Creases added.
‘Never did when he was alive. Did he?’ said Turmoil, his words not in spite.
‘Did kill some though didn’t he, never beaten by one was he?’ Splinter supplied.
Riot’s hand remained locked to the glass, yet he never raised it, allowing it to remain tightly locked to the bars surface. Memories returned, flicking through his subconscious with revealing faces of passed remembrance.
Names flooded back to mind; Shirdar, Burtok, Keal, all defeated in combat by Dassem Ultor.
‘Only Skinner came away alive against Dassem,’ he spoke, not realising that he had spoken aloud.
‘Where did you hear that?’ the man beside him had closed the distance between them, and Riot was suddenly brought back to the present.
‘What?’ he muttered, mind shaking with the sudden overload that struck him.
‘You said only Skinner had come away alive after fighting Dassem, where did you hear that from?’
Riot paused, wondering how he should reply, knowing that he had said far too much already. Instinctively he answered,
‘I was there,’
Eyes turned to him with the three simple words, every face opening with the realisation that he was truly there, rather than just another drunk holding up the bar with his intoxicated stance.
‘When, where?’ the questions came from one man; Faith, his eyes again watching Riot with suspicion decorating their surface.
‘Long time ago, I’ve tried to forget about it!’ he lifted his glass and drained the last of the contents, feeling his throat ignite with the sudden warmth. Deciding that he had said too much already, Riot turned and departed, not caring that he had left unanswered questions hanging openly in the air.
As he exited through the door that he had only just recently entered, Riot passed a figure who was just entering.
‘Riot!’ Sheep stated as Riot brushed past him.
Grunting half a reply, Riot moved on, again allowing shadows to decorate him in their lingering presence.
‘Oh well!’ Sheep muttered, before entering.

[Riot]

‘Load of crap!’ Creases murmured ‘There’s no chance that he served under Dassem, probably just made it up,’
His words were whispered yet they were heard by everyone, and as the door reopened, everyone looked up in unison.
‘It’s only Sheep,’ Splinter announced, as the mage walked in.
Sheep began to make his way towards the bar, but changed directions as he noted the four guards seated in their usual corner.
‘Why the long faces?’ he asked as he approached.
‘You’ve worked with Earn and his man Riot, what can you tell me of the bodyguard?’ Faith motioned for the mage to sit and join the small increasing party.
Sheep accepted the offer, feeling slightly unnerved as he sat as everyone in the tavern seemed to be keeping half their attention upon his group.
‘Not much to tell really, keep’s himself to himself,’
‘Not good enough, try again!’ Turmoil clamped a hand upon the mage’s shoulder.
‘Truly, I know very little of him!’ Sheep attempted to not show his distress but failed miserably.
‘What do you know of his history. What did he do before he came here?’ Faith quizzed.
‘He’s never said, but he’s a veteran, I’d bet my life savings on it,’
‘You don’t have any life savings Sheep, you’re a poor mage remember,’ Creases said.
‘Aye, but if I did I’ll still bet it all,’
‘So he’s a veteran, that’s obvious to all of us. What’s important is where did he fight?’ Faith asked.
‘Don’t ask me, how should I know?’ Sheep muttered uneasily.
‘Well, he mentioned that he once saw Dassem fight Skinner from the Crimson guards. Have you ever heard that story before?’ Turmoil asked.
‘No, but that doesn’t mean anything, Dassem fought a good few guard members during his time, killed ‘em all as far as I’m aware,’
‘Aye, I don’t doubt, but does he look old enough to have been campaigning back in those days?’ Faith asked.
‘Could be, don’t really know how old he is, but I’ll guess he’s in his late thirties, early forties,’
‘Could have joined up real early, good number done that back then,’ Turmoil added.
Faith shook his head, his gut feeling suggestion that there was something far more involved with the man Riot, but not knowing enough to fathom what it could be.
‘Could have served under Dassem himself, good enough swordsman,’ Sheep announced.
‘Seen him fight have you?’ Turmoil’s eyes tightened as he asked the question.
Sheep nodded, whilst his hand went to his throat, hoping that his companions would recognise that he was in deep need for a refreshing alcoholic beverage.
‘What you thinking Turmoil?’ Splinter asked, his mouth remaining open as he attempted to keep up with everything occurring around him.
‘Could be a first sword?’ Creases suggested.
‘Don’t be stupid all your life boy,’ Turmoil angrily stated ‘First sword are all and one dead, just like Dassem. No I bet he was in the regular ranks, probably saw too much of the sword and picked up what he could… no, why you shaking your head?’
Sheep was disagreeing, his eyes open with relish ‘I’ve seen him fight, his far better than just your regular recruit,’
‘How much better?’ Creases asked.
‘Lots,’ stated the mage ‘Have you never wondered why he’s called Riot?’
Shaking of heads was their response.
‘Well, a few months before your transfer here, just after the… exchange of rulers, there were plenty of mob violence, and demonstrations against the Malazan occupation,’
‘Aye, bastards didn’t like their new rulers that’s for sure,’ Turmoil laughed aloud, not caring at the glances cast from those who were born in the city.
‘That’s right!’ Sheep agreed ‘I remember, I was here from the beginning,’
‘And not good enough to ever leave,’ Creases joked.
‘Aye, and I prefer it that way, don’t see me having to fight other mages now do you. Leave that to cadre’s, its what their trained for,’
‘Get on with the story Sheep!’ Faith demanded, not wanting the mages voice to linger upon other stories.
‘Yeah, yeah, calm down Faith,’ coughing into his hand, Sheep than continued ‘Anyway, one nasty horde ended up getting shepherd to what is now the Fist’s headquarters. It was there that things erupted, turned into a viscous mob.
‘Malazan guard were trying to contain the increasing violence, trying to hem them in, but it didn’t last. Someone used a blade and there was bloodshed. That’s when things turned really nasty, when things turned into a full riot,’ Sheep paused, summoning how to continue.
‘Well, what happened?’ Splinter asked, the room around them again coated by a silence hush of anticipation.
‘Guard couldn’t contain it any further, and fighting commenced on the edges of the mob. Those in the centre were crying out for blood, and those on the edge were complying with the demands, either drawing blood or being cut down themselves.
‘Now remember that this was before D’more was in charge, use to have a Fist Allure in command. Stupid bitch, of Unta stock. Anyway, she decided that enough was enough and so pulled the guard back, reasoned that without their presence, that the mob would fall apart. Big mistake, just enflamed things further,’
Inside the dimly lit tavern, a few of the local guardsmen nodded their heads, remembering what had occurred on that fateful day two years past.
‘The mob rulers, those in the centre remember, thought that they had a chance of removing the Malazan’s in one stroke,’
‘Stupid bastards!’ Turmoil added.
‘Aye, but that’s the thing with a mob, goes beyond thinking, just react without much philosophising,’
‘So what happened?’ Creases threw his own voice in.
‘The guard pulled right back, leaving the square in the mobs hands. If things had stayed as they were, it could have gotten far nastier, local hatred would be far greater than it is now,’ said Sheep in his sheepish way.
‘So what did Riot do?’ Faith asked, guessing what was to come next.
‘Just as the mob was readying to surge outwards, to attack the retreating guards, only one man remained standing. The thing is, he wasn’t washed over by the mob, they could see that he was different. Looked like he does today, dressed all in black, his long hair and messed up beard just as untidy as it is today. His swords were still at his side, and he just stood there, not caring to look into the belly of the beast.
‘They recognised that he wasn’t a guard and so were uncertain what to do. There was a silence for the first time that evening, and that singular figure remained staring them down. And no one moved!’ Sheep allowed a smile to form on his face, his hands slapping down on the table before him.
‘Yeah so?’ Creases asked, confusion crossing his face.
‘Well he stopped the crowd just by standing there, he stopped the mob,’ Sheep exclaimed.
‘So how does that make him a good swordsman?’ Splinter enquired, his expression matching that of his colleague Creases.
‘That doesn’t make him any good. Its what happened next that proved his worth…’
Sheep stood with his back pressed up against a wall. Just moments ago his heart had been bullying his body with its beating embrace, threatening to drum out a path through his chest. The mob had swelled and he recognised that his death was about to bear down upon him. His warren had escaped him, flickering just beyond his reach.
Now however he stood routed to the spot, watching on at the single figure who stood almost mockingly before the rioting crowd. The silence that had settled would only be momentary, before order refurbished itself within the riots singular mind.
He was numb to the fact that the silence seemed to linger, stretching out so that he wondered if his eyes were not playing tricks upon him. How was it that the mob had come to a halt, the outer edges staring at the solo figure who appeared to stand with a non-caring manner. Watching them as if to entertain him.
Soon a discomfort seemed to appear from within the mobs centre, and from his slightly elevated position, Sheep could see that people were moving aside, allowing those from the centre to creep forth from the core, willing to see what had stopped the beast from pursuing with its designed purpose.
The edge opened, and from the masses strode five men, each baring arms of swords and one with a war hammer.
‘Big men!’ Sheep muttered to himself, recognising them as some of the leading soldiers who had attempted to defend Evinor, even as the trading guild had plotted the course of allowing themselves into the empires embrace.
‘Your no Malazan fool, step aside,’ one of the soldiers who had enflamed the crowds passion spoke, waving a hand that appeared to be double the size of Sheep’s own.
The stranger tilted his head slightly, as if not recognising what was being asked of him.
‘Move aside or we’ll strike you down!’ another of the retired soldiers demanded.
Sheep would have wilted under such requests, yet the stranger still yielded no ground.
‘Damn it Pollen, let me kill him?’ the soldier with the war hammer, the biggest of the five men, asked, his eyes seeking acknowledgement from his former leader.
The man named Pollen paused as he reflected on Warhammers request, before speaking ‘Stranger, tell me why we shouldn’t cut you down right now?’
Sheep held his breath, not tearing his eyes from the scene before him, sensing that the other Malazan’s who had only just retreated were staring on with the same awaiting patience.
‘I can’t allow you to get these people killed!’ the stranger spoke with calm ability, his eyes going past the soldiers to the crowd behind them.
Pollen smiled with the response before speaking ‘He’s all yours Drake,’
The man named Drake who carried the war hammer as if it weighed the same as a small mallet, laughed aloud before advancing.
Two steps were made by Drake towards the stranger before he toppled forward, throat torn free by the sudden motion of the stranger.
Sheep’s breath was torn free. The sheer speed of the stranger left him staggered. In one casual motion, the stranger had pulled free one of his swords, stepped forward flicked the blade and killed the big man before stepping back to his original position, seemingly unmoved.
Drake’s body struck the pebbled surface, the war hammer falling beside him with a loud detonation of sound.
The four remaining soldiers attacked in union, their own blades striking out with pace and procession. The stranger brought forth both of his own swords, and routed the remaining opponents with ease, before dispatching them with a swiftness that was beyond Sheep’s belief.
As the bodies struck the earth, the stranger returned his bloodied swords to his side, his eyes again roaming over the remaining crowd.
‘Go home,’ he stated, before turning aside, walking down one of the side streets.
‘Bull****!’ Splinter evoked, as Sheep stopped speaking.
‘It’s true, I’m telling you!’ Sheep admitted, hurt by Splinter’s stinging denial.
‘Aye I heard tell of that!’ a local patron of the tavern agreed, his gulfing chin poking forward as he spoke.
‘See, told you!’ Sheep waved a hand toward the man who had spoken ‘Known fact by those who live here,’
‘Why isn’t this more commonly known?’ Turmoil asked, leaning forward so to better judge the mage.
Trying not to wilt under the intense pressure that was being directed his way, Sheep coughed soundly aloud, trying desperately to clear his throat. Happy that he had gained a moment to think, he than spoke ‘Well most of the guard moved on after Fist Allure left us, and D’more came in. It was that time that Earn arrived and heard the rumours being juggled around about Riot,’
‘Aye, and I bet the rumours came directly from your sweet mouth!’ Splinter laughed, nudging Sheep with his shoulder.
‘Well, maybe,’ Sheep admitted, managing to maintain his balance after Splinter’s over zealous prod ‘Anyway, Earn offered him a job, and he accepted,’
‘You’ve worked with him, yes?’ Faith asked, his pale features denoting no humour.
‘Yes!’ Sheep agreed.
‘What do you think of him?’
Shrugging, hoping that matters would peel away towards other things, he finally relented to the questions being posed to him ‘He’s a quiet man, keeps himself mostly to himself,’
‘And?’
‘I don’t know, he’s not really the talking type,’
‘What do you think of his ability as a guard for Earn?’ Faith pushed on with his interrogation.
‘I’ve never seen him put to action, apart from that riot, if that’s what you mean!’ he replied.
‘How would he react if he had to?’
Sheep realised that they still did not believe in the prowess that Riot had demonstrated on that once warm evening two summers back. Wondering if he should reinforce his belief in Riots ability, he decided to tell the truth as far as he saw it ‘He would disarm any man that happened to threaten his master, I have no doubt,’
‘And if he happened to confront more than just one individual?’
‘Than he would kill them just as easily,’
‘Oh Hood’s balls!’ Splinter slammed a hand upon the table ‘How could you know that he’s that good?’
‘I saw him fight remember,’
‘Doesn’t mean a thing. Those men were Evinor’s soldiers, probably didn’t know a sword end from a cleaners brush,’
‘Shut up Splinter!’ Turmoil groaned.
Sheep realised that he was growing tired with the intense probing, and even more angry by the way in which they seemed to rebuke his opinions. Holding firm onto his irritation, Sheep spoke with a slow measured tone ‘I’ve seen other soldiers fight, I’ve seen other soldiers die, but there’s something eerily disturbing in the way that Riot fights. Yes, those he fought were Evinor’s own troops, yet they still knew how to fight, no matter how craven their leaders,’
‘Fair point!’ Turmoil said, glancing at Splinter with an expression they dared him to defy him.
Splinter shrugged his shoulders ‘I’m not saying anything,’ he muttered.
‘Good!’ Turmoil stated ‘Best thing you’ve ever decided to do,’
‘I think I’m going to leave you lot here, seems as if I happened in on the wrong evening,’ Sheep pushed himself away from the table, nodding lightly to Turmoil as he left.
Turmoil acknowledged the nod with a response of his own. Remaining silent as Sheep left through the oak doors, he than broke the silence with his own attributed ways,
‘You idiot Splinter, no need in making a mage angry with ya!’
‘What did I do?’ Splinter asked, voice whining as he looked on with horror at Turmoil.
‘Blood and tears man, you basically called him a liar,’
‘No I didn’t!’ Splinter nearly rose from the table at the accusations pointed his way.
‘Aye you did, and you’re a bloody fool,’ Turmoil shook his head.
‘So what do you think about what he said?’ Creases asked, finding the courage to speak to his Lieutenant.
‘Don’t know?’ Turmoil admitted, throwing his weight backwards into his chair so to rest his size in a more comfortable position ‘Probably true, but I can’t trust to how good this guard truly is,’
‘How about what he said about seeing Skinner fight Dassem?’ Creases again asked a question that rolled on the minds of all concerned.
‘Hmmh!’ Turmoil grunted ‘That I don’t know, but if he is half as good as the mage reckons, than anything’s possible, maybe the man Riot truly was a member of the first sword. Who can say. Do you want to ask him?’
Creases shook his head, deciding that silence was now the only true option opened to him.
‘I don’t trust him!’ Faith admitted.
‘Aye, I can believe that,’ Turmoil rumbled “You don’t trust anyone!”
‘Safer that way,’ Faith stated, proud of the fact.
‘Gods but I chose the wrong night to enter here, now didn’t I,’ Turmoil said, mockingly shaking his head at the unfairness of it all.
‘You’re round Creases,’ Turmoil said, noticing for the first time that he had yet to break his thirst.
‘I got the last round!’ Creases voice rose in accusation, his face betraying his horror.
‘That was before I got here, so it don’t count. Now be a good boy and buy your Lieutenant a drink,’ Turmoil raised an eyebrow as he made his point.
‘Bloody unfair,’ Creases murmured as he rose from his seat. He continued to gripe as he walked to the bar and ordered the drinks.
‘Glad for a drink, I dare say,’ Turmoil stated aloud, flashing a grin at his two remaining colleagues.
Splinter nodded in acknowledgement while Faith continued to stare at the door where the man Riot had shortly passed through ‘Still don’t trust him,’ he whispered, fingers drumming on the table before him as he wondered about the stranger and his equally strange relationship with the merchant Earn Paltroll.

[Riot]

The breeze swept forcefully from the bay, increasing in strength as it made its way past the city and headed toward the barren landscape just south of Evinor. Here the chilled wind sent needles of cold passion through the men who harboured at the edge of the marked ground.
‘That’s exactly where I want it,’ Earn stated as two men led a line of rope down the side of a long straight of exposed granite.
Sheep stood watching, his hands held beneath his armpits, wishing that the day would flourish with sunshine, if only to warm the blood that felt as if it was freezing within his body. With teeth held tightly together, Sheep attempted to stop the shudders that jolted his body.
‘Mage, come closer!’ Earn waved at Sheep so to gain him nearer. Forcing aside a sigh, he stepped forward, not caring at the stares that Earn’s men cast his way.
‘I want you to cut away the top surface with your warren, and we’ll see what lies beneath,’ Earn instructed, pointing his hand at the marked area before them both.
‘Fair enough,’ Sheep managed, regretting already the manner in which the night before he had left the tavern without so much a warm drink to reimburse his fatigued body. Sleep had not come to him either, instead just the continual images of the man Riot and of the impact he had made on that first instance in which Sheep had spied him.
‘Where’s Riot?’ he asked, noting that the silent guard had not been sighted all morning.
Earn gave Sheep such a dismal expression that the mage wished that he had remained silent ‘I don’t know!’ the merchant admitted ‘None of my men could locate him this morning, and I can’t say that I’m happy about it,’
Probably had more sense than all of us put together than! he thought, but managing to keep his face lacking in any expression.
‘Are you ready to get things started?’ Earn asked, staring at Sheep with the usual illustration of impatience born upon his features.
Sheep wished to say no, but instead he gave a short, curt nod ‘Aye, let me just get my preparations ready,’ he acknowledged.
‘Fine,’ Earn stated, before calling aloud to the milling men who stood passively around them ‘Okay everyone. Stand back, the mages about to call forth his warren,’
The looks that Sheep received were of further displeasure, but he decided that their stares would go unanswered, instead he had further complications to sort out.
Stepping forward, just as everyone else took a step back, Sheep brought himself closer to the marked area that Earn had overseen in its designation. Freeing his naked hands from the comfort of his armpits, he flexed his shoulders, trying desperately to focus his attention on the matters at hand rather than the stabbing chill that continued to assault him.
Studying the marked area, he noticed the dismal state of the land. The granite here was almost loose in appearance, but as he sent his senses beneath the layer, he was confronted by a much harder, firmer deposit of sandstone that would be far greater to work through.
‘Dammit!’ he muttered to himself, keeping his voice low so that he would not discourage his employer any further.
‘Oh well!’ he remarked, just as he sought for his warren. The warren of D’riss was unlike any other paths that other mages had mentioned when describing their warrens. Whereas many mages stated that their paths felt almost alive with the temptation of energy flowing through the very essence of what made up the associated warren, Sheep found D’riss almost lacking in appeal. Catching hold of D’riss was very much like attempting to swallow when under water. The urge was there to try and breath when the knowledge that to do so would eventually kill you.
For Sheep, the experience of grasping D’riss under his control was an effort almost too great for his supervision. Often he would lose hold of the paths dry, heaving essence, instead fighting himself to grab hold of its unreceptive ways. It was for this lack in ability that he would never rise to a cadre rank, and for a mage who was too scared to grasp his warren when under assault it was a responsibility of rank that he could do well without.
Now however, he sent his senses toward where the warren seemed to echo around him, enticing it into his grip before flinging it forward. The warren struck the granite with an audible scrap of sound, tearing away the loose soil above and tossing the remains throughout the world in the form of a miniature sandstorm.
Concentrating the image of where he wanted D’riss effects to be localised, Sheep muttered under his breath, allowing for his breath to continue in an swinging act of motion so to focus his thoughts.
Finally, content enough with what he had obtained, he cut loose his warren, finding his inner-self almost sighing with relief at the lose.
‘Nicely done!’ Earn stated as he eased himself beside the mage.
They both allowed their sights to roam over the exposed sandstone that was now uncovered, baring itself to the air above for what was possibly the first time in thousands of years.
‘Well?’ Earn asked from his position beside the mage.
‘What?’ Sheep asked, surprised that his opinion was being demanded.
‘Well how easy is this going to be?’ Earn requested an answer with a easily poised question.
‘Erm…!’ Sheep struggled for an answer, yet he knew that his wisdom was being queried and that he was under demand to make a respectable answer ‘Well, the sandstone is pretty tightly packed. I can probably cut away a few feet more, but the effort would drain me,’
‘Hmmph!’ Earn sounded.
‘The men could probably make a quicker start into digging through the next layer, and hopefully it’ll ease up some. Maybe enough for me to get down to the heart of the core,’ Sheep supplied.
Earn shook his head ‘Not good enough, I promised the Fist that we’ll make quick progress and I will delivery,’
‘Than I’ll make an effort to cut through what I can!’ Sheep stated.
‘Stop!’ Earn raised his hand before Sheep as the mage made a attempt to step forward.
‘I have other plans to get through,’ Earn explained ‘Hewitt, come here!’ Earn called toward a man who lingered at the edge of the legislated land.
Sheep allowed confusion to reign upon his face as he was dumbfounded that Earn had decided to go over his ability. The man named Hewitt came forward, his scarred face baring evident to the disfigurement of Genabaris mumps which he had most probably been affected as a youth. To hide much of the pockmarked skin, the man had grown a fuzzy growth of hair, seeming to spring out from his face with over zealous integrity. The fact that his hair was a bright disconcerting red, the appearance of the man was overpowering.
Sheep also recognised the man. A person of such appearance was more often than not recognised by those who had never spoken to him directly. Hewitt was an explosive expert, or as much as one could hope of a man who had the disclaiming tendency to explode large quantities of unstable materials.
‘Hewitt,’ Earn repeated ‘Is it possible to break though this…’ Earn waved his arm at what remained before them ‘…by days break?’
Hewitt stepped forward, actually jumping down into the area that was now a few feet lower than the surrounding land. Kicking at the sandstone with his boot, he seemed to sniff, as if hoping to pick up a scent that would reveal some form of inspiration to him.
Finally, climbing out of the high pit, he stood before Earn.
‘Aye,’ he nodded ‘Give me five hours and I’ll give you a hole to be proud of,’
‘Good!’ Earn nodded. Turning to Sheep he said ‘I’ll leave you to remain in charge whilst I’ll go and finish some other important matters. I expect all of the charges to be set within the five hours agreed, and not to be set off until my return. Is that clear?’
Sheep managed to keep his mouth shut. The manner in which reasonability had been shifted his way was not to his liking yet he could hardly say no.
Nodding sombrely, he wished that Riot had been around as the responsibility would surely have been his own if not for his miracle disappearance.
‘Excellent!’ Earn grinned ‘Than I meet you later,’ striding away, Earn left the two men by their selves.
Hewitt stood silent before Sheep, his expression dumb, yet a sparkle was in evidence within his amber eyes.
‘Well go on!’ Sheep suggested, waving a hand to implore to his request.
Hewitt grinned and with it realisation dawned upon Sheep that the man was mad; quite mad.
‘I’m going to take a seat,’ he explained more to himself than to the men who suddenly began to form around Hewitt. Moving toward a outset of rocks that bordered the area that he had already denoted as a wasteland, Sheep took a seat, finding that the creases of the boulder that he happened to settle upon was most disconcerting.
Shielding his eyes as he watched on as Hewitt gestured toward the land already scraped aside, he wondered how efficient such a madman could truly be.
Like a sapper of the military ranks, any man who willingly worked with Moranth supplies was a touch crazy, yet the man Hewitt looked as if he bordered on the extreme; much like a mage who succumbed to his own warren.
Watching on as Hewitt appeared to finish his explanation, Sheep saw as the men broke away, some grabbing hold of the nearest of shovels and proceeding toward the small pit. Here they begun to dig small hollows into the sandstone, preparing it for where the charges were bound to go. Hewitt himself went over to where he kept his pack horse, lightly stroking a hand over its impassive face before rummaging within the holster that were draped across the beasts back.
Sheep was more than alarmed when the bearded man brought forth two large crackers from the hanging bags. A maddening glare sweeping even further across his face.
‘****!’ Sheep jumped to his feet. The man had brought Moranth munitions with him; had in fact sat upon the loaded beast as the sacks swung heavily against the beasts flanks.
Sheep shuddered with what could have been if the clay casings had been cracked. His heart fluttered as he allowed his thoughts to continue to linger.
‘Oh what have I let myself in for?’ he wondered allowed, moments before he decided to distance himself even further from the madmen at work. Opening a distance of some thirty yards or more, he watched on with his full attention; all prepared and ready to seek his warren if things decided to get warmed up.

[Riot]

Master Gouver stood nervously before the five figures who sat snugly at the wide low desk that was settled just before them. Holding himself tightly to the will of his being, he attempted to show no fear in front of these men.
His attempt was failing however, as he juggled himself from one foot to the other, almost dancing as his nervousness crept hungrily through him. Blinking away the perspiration that flowed from his forehead, he rounded his shoulders and continued to stare down those figures who were discoloured by shadows.
‘Well, how is the former mayor today?’ the question was easily poised, yet its influence only went further to alarm Gouver, and send further shivers through his body.
‘Fine!’ he muttered, attempting a nod but knowing that it only went to display his anxiety.
‘Good. Excellent!’ stated Guild-Member Stett Dalop, his pale features showing an arrogance that was firmly created upon all of the other Guild-Members.
Nodding again, whilst raising an unsteady hand so to cough into its constructed pit, Gouver remained silent; deciding that it was the easiest option left open to him.
‘We are aware that D’more refused your appeal, so much so that Earn Paltroll’s men are already at work at the site,’ Stett Dalop spoke with his usual lacklustre charm, yet it was still an improvement upon the four others who always remained silent, venturing a question only when Dalop appeared to miss a cue.
‘That is correct!’ Gouver simply answered.
‘Did he say anything else, except for the refusal?’
‘Only that you yourselves had made an offer to mine the site!’ said the former mayor, wondering if he was running off at the mouth when it would be safer to remain quiet and compliant.
‘That is correct!’ Dalop offered ‘Was you surprised?’
Gouver nodded, eyes held only on Dalop so not to draw a question from the other members.
‘There was no need to be. We only made a offer so to appear as if we were obedient to the call of our usual business. We knew that Paltroll would win the contract yet if we had done nothing than we would have drawn further attention to ourselves,’
Gouver again nodded, knowing that it at least sounded true, but was submerged in an underlining truth that was hidden well from view.
“So you understand that our proposal was little more than just a hoax offer, we were never in hope of winning the contract,” Dalop stated in his matter of fact manner.
“Yes, I understand!” Gouver replied, hoping that his departure would arrive in haste.
“This Malazan Earn is taking all of the major contracts!” the fattest person at the table murmured, his eyes ignoring Gouver as he stated the fact down the rest of the table.
“There’s little we can do Stanner, his links with the fist are too great!” Guild-Member Yhan answered.
“Perhaps this Malazan merchant will have a turn of luck against him!”
Gouver managed not to wince at the last sentence that came from the coldest person in the room. Guild-Master Xander was a chilled and detached individual, so much so that Gouver doubted that a pulse actually registered within his body.
“An accident?” Stanner asked, his fat chin wobbling as he posed the question.
Xander shrugged before responding “Accidents are common enough in our dear city, more so to those who are in the mining business. It’s a unfortunate fact of life,”
“Or lack of it!” Delop smirked.
Coughing into his hand, Gouver soon noted his mistake, as every face turned to his position “Err, excuse me!” he muttered.
“Yes!” Delop asked, frustration straining his vocal cords.
“Are you still needing me?’ Gouver asked, praying with all hope available that some minor ascendant was looking down upon him with good will.
Delop opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was to utter was lost as the sound of an explosion detonated throughout the world.
“What was that?” Xander asked, as every head in the room turned their joint attention toward the south facing wall, from where the explosion had sounded.
“Monrath munitions!” Gouver muttered, his eyes glazed over with the realisation of what the sound represented.
“Munitions! What for?” cursed Stanner, shifting nervously within his seat.
“Earn Paltroll has begun in earnest!” the cold confession came from Guild-Member Quill Ruxon, his refrained manner denoting that he expected such actions all along.
“This is a grave matter indeed,” Delop stated, drawing himself upwards as if he was the true power within the room “Gouver you may leave, we the Guild will decide on what matters to take next,”
Gouver need no more urging, and so nodded his head, which was ignored, and departed from the room, pacing quickly away so to open up a greater distance from himself and those selfish bastards within.
Exiting the building completely he paused for just a second so to judge how the world around him was changing continuously. The Malazan’s had brought developments of all kinds, yet the one that always left him shivering was the use of Monrath munitions in such a strong guise of everyday usage.
Knowing that he had somewhere else to be, preferably somewhere where he could hide his head, Master Gouver fleeted away across the street.

[Riot]

Riot was just finishing his morning’s business when the detonation ringed through the air. Tilting his head up toward the cliffs furthest most point above him, Riot squeezed his eyes shut with the realisation of what the sound meant.
Earn Paltroll was a business man, but patience was not one of his strengths, instead his impulsiveness had formulated in the resultant usage of explosives.
‘What was that?’ the voice came from the man that he had just been concluding his personal errand with.
Turning back to the man, Riot shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the sound so to present the fact that he was as beguiled as the sea captain.
‘Sounded like munitions to me!’ the captain suggested, hawking deeply before spitting into the waters that sat snugly beneath the platform that they stood upon.
‘Could well be!’ Riot acknowledged, not wanting to dwell too long on the events happening just south of the city.
The captain shook his head in frustration, knowing that the cold bastard before him would not go into any details of what was occurring. Knowing that their business was almost at an end, he decided to conclude the matters with extended haste.
‘So, the usual person?’ he asked.
‘Aye!’ Riot agreed, pulling forth from his pocket the sealed envelope, and passing it toward the captain.
‘The usual rate?’ again the captain asked the questions.
‘Aye!’ Riot nodded, slipping two coins from his other hand, again handing these to the captain.
The captain took what was offered and quickly hid the payment from view ‘Take me longer than usual to deliver this,’ he stated.
‘Fine,’ Riot said ‘Just make sure that it is delivered,’
The captain nodded, wanting the brief meeting to be even briefer. The man Riot was a silent type, if anything more quiet than usual, yet he paid in advance and always more than was appropriate for such things.
‘Well my blessings!’ he stated taking a step backwards so to gain closer ground to his ship ‘I’ll be back this way in a few weeks. I’ll assume that there’ll be another message to delivery,’
Riot simply nodded, watching as the anxious captain grew closer and closer to his docked vessel.
‘In a few weeks than!’ the captain called, waving a bronzed hand as he stepped onto the deck of his craft.
‘A few weeks!’ Riot agreed before turning away.
Walking at a steady pace across the platform that headed back toward the main podium of the docks, Riot allowed a small smile to brighten his features, finding that the nervous tones of the sea captain were unfounded. True, the man had been in the city when Riot himself had first entered Evinor, and had been one of the witnesses to Riot’s displayed actions against the idiots who had cultivated the massing population to a state of riot, yet there was nothing for the captain to fear. Not unless he deceived him in some way.
Passing the increasing number of workers and sailors who went about their own established businesses, Riot allowed his sight to settle upon what was before him.
The docks of the city were designed to host up to fifteen vessels, yet at the moment just over half were birthed with ships. Locked onto the nadir of the cliff face, the large podium that he was quickly approaching was a large wooden frame structure. The solid wooden beams holding it upright, sweeping down into the water beneath. Constructed decades ago, the podium was fully furbished with the latest of fittings, enabling it to meet the demands that the new rulers had stipulated.
From this dais, steps which led up to Evinor’s foundations were located. And it was towards this constructed stairwell that he proceeded toward. Carved from the cliff itself, the steps were wide enough to allow for three men in passing, enough space so to allow for a single man with a load in his arms to walk unfettered.
Nimbly taking these steps two at a time, Riot quickly worked his way up from sea level to the customary stage point of Evinor’s own perched design. The breeze here was lowered in tone, unlike the strong folds of air that had assaulted him from the base of the cliff. Turning his head back briefly, taking one last look at the bay and out toward the Hudd sea, he fancied that he could smell the smoke and after burn which resulted from the explosion.
Shaking his head with this assumed scent, he began anew his strong stride back into the heart of the city.
To his right he bypassed the local barracks, sighting two Malazan guards seated outside of its granite built structure. Not recognising either woman, he realised that the city was churning through new recruits at a frightening speed. The campaign south was eating through recruits, and so those who were stationed within Evinor’s boundary were quickly sent down to the fighting that continued relentlessly south of his position. Free cities needed to be conquered, and only by throwing more men at the defending walls was this aim ever to be achieved.
Again he found himself smiling, yet this time the humour was dark. The empire had other means for a Free city to fall. Either by bribery, or by the more associated image that was created from the ruling Empress; the Claw.
Ignoring the many people he passed, he directed his route toward the south entrance of the city, realising that he was steadily heading in the direction of the mining operations. An itch was forming in his mind, and he found that he had to scratch it, that he had to find out what Earn and his workers had discovered in the ruined Maggy hills. Gold was the intention, but Riot continued to believe that such an operation was a waste; it was time to discover if his judgements were right.
Crossing Wrath Lane, dodging the cart which was lopsided as one of its wheel’s had collapsed, he soon found his way onto Gate street, which led the full distance to the Southern entrance.
He was half way down this cobbled road, when a man came streaming towards him from the opposite direction.
The man was running at full tilt, his blackened face peeled into horror as he bounced his way from person to person, aiming to get through the horde that opposed him. It took a moment for Riot to recognise him, and in the same instance that identification came to mind, the other man spotted him and half ran, half straggled toward him.
‘Master Riot, Master Riot!’ the man threw himself in front of Riot, his face drenched in sweat and mud, giving him the impression that his flesh was melting from his face.
‘What is it, Drum?’ he asked, holding out his hands so to help steady the man.
‘There’s been an accident at the mine, I need to find Master Earn!’
‘Earn’s not there?’ he asked, amazed that any progression had been attempted without the trader being there.
‘No, he left Sheep in charge whilst he went on to do some more business. He wanted Hewitt to lay charges and fire them once he returned,’ Drum managed to roll out.
‘Damn it!’ Riot cursed, wondering why Earn had left Sheep in command. Knowing that the role would have been his if he had only gone about his own business at an earlier date.
‘Why did Sheep allow the munitions to be set off?’ he asked.
‘He didn’t, Hewitt’s a mad bastard and couldn’t wait any longer. Set them off himself, none of us realised he had done it until he started running away. We quickly understood though, and were lucky enough to get away in time,’ Drum testified.
‘So who is injured?’ he enquired wondering if he would receive the blame for not being there in the first place.
‘From the explosion. No one!’
‘So what’s the accident?’
Drum appeared to almost wilt, but Riot allowed his grip to tighten upon the other man’s shoulders, forcing him to remain firm and coherent in his explanation.
‘There were a few bruises and a lot of words directed Hewitt’s way, but once the smoke and dirt cleared we could see that the crackers had done their job. If anything too good a job,’ pausing but for a second, Drum than continued ‘At the bottom of the pit there was what seemed to be a passageway, going under the hill itself. So some of the men went down to have a look. Shortly after they disappeared into the darkness, the screaming began.
‘Sheep must have woken up from whatever fear had crippled him at that point and he said that something was alive down there. Said that a ward was collapsing and that he was trying to hold it firm, but whatever was down there was throwing itself at the ward, trying to get itself free. That’s when he told me to get some help, and here I came running,’ Drum appeared even more exhausted once his words came to a halt, but Riot was no longer interested.
‘Go find Earn and tell him what’s happened. After that go to the Fist and try and get some mages down there, I think we’re going to need them,’ Riot instructed.
‘What are you going to do?’ Drum asked.
‘I’m going to go pay Sheep a visit!’ Riot said.
The look of horror that betrayed Drum’s face was near comical if not for the occasion, yet Riot dragged himself away from that expression, knowing that he needed to find the core of his being, and force its construction into the lethal mandate that he use to command at a more regular occurrence.
‘Now go!’ Riot commanded, twisting Drum around before pushing him in the general direction that he had proscribed the younger man to go.
Lightly creasing the hilt of his swords, Riot than began to run himself, finding that the crowd before him suddenly parted with his presence. Intended violence was in the air, this he could smell. Mayhap those around him could too, as they allowed his progression forward without any disturbance.
Whatever was down in the pit , if such testimony was in fact true, was only being held back by the mage Sheep. This simple reality was scary enough without the well known knowledge that Sheep was an unreliable mage when it came to using his adopted warren.
‘Hood’s balls!’ he growled, wondering if he would make it in time before whatever was discovered was let loose.
Finding a new emotion boiling within his stomach, one that had been lost for so long, Riot was unhappy to discover that the emotion was simply that of dread. Increasing his pace he swept forward towards whatever was awaiting him.

[Riot]

Dust filled the air, a milling sandstorm of particles that refused to settle, instead floating about with a majestic dance of routine, leaving the mining sight ahead in a cloud of uncertainty.
Bringing the horse to a slow canter, patting its flank as he had pushed the beast far too hard, Riot attempted to make out what shapes were within the misted haze.
Off to his right he slowly passed a discarded pick axe, its muted appearance displaying the conviction of what ambiguity lay ahead.
Squeezing his eyes to mere slits as a rough gritty exchange of air flowed around him, Riot attempted to focus his entire attention to what was before him.
The world appeared to be almost silent, a eerie development that only went further to alarm him. The usual sounds of wild life and the rolling expansion of the cities close proximity was near desolate. Instead it felt as if hushed intent was awaiting him, preparing itself for when he finally made his appearance.
Refusing to call aloud to the mage, knowing that there was a fair chance that whatever had been buried beneath the Maggy hills would now be released, he just remained with his usual non-concomitance of sound.
He continued on for a further twenty yards, and the veil of dust suddenly lifted, exposing the site in all of its freshly created state.
Ahead of him, positioned just before the gulfing hole that had been created from the explosive potential of Moranth munitions, was the mage Sheep, his light blue robes discoloured by the blast of dirt and earth that had been ripped from the terrain. Arms held in front of, he appeared to be gesturing down to the hole, but Riot understood that the mage was simply focusing his forces down into that breech.
‘Riot!’ the mage expelled, turning just his head as he sensed the horses approach.
Riot halted the beast and climbed down from the saddle, again patting its side so to reassure it. Comfortable that it would not flee, he eased himself to the mage’s side.
‘Thank Burn you’re here,’ Sheep was deadly pale, his features quivering with the exertion that affronted him ‘Please tell me that Drum found you!’
Appraising the pit before him, staring sullenly down to the gentle incline that fell open to a tunnel at the bottom of the crater, Riot wondered what had urged the other workers to go and explore that pit which was filled with foreboding darkness.
Turning back to Sheep he answered ‘Aye he did. I sent him on to find Earn and then to inform the Fist,’
‘To get mages?’ Sheep asked, almost begging, his eyes blinking with an alarming rapture of motion.
‘Yes!’ Riot answered.
‘Oh thank Burn!’ again Sheep prayed with relief.
‘So what’s down there?’ Riot asked, nodding to the abyss like hole.
‘I’ve no idea, it feels alien, but whatever it is, its angry.’
‘You’re maintaining the wards?’ Riot asked.
‘There’s just one left, and all I’m doing is fuelling it, making sure that it doesn’t collapse,’
‘How come you didn’t sense them before?’
Some colour formed in the mage’s cheeks, as embarrassment settled upon him ‘They were tightly packed under the earth, almost hidden. The crackers set them off and opened up the old tunnel that we can see now. The remaining ward was that which was closest to the creature down there, it expanding outwards but I managed to come too before it shattered completely. By that time some of the men decided to go down and explore. I was too late to stop them,’
‘You don’t recognise the creature but do you recognise the ward? Do you know what trapped it down there?’ Riot queried, looking hard at the mage so to gain the full truth in his words.
Sheep paused before answering, biting intently at his bottom lip as he fathomed what he sensed. Finally his reply was announced ‘Taste’s like T’lan Imass!’
Riot nodded. So whatever was down there could be as ancient as the undead army that dated back to the formation of civilisation itself.
‘What’s it doing now?’ he asked.
Sheep gulped ‘It’s gone quiet, shortly before you arrived. Before then…well…well it had been talking to me!’
‘Talking?’ perplexity crossed Riot’s brow.
‘Aye, sounds crazy but a voice entered my mind. Kind of distant but enough for me to understand what it was saying.’
‘And what was it saying?’
Shifting uncomfortably, but never allowing his arms to lower. Sheep answered ‘It wants me to let the ward down, to let it free,’
‘I take it you said no!’ Riot stated.
‘I didn’t reply, thought it would be safer that way,’
Riot grunted, whilst he swung his right foot, kicking at a blob of dirt that was piled at the top of the hole. The broken deposit of soil was sent down the opening, falling and dissolving into finer units of dust.
‘How long before you weakened enough for it to break free!’ Riot asked, knowing that this was the most important question he had enquired after since arriving.
Sheep half laughed, half sobbed, his strained voice breaking further as he spoke ‘Not long, probably not long enough for any help to arrive in time,’
Running a hand through his thickening beard, pulling loose some of the tension and knots that had twisted together, Riot quickly came to a decision.
‘Whatever happens, make sure that the ward holds, if that fails than bring the hill down,’
‘I’ve already tried that, but its fighting back, that’s why so much dust is surrounding the area, its somehow managed to fling aside that which I’ve attempted to bring down on its head,’
‘Than its increasing in strength!’ Riot announced, before taking a step forward so that he stood at the verge of the crater.
‘Where you going?’ Sheep’s voice suddenly sounded high and whinny.
‘Just wait here!’ Riot ordered ‘Remember that if the ward fails, try to dump the hill down onto it,’
With that he stepped off the edge and proceeded downwards.
Sheep stood open mouthed, suddenly losing concentration so that the ward twisted in his grasp before failing, falling away in much the same way as Riot had just disappeared.
‘Oh Hood!’ the mage cried, hearing a cry of triumph roar in his mind as the final ward dissolved.

[Riot]

Riot skidded down the inside wall of the pit, his long length boots crashing through the now loose dirt with ease. Equalising his weight so not to lose balance at this delicate point, he managed to ease his way to the bottom of the crater. Bending his knees as he reached the depths of the hole, he managed to level himself out.
Above he heard the mage curse ‘Oh Hood!’ and he knew than that the ward had either crumbled, of the creature had broken free from its restraints.
Pulling forth his twin swords from his waist, Riot paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom that coaxed him.
The tunnel was now mere feet from him, the height of its construction greater than he had first realised. From above ground, the tunnel appeared to be minimal at best, but now, as he stood before its spanning circumference, he could see that this impression had been a lie. The tunnel was taller than himself, mayhap by two spans.
Licking at his lips, wondering how he should proceed, a flicker of light appeared from within the burrow. Stepping closer, making sure that his footfalls were silent in their execution, he lent his head forwards, noting that he could see a small sense of illumination coming forth from the passage.
Easing ever forward, not bothering to look upwards at the sky as it would only blind his perceptions further, he made a steady advancement into the tunnel.
The breath of air that crept through the stale passageway was of a dry, dishevelled embrace, wrapping him within layers of ancient entombment. The light grew more intense, so much that he could see the walls beside him. They appeared almost shiny in appearance, and as he brushed the tip of one of his swords against the segmented partition, he could see a slick, pastel colouring of oil lightly caressing the metal of his blade.
Taking each step with great care and deliberation, he slowly progressed forward, until he came to what was creating the illumination.
The oil lamp was laying on the floor, just as the tunnel bent off slightly to his right. Tilted slightly to one side, the illumination was being cast further into the depths of the tunnel.
Closing to its position, he than happened to see the person who had brought the lamp down here to this nexus of almost supreme darkness. The body was crumpled further down the tunnel, just within reach of the light being cast from the lantern. The body appeared to be intact, only the evidence of damage to the face was apparent.
The man’s features were beyond description as the face had been hammered back into the skull, crushing and pulping the brain within. If not for the fact that it was a man’s head upon the broad shoulders, he would never had been able to address what it was.
The force required to deliver such a blow was quite an impression. To his knowledge only a few races could hope to obtain such a act of violence in a singular blow of impact. And to his knowledge no such race had ever adopted this land as their own.
Adjusting his stance, he happened to hear a slight scuffle of sound, coming from deeper into the tunnel.
From beyond the light source he could just make out a figure, standing in the basking grace of the shadows.
Wetting his lips once more for the confrontation that was about to commence, he wondered if coming down here had been such a good idea in the first place.
Remember your training!
The voice from his past came haunting back, and with it he could feel a layer of steel develop his stomach, adding strength to his cause, helping to reinforce his ambition. Drawing a long breath, ignoring the staleness of its intake, he focused his mind into the old routine, finding that it floated over him in much the same way as it did in the old days of fighting. His attention became more fuller, each breath he stole sounding drawn out and balanced.
The figure in the gloom suddenly took a step forward into the light, and as the radiance of the lantern developed it, Riot was blessed with the creatures full appearance.
The creature stood at a height just above Riot’s own, its naked pale skin almost flickering with the light that fell upon it. Standing with casual attendance, Riot could see that it was male, he could also see that it was odd in description.
Its skin was coloured like tarnished marble, shot through with flaws that denounced a healthy shade of pallor. Its flat face seemed to stare at him with its midnight violet eyes, the broad brow arching above the orbs with queer construction. Its features were created with high flaring cheekbones, set either side to the wide malnourished mouth. The creatures body was made up of planes and angles, its chest appearing as if too many ribs were caged beneath the limp flesh.
Its limbs appeared to containing too many joints, but it was too the creatures right arm that Riot found his sight drifting towards. The limb was cut away from just below the shoulder, the rough edge of its state flaying with raw skin and flesh. The wound appeared to be a old one, and Riot wouldn’t have been surprised if it was obtained just before its burial in this ward encrusted tomb.
They stood facing each other for mere seconds, yet for Riot it felt as if they stares were locked together for a longer period. Each studying the other, taking the measure of what confronted them both.
Wondering whether to speak, and of it would understand his words, he was surprised when it beat him to speech.
‘Kin to Imass, let me pass!’ instead of speaking in his mind as it had done for Sheep, the creature spoke aloud with it sliver of lips opening with slow consideration.
‘No!’ he said, finding that the moment was a strange echo of what had confronted him when he had first entered Evinor those two years previously.
‘Kin to Imass, kinfolk of those who ensnared me, let me pass!’ it again spoke, this time its head shivering as if racks of torment plagued its thinking.
‘No!’ again he stated, simply waiting, wondering how this would plan out.
The creature blinked, and as it stood thinking, Riot was again brought judgment to the creatures frail appearance, as its one remaining hand twisted and shook. The long digits betraying the creatures fragile mindset.
‘My mate awaits me. Freed recently herself she seeks to find me,’ it stated.
Riot remained silent.
The creature tilted its head, before asking ‘Kin to Imass, are you one of the chained ones followers?’
Still he refused to speak.
‘Burn sleeps, yet she dreams of nightmares, nightmares which flood through her flesh. Nightmares for which he plagues her with. Nightmares for which he plagued me with. Are you a follower?’ it words were as dry as the air.
Riot remained silent, finding that the creature was truly mad with the entombment placed upon it.
‘Do you wish to plague me with further nightmares? Do you wish to poison the lairs of all life?’
‘No!’ Riot stated, finding that he had to answer as the creatures words seemed to ignite him with their intent.
‘Burn sleeps, her bed fellow is foul. One dreams of respite, the other of domination, either is hollow to the world’s needs. Which do you choose?’ it asked of him.
‘I don’t understand?’ Riot replied, edging his feet from under him so to gain a better position.
‘Kin of Imass, let me free!’
‘No!’ he again answered.
‘IMPRISON ME NO LONGER!’ the creature screamed, before launching itself toward Riot.
Knowing that the creature was about to throw itself at him, Riot was still surprised by how fast it moved. Crouching down, he managed to spring aside, rolling against the cavity of the close set wall, managing to avoid the blow that the creature launched with its one remaining fist.
Hissing in frustration, the creature turned just as swiftly, swiping at where Riot was gathering himself to his feet.
Blocking the blow with the flat of his sword, he jumped back a step, feeling the back of his foot brush against the body that was still curled up in the same position as he had found it.
The creature advanced on him, continuing to swipe at him with its remaining claw, the multi jointed limb giving it further construct in delivering a mortal blow. Knowing how much force was behind each propelled strike, Riot concentrated on defence, swiping the arm away with each sword, trying to keep the sharp claws from slicing through his armour.
The creature continued to urge out its rage with bellows of annoyance, increasing its speed as its sought to delve through Riots guard.
Riot felt his muscles responding with the exertion coursing through him. The creature was fast, far faster than anything else he had ever come up across. Faster than his own self if truth be told. Knowing that it was only time before his guard was slaughtered aside by the unrelenting assault, he threw himself forward, knowing that if not for its already disabled state that he would never had hoped for a chance against it.
His counter attack seemed to unsettle the creature, as it wavered backwards, its arm flapping aside Riots advances.
Creating momentum, urging his own will upon the fight, Riot sliced and hacked at that one remaining arm, hoping to shed it from the creatures frame. His twin swords, homed from ancient steel, cut new slashes into the creatures exposed flesh, tearing away the skin, digging deeper in the wired muscles beneath.
The creatures roars of anger soon dissolved into that of pain, and surprise. Surprise in that it was being bested by a race that it recognise as a descendent of the dreaded Imass that had forced it into this burial place for eons of years.
Riot ignored the new sounds being generated from the creatures tightening lungs, knowing that such a beast could never hope to live in the new world above. The madness that had settled upon it for the ages in which the world above turned anew, was a madness that could not be allowed to flourish. Hood knew what damage it could cause if released.
So with this intent, and with training that was devised by some of the greatest fighting men in the world, he edged closer to the creature, ignoring the failing arm, thrusting his right arm forward and sending the tip of his blade into the creatures unprotected right flank.
The creature bellowed its pain and swiped at his head, a swing which would have almost certainly knocked it from his shoulders if he had remained in the same position, but he slide himself to one side and hacked at the creatures neck. The throaty roar of the creature was suddenly silenced by the slash, and so Riot again pushed himself forward and delivered the finally swing of his arm, slicing his other sword through the remainder of the creatures neck and sending its head tumbling through the tunnel.
The creatures body appeared to want to continue fighting, as the hacked arm again swung around. Finding but air, the body than collapsed to the floor.
Riot took a step backwards, finding that his reserves were bested, and so he allowed himself to fall to his knees. Dropping his blades to the floor, he bent his head down, trying desperately to swallow in the air that his wrecked body so urgently sought.
His eyes were consumed by a milky haze, overwhelming him by its sheer expenditure of energy. Closing his eyes, attempting to find the centre of his being as he had once been trained, he sought for equilibrium.
Ahead of him a sudden gust of air was generated, sweeping through him as he continued to bow down to the attendance of self replenished rest.
Still with eyelids lowered, he heard the first footsteps arrive before him, strolling closer before halting just in front of him.
Opening his eyes and raising his head he looked up at the guest who had just entered the tunnel via the recently closed warren.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, caring not that his voice was full of tiredness.
‘Now now, is that anyway to greet me!’ the figure asked, before adjusting its sight’s to the now dead creature off to the side.
‘A Forkrul Assail, a long time since I’ve seen one!’ it stated with almost cheer in its voice.
‘Aye, I don’t doubt!’ spiting off to one side, Riot attempted to clear the foul taste that now entered his mouth.
‘Come now Riot, that is your new name I believe?’ the standing figure asked.
Riot just stared up at the figure, trying not to show any expression upon his features.
‘Ah well, I never did like your old name, Riot is a far neater name,’ a hint of a smirk was implied by the figures words.
‘What do you want?’ Riot again asked, wishing simply for sleep to develop him.
‘We have some things to talk about, you and I, Riot. I also have a proposition to make,’
Riot forced himself to remain silent, knowing that too early a reply would only show a weakness. Waiting longer than was needed, sensing frustration building in the other figure, he finally replied.
‘So what do we have to talk about?’

[Riot]

Sheep attempted to grasp hold of his warren, yet the blasted thing slipped and slid away with every fumbling enticement that he conjured toward it. With his heart beating at a maddening rate, he could hardly hear a thing, so strong was the blood flow through his ears.
‘Oh Hood, oh Hood!’ he whispered in a rhyming melody, finding that the time in which Riot had disappeared down the hole was too long, almost an eternity while he stood uselessly above ground, contemplating how his end was to come to pass.
Not too long ago he had sensed a warren opening below ground, a feeling that pricked at the edge of his ability. His nerves were too strong, however, to know which flavour the warren was tinted, instead its unsighted appearance would have to remain unanswered for the time being.
He guessed that the opening of the warren belonged to whatever creature had been unearthed, finding its escape through some unhinged warren; probably of chaos as it seemed like one of those days.
Scrambling to the top of the pit he had attempted to call down, but no answers were forthcoming. This only went to prove that whatever was down there had finished off Riot before making its escape.
He was bemused therefore when the same sensation rained upon his senses, again suggestion a warren had opened below the surface. Again not quite grasping which warren had been accessed, he was more concerned with what its opening for this second time actually implied.
Was the creature back. Had it returned back to the very same tunnels for which it had only just recently fled, perhaps remembering to finish off those who had witnessed its resurrection.
‘Oh Burn hear my plea!’ he gasped, flinging himself back from the hole.
From below he heard the sound of scrambling intent, of something trying to grasp hold of the craters side, trying to work its way up the opening so to terminate his worthless hide.
‘Oh Burn, oh Burn!’ this new melody took a grip on his dumbstruck mind.
From the pit a voice called out ‘Sheep you damn mage, help me out of here!’
The prayer stopped purposefully in mid flow as he recognised the voice, belonging whole heartedly to the bodyguard Riot.
Crawling towards the pit’s border, not noticing that he was now on his knees from where his startled self had fallen, he tentatively hoisted his head forward. Looking down, a mad smile decorated his lips as he recognised the dishevelled figure who stood down in the hollow.
‘Pass me down a rope so I can climb back up!’ Riot instructed, his eyes appearing red from whatever development had confronted him.
‘How do I know its really you!’ Sheep asked.
‘What!?’ Riot called back.
‘Well how do I know its really you down there and not some weird creation of whatever was down there?’ he responded.
‘Look Sheep, I’m not in the mood for playing silly bastards, lower a rope or I’ll climb up there myself and then you’ll be sorry!’ with Riot’s reply, Sheep could see that the guard was lightly touching the hilts of his shelved blades, gesturing with a threat that Sheep could reason with.
‘Fine. Hold on!’ pushing himself away, trying to climb to his feet, he noticed that the miniature sandstorm that had previously been swimming around the area had fallen away, again revealing the surrounding landscape and the sight of Evinor itself.
He had never seen a sight so pure before, and he found himself giggling with some satisfaction when he noticed the train of riders coming across the path that led from the city itself.
‘Burn,’ he began ‘Thank you for answering this lowly mages prayers!’
Jogging toward the lead figure of Earn he almost whooped with joy.

[Riot]

The sensation of standing on a plain level surface had never felt greater to Riot, if anything the sensation was heightened as he watched the Malazan guards and mages running about under the commands of Earn, whilst he himself stood back away from where the most activity was occurring.
Upon Earn’s arrival, a rope had been tossed down to his enclosed position, and with a simple heave he was brought back up to surface level, a situation that was improving with every passing minute as he breathed in the fresh rejuvenating air that was swept across from the bay.
He stood near where a cart of supplies had been positioned earlier that morning. Taking the water bag being offered by Sheep, he hoisted the container and refreshed himself further by taking in a long draught of crystal clear water. Wiping his mouth as he finished, he gave the container back to the mage.
‘Thanks!’ he acknowledged.
Sheep remained silent, simply watching as the clean up crew went about their business. First a frame had been constructed above the newly developed pit, before more ropes and pulleys were hanged, allowing for a swift and easy lifting system.
The initial deployments of forces down the hole had resulted in the well trained mages being sent down first, searching for any signs of any further possible threats. Once concluded with their examination Earn had sent down a small group of Malazan guards to retrieve the bodies.
Sheep had allowed a small smile to decorate his features when he had noticed that he recognised two of the guards sent down. The soldiers Creases, and Splinter, each casting a glance of contempt toward Sheep himself; as if them being here was his own personal fault.
The stares he had received were nothing compared to the glares that the returning mages had given toward Riot. If anything the looks they denoted him where of fear.
‘What happened down there Riot?’ he asked, tearing his eyes away from the pit.
Riot shook his head, implying that now was not the time to speak.
‘A warren opened down there, twice. I felt it both times!’ Sheep implored.
‘You must have been mistaken, probably the last of the wards collapsing!’
Sheep was almost lost for words yet he quickly found some to cast at the man beside him ‘The wards had all collapsed well before that. I definitely sensed a warren!’
Riot lifted his eyes away from the activity going on ahead of them for the first time. Focusing his entire attention upon the slim mage he spoke with a fine, but firm tone ‘You was mistaken, leave it as that!’
Sheep found himself biting at his bottom lip once more, judging whether to push what he had experienced further or to remain tight lipped. Finding a clarity reaching him under Riot’s intense gaze, he decided to remain silent. For the time being at least.
‘What’s taking them so long?’ he instead asked, hoping that a reprieve would be graced his way.
‘Retrieving the bodies, I would guess!’ was Riot’s simplistic reply, again casting his eyes back toward the hole.
‘Oh!’ was Sheep’s response, hoping that the bodies were not too craven in form.
A commotion of raised voices and further evidence of people running about near the pit was suddenly displayed, as the first body was being raised. Finding that his curiosity was getting the better of him, Sheep decided to go take a closer look, simply needing the proof that something of horrific proportions had been trapped for eons beneath their very feet.
He was more than a little surprised when he found Riot joining him as he ambled towards the guards who were all gathered around the pits circumference. Saying nothing however, he allowed the man to be his companion for this very short period of time.
As they grew closer, the milling figures seemed to almost sense their closing proximity and so opened up a little; displaying they honour by giving the men as much room as possible.
Looking down to the bottom of the pit, Sheep could see a stretcher had been rigged with ropes and knots, giving access to pulling up that which had been discovered. It was to what was laying on the long stretcher that gave Sheep pause, as the creature was evident in its damning appearance.
Turning to Riot, noticing the same looks that everyone was now giving the bodyguard, Sheep asked ‘What in Hood’s name did you do to it?’
Riot shrugged, an action that hid the tiredness that flecked its tormenting aggression through his body ‘I just defended myself. Much of what you see was already inflicting the creature,’
‘It’s head’s been cut off!’
‘Like I said, I had to defend myself,’
Sheep shook his head in amazement, finding that he surely did not know the man who stood beside him. Turning his glance back downwards, he attempted to tilt his head, trying to analyse the creature that was being slowly raised.
A flicker of recognition sprang to mind, and as he sought the deciding factors that made up the creatures formation, he suddenly realised that he could identify what it was.
‘It’s a Forkrul Assail!’ he gasped, mind racing with what the implications of finding such a creature.
Riot gave the mage a glare of such contempt, yet Sheep was too excited and bound within his own thoughts to notice.
‘A what?’ Earn Paltroll had silently drew up beside the mage, and he too looked down in amazement at the ascending creature.
‘A Forkrul Assail, one of the four founding races. We thought they were extinct,’ he spoke at such a pace that he knew he was almost gabbling but he was just too excited to care.
‘Well they are now!’ one of the Malazan guards stated, causing a short clatter of laughter to break out amongst those gathered.
‘Who thought they were extinct?’ Earn asked once the laughter had settled.
‘Me and my old teacher, Calot,’ Sheep explained.
‘Calot of the second army?’
‘Aye,’ Sheep acknowledged ‘He’s now part of the second’s Cadre, but he use to be a teacher years back,’
‘Couldn’t have been a very good one if you was his student!’ a young female guard joked.
‘No, but I was a bad student. He use to do some teachings on Gotho’s Folly, and in the writings is the mention of the four founding races,’
‘Including these Fork Sails things!’ the same youthful guard asked, seeming to gaze intently at Sheep.
‘Forkrul Assail, yes!’ he answered, feeling slightly uncomfortable by her bold gaze.
‘Wow! And your man Riot here, managed to kill it!’ she stated, a smile lighting up her features.
‘Yes.’ Earn firmly stated, turning to look at his employee ‘He did,’
Again all eyes fell upon Riot, and again he remained silent, simply gesturing with a lacklustre shrug.
‘Lets raise it up further, and get it out of here,’ Earn informed everyone who was present. Turning to Sheep and Riot, he gestured for them to follow him.
Distancing themselves from where the soldiers, guards, and remaining mages extracted the dead creature from what had been its tomb and eventual place of death, Earn led the two men back toward the supply cart.
‘D’more will want to speak to us all about what happened down there once we’re back in the city. I expect you both to be most cooperative!’ he instructed, seeming to rest his gaze longer on Riot than he did the mage.
‘Of course,’ Sheep uttered a response, wincing at the tone in which he said it.
Riot nodded in response, commenting himself to no general intension.
Earn grunted, as if he expected as much from either man.
‘So who did we lose down there?’ Riot asked, deciding that he wanted things turned aside from himself for the time being.
‘Hinges, Coil Dupoint, and Offal!’ Earn stated each name with cold embellishment.
‘What of Hewitt?’ asked Riot, trying to remember the faces of the men that his employer mentioned.
‘Last I saw of him was after the men went below and the screaming started. He jumped on his mare and rode off at speed,’ Sheep supplied the answer.
‘Best keep riding if he knows what’s best for him’ Earn rumbled, his aging face displaying the anger he felt for the explosive expert who had caused so much destruction with his mad exploit.
‘Yes, best place for munitions is with sappers who know what to do with them!’ Sheep said.
‘If you believe that, than you’re as mad as that bastard!’ Earn announced before stepping away.
As he walked away, he called back over his shoulder ‘I want you both to make ready for our departure, we leave once the creature has been loaded,’
Sheep stood stunned. He believed that his admission had been a good one.
Seeing his companions look of surprise, Riot laughed as he said ‘I forget that you’ve never been assigned to a real army. Otherwise you’d known that sappers are the craziest bastards known to man!’
With that he walked away.
Sheep continued to stand amazed. Twice he had been made to look a fool, and here he remained in their associated aftermaths. Not knowing where to look in his embarrassment, he happened to look back toward the pit and to where the young Malazan guard, Prime, stood. She was again staring attentively at him, and he turned his gaze elsewhere, again shocked by her appraising glare.
‘Hood to this!’ he muttered, walking about the cart so to find where his own belongings had been discarded earlier. As he sought, he found that his own eyes continued to be draw to where the guard was.
Catching him looking, she raised a hand and waved.
‘Oh Burn!’ he whimpered, forcing his head down. Making sure that there it remained.

[Riot]

The reign of the day had almost finished, the stark abyss of light that had bleached the world with a wondrous under glow of illumination was fading, allowing the effect of night to consume everything within its darkened possessed state.
The events of midday seemed long ago, harking back to when the world had appeared hazy, over complicated in the extreme. Now however, Sheep and Riot were being drowned under by the overwhelming degree of swaying boredom.
Awaiting to be called into D’more’s office, they both remained seated at the short bench that lined the furthest wall. One guard stood nonsensically beside the closed door, his face reflecting back the same level of dullness that was enriched within them both.
If anything, Sheep was enjoying this small act of doing nothing, it was certainly safer than what had already preceded them already.
Upon arriving back within the cities walls, nothing had gone their way. First of all news had spread like wild fire of something happening just south of the city. A gathering crowd had descended to greet them, almost engulfing those who rallied the small convoy forward.
Sheep had been tempted to use his warren to help spook the masses aside, yet was still fragile to the manner in which he had lost it earlier. Even Riot held back, yet Sheep was beginning to believe that the bodyguard was more tired than he was willing to admit.
To make matters worse, the cart which had been carrying the creatures remains had been pushed off to the side of the street, causing it to crash needlessly against one of the stone built buildings. Sheep had tuned back at the sound of the screaming wood tearing itself up against the sturdy building and had spied the small number of men who appeared from the massed crowd and pulled aside the guards who were mounted to the cart.
Pointing in bewilderment as the men dressed in black threw aside the guards, he called aloud, but knew it would fail as his words were lost amongst the shouting that was already being projected around him. He was unable even to turn his horse, so restricted had the space surrounding him become. All he could do was watch as the men jumped into the back of the cart, and proceeded to steal the wrapped corpse of the creature.
By that time Riot had also spied what was occurring and instead of watching passively, he somehow managed to turn his horse around and attempted to close in upon those who were almost away with the corpse.
Presented by a armed man on horseback, with determination written across his face, the crowd had backed up some. Too late however, as the thieves had managed to dart back into the crowd and disappeared down one of the back alleys.
‘Damn it!’ Riot had cursed, again urging his beast forward through a narrow passage.
‘Sheep!’ Earn’s voice called out from the vanguard of the convoy ‘Go help him find the body!’
Sheep acknowledged by waving a arm. Struggling with the reins at hand, he slowly managed to turn his own horse, even though its intentions seemed entirely in the other direction.
Following after Riot, kicking out at one man who happened to get in his way, he managed to get free of the thinning crowd and followed the bodyguard down the first alleyway from where the cart had been ambushed.
‘Sheep, can you sense anything?’ Riot’s advanced position was at a crossroads, and he was unsure which way to turn.
Even before he sent out his will he knew that no such luck would be granted upon him, yet he tried anyway. Further horse steps sounded from behind him, and turning uncomfortably in his saddle, he was unhappily presented with the Malazan guard Prime.
‘Anything?’ she asked as she reigned in beside him. Again her eyes seemed to pierce him.
‘Well!?’ Riot called out at the same instance.
‘No!’ he exclaimed, answering both queries at once. He was finding that his comfort was again being attack, this time spurred on by the young female guards close proximately.
‘Damn it all to Hood and back!’ Riot roared, showing how frustrated he had become.
Above him, from one of the darkened windows which was settled unevenly from the encroaching building, a head popped out.
Sheep spotted the aged woman and called up to her ‘Excuse me, did you see some men go pass carrying anything?’
The woman gave him a weird grin, full of creases and wrinkles, before disappearing back inwards.
‘Oh thank you very much!’ he muttered, shaking his own head in accumulated frustration.
‘Look!’ Prime pointed up toward the window.
Looking up, not expecting too much, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hand and half an arm being presented from the window. The disjointed hand was balled into a fist, only one finger jutting out, and that was pointing towards Riot’s immediate left at the cross road.
Needing no more spurring on, Riot was away.
‘Thank you!’ Sheep called up as the arm again returned to the nocturnal setting of the darkened interior. Flicking his reins he chased after Riot in flight. He himself being followed by the young guard.
And so they had proceeded there after, chasing after what was probably shadows, flowing through the cramped back streets of Evinor, finding areas that Sheep had never known existed.
Finally, just under an hour after their original departure from the convoy, Riot had called the chase to a halt.
‘They’ve gone to ground by now!’ he admitted.
So they slowly made their way towards D’more’s office, knowing full well that Earn would have gone there immediately and that a report would be needed of the day’s events.
Climbing down from their horses and offering the reins to the sentry outside of D’more’s building, the youthful guard had said her farewells. Offering Sheep a full smile that suggested more than a simple departure.
‘That ones got it bad!’ Sheep remembered Riot remarking, yet he had stayed silent. Red faced but silent.
And so they remained waiting outside of his office, enjoying the respite that the undemanding action required of them.
The door to the office opened and Earn stood at its entrance.
‘Come in!’ he stated, going back in before they attempted to move.
Sheep cast a glance towards Riot, but the guard was of no help as he offered a fake smile and gestured with his hand that Sheep was to go first.
‘Excellent!’ Sheep grumbled, standing upright and following after Earn. Riot leisurely pulled himself upright, forcing down the weariness that was sweeping into every joint before making his own steady pace into D’more’s office.
As he entered, the Malazan guard who had stood doing nothing for the duration in which they had been seated closed the door behind him. Allowing for privacy to reign as supreme within the room.
The fat Fist sat at his desk, his small eyes appraising both himself and Sheep. Earn stood to one side of D’more’s desk, facing outwards towards them. Sheep stood almost at attention, back firm and face blank in its construction. If not for his blue robes that was covered in a fine layer of dust, he would have looked quite the part of a Malazan solider.
Knowing that this obese man who sat jammed in his seat was the ruling figure of the city, Riot’s simplest reaction was not to follow Sheep’s example. If anything, he would do quite the opposite.
It was at that moment, as D’more shuffled some papers before him and appeared as if he was about to make some startling but equally boring statement, that Riot noticed the drink’s cabinet on the wall opposite him.
Without any further delay he strode over, grabbed hold of the first decanter to come to hand, and pulling free the stopper he pored a generous amount of the amber liquid into a spare glass. Raising the tumbler to his mouth he took a long inhale before taking a delicate sip.
‘Good!’ he agreed to himself, finding that the heat that suddenly swelled within his chest would go some way to help make the next few minutes almost bearable.
Turning back with glass still to hand, he offered himself up for the cross inspection.
Sheep’s non-apparent expression had faded, instead replaced by one of sheer disbelief, mouth opened as he stared at Riot. Earn’s features was more restrained as he had come to expect anything from his employee, yet Riot was certain he noticed a slight tightening around Earn’s eyes.
The Fist fidgeted within his seat, the chair’s base squeaking with the exertion being placed upon it.
‘Are we ready to begin?’ he asked, sarcasm forced with his words.
‘Aye, why not!’ Riot stated, coming round so to stand beside Sheep. The day had been a long one, and annoyance was increasing within him. It was this he blamed for his short temper and the manner in which he expressed his displeasure.
Ignoring Riot’s words, D’more began ‘I will keep this as short as possible, as I largely have devices of my own to follow shortly after we conclude.
‘Master Paltroll has informed me much of what has occurred today, and in most instances I am quite satisfied with what he has had to say. There are some things however that I believe you both can help me understand fuller,’
Riot remained silent, instead taking another sip from the warmth inducing drink.
‘First I want to know how long the creature had been beneath the area known as the Maggy Hills?’
Sheep adjusted his attention to Riot, and found that the guard was staring right back at him. Realising that he was the nearest source of information on such a creature, and that a response was needed he fumbled for a answer.
‘Its hard to say!’ he answered, finding it difficult to look at the Fist and so he allowed his sight to fix upon an area of the wall just behind and above the Fist’s head ‘From what I sensed of the wards that was binding it I believe that the ones who forced it there were T’lan Imass,’
‘The Emperor’s old undead army!’ D’more muttered, shaking his head.
‘From what we know of the Imass, which is very little, we can hazard a guess that the creature could have been entombed there from well beyond out own time. Beyond human time I mean!’ the mage added.
‘Earn tells me that you identified what manner of creature it was, before it was lost from your possession!’ D’more asked.
‘Yes!’ Sheep replied, managing not to wince at the Fist’s last statement ‘A Forkrul Assail. One of the original founding races!’
‘Thought extinct?’ the Fist asked.
‘Yes, or at least moved on!’ Sheep offered.
‘I won’t even go into what you mean by that last statement!’ D’more said. Flicking his eyes from the mage to the guard, he asked of Riot ‘How did you manage to dispatch this ancient creature?’
Shrugging, finding that it was a gesture he was increasingly using, Riot explained ‘The creature was malnourished from an eternality without proper subsistence, its body was caked in injuries, and it was disabled in that one of its arm’s had been cut away.
‘Add to that the assistant that the mage supplied…’ here he gestured to Sheep with the hand that held the tumbler ‘…with his warren and the odds were stacked heavily against the creature. I was fortunate enough to dispatch it without injury to myself,’
D’more’s gaze held the impression that he disbelieved Riot’s calm explanation, instead he appeared unconvinced by its reckoning. Shifting his stance, Riot suddenly understood that he could not displace the Fist before him. He may appear to be a man out of his range in the task set out for him, hated by all those who served under him, but he had certainly maintained peace and dexterity since taking over from Fist Allure. If anything, this showed that he must have been doing something right at least.
‘Is this how you would describe events?’ the Fist asked, exchanging his attention back to Sheep.
‘What!’ Sheep murmured before realising that his judgement was again being sort, he managed to gain coherency enough so to utter a positive reply ‘Yes, of course!’
‘Hmmh!’ the Fist sighed loudly to himself.
Riot gritted his teeth, hoping that D’more would not push on with this line of questioning, knowing that he was not fully coherent to a benign state, and therefore could be trapped in uttering some simple statement that could cause everything to come crashing down around him.
The truth of who he was and what he had once been would throw everything into confusion, obliterating that which he had managed to create.
Only now, he had a new offer of employment opened up to him, and he would have to think long and hard about taking up that offer, or simply flow through life as he had done for so long.
‘I’ve sent word to Unta regarding today’s events, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a Claw Master was sent out to investigate further. I would suggest therefore that when such a figure of authority does arrive, that you all make yourselves open to any line of investigation that the said authority wishes to take,’ D’more informed them, almost grinning as he saw the look of upheaval decorate itself across the mages face. The bodyguard remained neutral in appearance, but even he must be uncertain to some extent with news of an arriving Claw Master.
‘My plans for the site can continue?’ Earn turned slightly, surprised etched on his face as he had not realised D’more’s plans.
‘Most certainly,’ D’more nodded ‘In fact I want you to quicken your pace so that whatever rewards are down there can be mined to the fullest degree. I would hope that this difficulty we have encountered will just be teething problems, and not harass any further developments on your behalf,’
‘Thank you!’ Earn Paltroll displayed his admiration with a slight tilt of his head.
‘Is that all?’ Riot asked, finding that his display of insolence was beginning to weigh heavy on his person.
D’more seemed to consider the question, again roaming his sight over the twin men before him. Wondering if he could gleam any further knowledge from these two very different personalities, he decided that he could very well just leave it for the Claw Master to sort through once he made his appearance.
‘That is all!’ he finally announced, lowering his eyes back to the papers scattered before him.
Happy to be dismissed, no matter that the Fist had turned his attention so quickly away, Riot strode from the office, quickly followed by Sheep, eager to depart where he was no longer wanted.
‘You as well Earn!’ D’more said once the other men had departed ‘As I said, I have other plans to complete this evening,’
Earn nodded his obedience and followed after his two employees who had already fled the building.
Outside night had gathered completely, the squalid tone of its appearance labelling everything with the intent of harboured disillusion and restlessness. Gathering his robes tighter around himself as the chill assaulted him, Earn wondered, not for the first time, what his bodyguard had kept secret.
Riot had always been secretive to the point of self induced muteness, yet the events of the day only went further to display what mysteries he continued to keep about himself.
Shaking his head, knowing that Riot would never disclose that which he held so tightly about himself, Earn walked his path away from D’more’s building, heading easterly to his own apartment.



‘You forced me to lie in there!’ Sheep jogged after Riot who seemed to spill into the shadows as he walked across the cities darkened streets.
‘Why don’t you shout louder, I don’t think the Fist heard!’ Riot called back over his shoulder, not slowing in pace so that he kept a good distance still from himself and the damn mage.
‘Hood’s breath!’ Sheep cursed, closing to a halt beside some unlit building. Resting an outstretched arm against the vertical structure, he attempted to retrieve his floundering breath.
His mind was racing. First he had lied to the Fist, simply excepting Riots explanation that he had played a role in helping to dispatch the Forkrul Assail, and now he was as good as told that a Claw master would be arriving to take the investigation a step further.
He was as good as dead, worse if the Claw decided that he wanted some fun.
Shaking his head, trying to exert some influence upon his spilling mind, he wondered what secrets the body guard was keeping.
Why had he lied about a warren opening down in the hole. Not once but twice! A warren opening twice in a spell of a quarter of a bell. Had Riot himself conjured a warren into creation so to help kill the already injured Forkrul?
He doubted it, as he sensed no magical scent from around the bodyguard. If anything, he gave off the illusion that magic was the last thing he wanted to delve into.
The only other option that sprang to mind was that someone else had come to assist him. Appearing within the dark tunnel beneath the Maggy hills so to aid him in defeating the creature. If so then who, or what?
He shivered with either of these thoughts, but he found that he could not shake them now that they were there. Lingering, they seemed to strike at him with guilty pleasure, happy to curse him with their remaining presence.
‘Damn it!’ he grunted, knowing that they would not dissolve away. No, to help resolve his inner turmoil he would have to play a role that he knew was dubious at best, but for which he knew could not be cast aside. He would have to watch Riot, maybe even follow him. Try to gain a sense of the man and find out what secrets he was holding back.
It wasn’t that he wanted to do such a thing, it was just that he now had these unanswered questions to mind and he found that he had to scratch at them.
‘Hood’s breath, Hood’s balls, and Hood’s damn bloody nature!’ he grumbled, pushing himself away from the building he disappeared into the night.

[Riot]

The candles flickered with rapture, casting a fierce glow that appeared to pulsate with a life beat all of their own. Skirting the walls, configured into pairs so to donate a much stronger field of vision within the council chambers, the candles flickered with brimming intent.
With their burning however, a new scent was released into the air, a pungent, heady aroma that settled throughout the room.
‘What is that smell?’ Guild-Member Stanner rumbled, shifting uncomfortably within his seat, face a deep purple as he attempted to hold his breath whilst the offending odour continued with its flowing encirclement of the room.
‘The candles!’ Guild-Member, and Guild-Master Quill Ruxon noted, his own features displaying easy contempt.
‘Candles!’ Stanner exhaled, before having to breath in a deep full-bodied flavour of the felonious scent. Again motioning in his seat, he appeared to one and all as a wild Bhederin, caged and revolting in his torment.
Hiding his disgust, Quill praised his focus on the door opposite their joint positions ‘The candles have been made from pig fat,’ he stated, eyes never leaving the plain furnishings of the door’s levelled surface ‘Our usual supplier is attempting to bestow upon us substandard goods,’
‘Who is our supplier?’ Guild-Member Stett Dalop arched forward in his seat so to gain closer inspection upon Quill.
‘Does it matter?’ Quill shrugged ‘What matters is, is that he has lost a foothold within our establishment,’
‘Quite right!’ Stett nodded, full of his own self importance.
Quill remained unspoken, knowing that the fools who surrounded him were of a annoyance that he could force himself to live with. By their subverted means, he controlled a larger stake in the Guild’s formation, allowing him dominance in the Guild’s running, allowing for the biggest profit to be made by his own hand.
Had it not been his own idea of allowing the Malazan’s into the city after the short battle that had been fought at the Radiance Plateau, just east of Evinor’s position. Battle was probably the wrong word to use on such a minor skirmish, but he remembered when Evinor’s fighting men had left the city, full of fear but proud with the notion that right was on their side.
Fools! Even before they had set forth from the city’s walls, Quill had already sent a message detailing the numbers of the host to the Malazan high guard. Failure against such a forceful empire was inevitable, and so he had made first contact, knowing that the alliance of the free cities was hopeless against this foreign invader.
Two days after the city’s men departed, a new force reigned forward, detailing the task of surrender. Former Mayor Gouver had thought to ignore such demands, believing that the Malazan’s would fall against the cities walls. Only by Quill’s hand had further bloodshed been avoided, instead allowing the city’s gates to open and allow the new rulers in.
The only annoyance that plagued him to this day was the fact that the Malazan’s had ignored his plea to become Evinor’s new ruling leader, instead planting one of their own Fist’s into the position; that stupid bitch Allure.
Shortly after that time, small riots had erupted, created by those former soldiers who felt betrayed by the council that was looking out for them. Quill’s only regret was that he hadn’t ignited the riot’s heart as it did finally result in the departure of the bitch Allure. Allowing for the current Fist D’more to make his claim on the city. If only he had not brought with him the trader Earn Paltroll, than all schemes of centralisation of trade and commerce would be localised through his very own guild.
Well things could change. As his fellow Guild-Member Xander had suggested this morning, accidents could very well occur.
Freeing his eyes from the door for but an instant, he allowed his sight to fall over the man beside him. Xander was a cold hearted bastard, possibly as cold as his own. Yet his uses were very much noted.
It had been Xander who had brought word to him of what had been discovered in the newly developing mines just south of the city. That fool Earn had let loose some creature from the soil beneath his very feet. Instead of plaguing him however, the man’s bodyguard had somehow managed to kill it.
Opportunity rose up before him. Not caring to ask how Xander had come up with such knowledge, knowing already that he had a man planted within Earn’s payroll- going by the name of some instrument if memory was correct- he had quickly decided to take a risk.
Asking if the creature had been returned to the city yet, Quill was pleasantly delighted by the news that it had not. Quickly formulating, planning for its theft, he devised the way from its capture.
The method of implying that many riches had been found by the trader Earn, and that he was returning with haste to the city to hand over the rewards to the current rulers, he had created the onrush of people who had flooded over the small train of men on their arrival back within the city.
Planting his own men into that crowd was easy, and the eventual pilfering of the creatures corpse as the train was overrun was sheer genius on his part.
Shortly before calling this meeting, he had received word of the plans completion and of the creatures storage. Tomorrow, he would begin anew on devising a way to use this recently killed creature, and fund further developments to his own finances.
All he awaited for now was for the former Mayor to make his appearance as he had sent word, and he could further educate safety upon their part. He would use Gouver once more to mislead the Fist, to force aside accusation from the Guild. Maybe even cast blame upon Earn himself. Either way, he had called this meeting and he still awaited Gouver’s emergence.
Aggravation was beginning to flay his senses with the former Mayor’s non arrival, but he found himself sitting straighter in his chair as a knock was presented upon the door.
Nodding to Stett, he awaited the coming meeting.
‘Come in!’ Stett drawled, his voice encumbered by pomposity.
The door opened, and leaning the top half of his body inwards, the guard stated ‘Fist D’more to see you gentlemen!’
Quill felt his heart respond, drumming out a sudden turn of anxiety.
‘Did you tell him we were not here?’ he managed to ask, knowing that all eyes of his fellow Guild-Members were now locked firmly onto himself.
‘The Fist politely informed me that he knew that there was a gathering taking place, and that you would be most displeased if he was not presented before you!’
Quill’s jaw tightened, the skin of his cheek pinched so much that it strained with the passion that strode through him.
‘See him in then!’ he finally abated, knowing that the Fist would not leave.
‘Very good!’ the guard momentarily disappeared from view before reappearing, leading in the very round figure of D’more.
The Fist was red faced, yet a note of satisfaction was still evident upon his wide features.
‘Gentleman!’ he announced, stopping mere feet from the low desk that separated him from the Guild-Members ‘I had a thought that you may be here tonight!’
‘Fist!’ Quill acknowledge, gesturing with a light stroke of his hand that he was to be the only speaker in the Fist’s presence.
‘I’ll make things quick, shall I?’ D’more asked ‘We all have homes to go to, and it is already getting late. It is a fine gesture that you all so dedicated to you work that you are still here at this very hour,’
‘And to yourself!’ Quill responded with a smile that was fake in the extreme.
‘Well a Fist never sleeps!’ D’more joked ‘Or at least that is what they say, is it not?’
Quill responded with a simply nod.
‘As I said, I’ll make this quick.
‘As I’m sure your aware, today has been at the height of strange events. First the discovery of a supposed ancient creature in the Maggy Hills, and the resultant theft of said creature,’
‘We were not aware of any theft,’ Quill said in his most benign way that he could conjure.
‘Yes well, that is why I am here tonight. I am aware of your links spanning throughout the city and I was hoping that with your means you could possibly listen out for any rumours of where the creatures corpse is,’ the Fist kept his eyes linked solely to Quill’s knowing that he was really the only other power within the room.
‘We would be most happy to help in any way that we can!’ Quill responded ‘But I doubt that whoever ignited such a crime would willingly come to ourselves,’
‘But if you do hear anything, anything at all, please let me know,’ the Fist asked ‘The last thing I want is for when the Claw arrive for them to disrupt the city. I would gladly have the issue resolved before that time comes.’
‘The Claw are coming here?’ Quill asked, mouth suddenly dry.
‘Yes!’ D’more happily stated ‘I sent a report of the creature’s disappearance as soon as I knew. I would judge that a Claw Master and possibly a Hand or two will come in all earnest!’
Quill paused to think. He was well aware that D’more had fathomed that the Guild held the creature’s remains. His very being here at such a time concluded this. However, instead of demanding the creature’s return and therefore possibly disrupting commerce within the city, he was allowing them all an option to remove themselves from association to the creature’s theft.
Realising that the mention of the dreaded Claw was no mistake, again just a gentle reminder that he was truly in control, D’more was being more than generous in the dealing of the theft.
Balance within the city was needed to be maintained. In some ways Quill noted that he had shaken this state of equality and therefore was being infringed by its merciless endeavours.
‘We will keep our ears to the ground, and I have no doubt that those responsible for the theft will be discovered and swiftly dealt with!’ he even smiled when he finished.
‘Excellent!’ D’more smirked ‘That’s what I hoped for. I will make sure that at whatever time the Claw Master arrives, that he does not disrupt you honourable gentlemen,’
‘Farewell!’ with that the Fist advanced his way out of the chamber, leaving them all in silence until the door was closed firmly behind him by the retreating guard.
‘Say nothing!’ Quill warned ‘Just listen!’
Turning to Xander he instructed ‘Make sure that the creature’s remains are returned to the Fist, by any means necessary. Kill those who stole it, and make sure that no firm leads are addressed to ourselves,’
Not caring for the looks of dishevel that sprung out across the faces of his fellow members, he was too angry with himself to care for explanations to their dim witted minds.
‘I also want any exploits that you gentlemen are making amongst yourselves to go very quiet over the next few weeks. I do no want any excuses to be found by the Claw once they arrive which may unsettle us any further. Do I make myself clear?’
Each and every of his fellow members nodded in agreement; some like Stanner and Stett nodding in quick succession, whilst Yhan and Xander were more steady in their agreement.
‘Good, now tonight’s endeavours are complete. I would suggest that you all retire peacefully to you abodes,’ he suggested with a firm voice.
The members departed through the door that D’more had only just recently disappeared though, leaving Quill silently by himself.
Thumping the table before him in pent up frustration, Quill was angry more for himself than for the Fist’s eventful threat. Damn all those who worked against him, damn their stupid self governing ways.
Deciding that he would have to take a far more active method in over seeing Earn and his employees workings, he knew that he would have to employ men to follow them. To seek some form of failure on their behalves and prise a way in between their associated alliance. To crumble their union and allow his own dominance to take hold.
Taking a long sigh to help compose himself, he happened to breath in at the same moment when a particular foul layer of fat was burnt from one of the nearest candles. Cursing at the rank taste that suddenly flowered in his mouth, he spat forward.
A small smile decorated his face as the launched spray of phlegm landed exactly where the Fist had been standing.

[Riot]

Gums felt exposed. True he was speeding across the land at a fare speed on his mares back, the rolling landscape passing in a blur as he kept himself low in the saddle. Trees swept passed him, their angled branches clawing at him with their limp ends, attempting to fondle him as he speed past.
Grunting as one such limb struck him across the jaw, he ignored the momentary pain that filled his mouth, instead his mind continued to inflict him with the obvious notion that he was exposed. Moving at a great pace, but still horribly exposed.
With every open range that he fled across, he expected it to be his last, awaiting a loosened arrow to come hurtling toward him, casting his body from the saddle and so to end as a broken shell within the backwoods of this hostile land.
He shivered with the image that continued to assault his mind, that assaulted him whenever he took upon the tasks designated to him. He supposed it was a bad trait to have for someone who was a messenger, knowing that the opportunities he had for travelling alone was the majority of his work. Still he hated it; hated it with a passion.
Angling his horse towards a break in the shrubbery before him, he noticed the trench that ran along the broken land, causing his heart to jump within his narrow chest.
‘Ah Hood!’ he muttered, knowing that with the speed he was travelling at that he could not ease back on the reins. Not unless he wanted to force the horse to explode in its sprint and therefore throw him from his position.
Closing his eyes, not wanting to witness the approaching trench, he held tighter to his reins, allowing Oponn to place bets on his chances.
The horse beneath him recognised the trench and with swift acceleration it launched itself forward and upwards, springing with effortless efficiency over the two metre gap.
Gums felt himself lift in the saddle, yet pushed aside the notion of looking, knowing all to well that things were going to end in trouble.
A shock ran through him as he thumped back in the saddle, the lower part of his back flaring with the wave of pain that flowed through it.
Opening his eyes, again ignoring the wince inducing pain, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he was still being led forward by his faithful horse.
‘Good girl!’ he managed, patting lightly at her neck ‘Nice jump Oponn’
Oponn ignored his praise, instead enjoying the manner in which she was allowed to open herself up to full speed.
Gums allowed the smile to dissolve, knowing full well that no good would come of it. If anything, the chances of his success, like any other mission, would be haphazardness enough, without him cursing himself by grinning like a loon. It was thinking like that which had served himself for so long already. By attempting any other kind of philosophy he would certainly gain the attention of some untactful ascendant.
So he flew across the land with all haste, wishing to complete his delivery and respond back to the safety of being with the main army.
Another break in the tree line appeared ahead, but unlike the last, instead of being confronted by a low lined trench, a figure was standing beside the over abundant vegetation.
Cursing in his native tongue, Gums pulled back on the reins, fighting against Oponn so to bring the beast back under his control. Steadily the mare responded, so much so that he managed to bring her to a halt before the still like figure.
‘Eleventh Blade, Eighth company?’ he asked, apprising the person who was dressed in much the same colours as himself.
‘Is there any other out here?’ the figure asked.
Gums grunted, shrugging as he did so ‘Don’t know!’ he said, sensing that the man before him was a mage ‘Could be a whole host of companies out here for all I know,’
Shaking his head, the figure abated with a reply ‘Fine yes, Eleventh Blade, what of it?’
‘I’ve brought a message from command!’ Gums patted at a small compartment hanging onto the side of his belt.
‘Wonderful!’ the figure muttered ‘Well you best come along then,’ gesturing with a flick of his hand, he than turned and disappeared along the line of trees.
‘Friendly bloody fellow!’ Gums grumbled, wondering why all those who were posted away from command’s main body were always such happy bastards.
Ushering Oponn forward, he followed the light path that peeled itself through the decorating grass, finding that he had to duck lower in his raised place as the branches here were hanging dangerously low.
‘I would jump down if I was you,’ the man- most definitely a mage- said before him.
‘No thanks!’ Gums replied, knowing that if any danger was to suddenly approach that he preferred the option of all ready being mounted and ready to flee at a moments notice.
‘Fair enough!’
Gums was led forward through a particularly dense level of foliage, so much so that he wondered if he was being proven wrong in his ill suited ways, yet the expanse of vegetation suddenly opened, and he found himself being led into a small encampment, made up by a small number of milling men.
They attentions turned from the simple tasks that they had been performing, looking up at his mounted self, before interest fled and they returned to their original responsibilities.
Gums ignored the men as best as he could, recognising a small number of them but paying as much interest in them as they plied back to him.
Looking around the settings in which he found himself in, Gums noted that the set up was as routine as was normally established. In central position of the camp was the loaded fire, a few cook wares hanging above the constructs that were branched over its sparking flames.
Instantly his stomach flared with the need to eat, yet he pushed the need away. Still concerned with the feeling of being exposed. More so that he had now found those he had been sent out to discover.
‘What message have you?’ the man who was probably a mage asked.
‘Depends!’ Gums shrugged ‘Are you in command here?’
Annoyance flittered across the man’s face yet he managed to keep his cool about him ‘No. I’m just Corporal Edge, Eleventh’s mage!’
Gums nodded, smiling to himself as he had guessed correctly.
Ignoring the rough smile that he received, Edge continued ‘Commander will be here shortly, I would suggest you get down if you don’t want to get cramps for the waiting,’
Agreeing that there was no need to stay seated, especially with the number of armed men now around him, Gums climbed down from his position. Feet landing lightly onto the bumpy surface.
Rotating his shoulders as he stood passively, he pulled his long coat closer about himself. The grey and crimson cloak nestling at his flanks.
‘So whose your commander again?’ he asked, knowing that he should have known all of the high ranking members of the army, yet finding that there were so many names to remember.
‘They sent you out here but didn’t explain who you was to meet?’ Edge’s face displayed surprise.
Shrugging again, trying not to itch at the lice that plagued his head under his helm cap, he answered ‘Well I take it that they expected me to know who was in command simply by you units designation,’
‘Hood’s breath!’ the mage muttered ‘How long have you served for?’
‘Don’t know, maybe about sixth months!’ he guessed ‘Got recruited just outside of Greydog,’
‘Not far from Mott Wood. Aye I know the place,’ agreed Edge, finding that his head was still shaking.
Gums spat ‘Bloody Mott Irregulars!’ he cursed ‘Wouldn’t let me join so I sneaked in there and stole these teeth from one of their barrows,’ at this point he opened his mouth and drew out both top and bottom teeth, displaying them with pride in his hand. Smiling a toothless smile, he than placed them back in.
‘Like to believe that their from one of the Bole’s old dead granddaddy’s. Makes me laugh it does!’ here he again smiled, but this time the darkened stained teeth were nestled crookedly within.
The second smile that decorated the messengers face was more disturbing than the first. Again head shaking, Edge wondered how it had come to the point when just about anyone could join their ranks. Even in such a lowly manner.
‘So your commander?’ Gums urged.
‘Yes, our commander…’ Edge began.
‘What’s this!’ a giant of a figure walked in from the eastern approach, flanked either side by two large but seemingly small men whilst standing beside his large frame.
‘Ser!’ Edge nodded, stepping aside so to allow Gums to be fully appraised.
‘And you are?’ the large man asked, his body shielded by rolling links of armour, again lined by a similar grey and crimson long coat.
‘Gums sir!’ he saluted.
‘I can see that!’ the man said.
Noting the markings of a officer displayed on the large man’s shoulder, Gums fumbled at the container at his waist.
‘Have a message here for you sir,’ he grinned, freeing the container and holding it forward towards the big man.
‘Hmmh!’ the officer simply said as he took what was being offered. Turning to either man who continued to stand before him he said ‘Stand down, you’re making the place look untidy,’
Ignoring them as they wandered off, the officer opened the top and pulled free the sealed message from within. Noting the insignia that sealed the paper’s edge, he broke it open and began to read to himself.
‘Anything of importance?’ Edge drew himself level to his commander.
‘We have orders to move on,’ the big man stated ‘The Prince wants a small number to return to the Host, whilst a small number follow on with me,’
‘Great!’ Edge commented ‘Where too?’
‘Reports of a Claw Master heading to Evinor, north east of this damn continent. We’re to investigate!’
‘Why?’
‘The Prince doesn’t say,’ folding the paper into a small package, he pocketed it.
Turning his attention back to the scrawny messenger he then said ‘Inform the Prince that I’ll send my men shortly, once we’re packed up,’
‘Edge, Cube, Comb, you’re with me!’ he called aloud ‘The rest of you are heading back to the Host,’
Gums urged himself from one foot to the other as the milling men suddenly sprung to life, quickly flinging dirt onto the fire, and going about the necessary routine to quit camp.
‘Err, sir?’ Gums raised a hand to catch the officers attention.
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Who shall I tell the Prince was wanting me to inform him of his request?’
‘What?’ at this the officer turned to Edge.
Edge shook his head one last time ‘Don’t ask!’ he suggested.
Turning back to the messenger, right eyebrow held high in attendance he answered ‘Tell him commander Halfdan was volunteering a reply!’
‘Halfdan!’ Gums smirked ‘I thought it was sir but I could never tell!’
Forming a half salute, Gums turned back to his horse, missing the look of amusement that flickered across Halfdan’s face. Within moments his mare was back in command charging away with speed, disappearing quickly from view.
‘What is the Crimson Guard coming too?’ Halfdan said aloud, asking no-one in particular.
‘That I don’t know sir!’ Edge remarked before turning aside himself, knowing that his own kit was already neatly packed but was in need to be checked through so to gage some form of relief on his jaded self.
Halfdan blew out his breath, took one last look to where the messenger had departed, and then turned back to where his own belongings were stored, knowing with a deep longing sense that the journey ahead would take them deeper into Malazan controlled territory.
His only relief was that most of the Malazan’s forces were far south to his position, camped around the city of Pale. All he would have to worry about in the country before him was raw recruits, the occasional bitter veteran and the Claw Master that he was sent to dispatch. He almost wished that things could be more problematical; more challenging.
‘Oh well!’ he muttered, practically dishearten by the task assigned to him by Prince K’azz D’Avore.

[Riot]

The wellspring of black clouds hung over Evinor with absorbing purpose, giving off the illusion of dusk settling early over the hunched city. Rain fell in such a vibrant manner that the streets nearest to the south gate were swimming in a fine height of water.
Staring out into the deluge from his dry position, dry except for the rainwater that spilled into the small gatehouse and was now seeping into his boots, Turmoil hawked and spat out into the falling mass.
‘Blood and tears!’ he muttered, turning away and returning to the slightly less chilled environment of the gatehouses interior.
In the tightly packed room, a small desk was localised off to one corner, and as he walked over to the one remaining free chair, he attempted not to glance at the other three guards who were occupied at its wooden construction.
Failing with the action, he grunted as he inspected the men he was authority over. Creases sat low at the table, his face held upwards only by one hand, the elbow bent to the counter whilst his other hand held the cards that had been dealt to him.
Faith was staring sullenly as he always did at his own hand, scratching every so often at the back of his neck, gesturing without a thought so to expose to those surrounding him that his hand was a good one.
The third figure, Private Molehill, was sitting with his chair reversed, legs spread apart as the wooden rest curved upwards towards his chest. Sitting with a manner that was holy confident, he was suppose to be the one who was staring through the window in case of any arrives into the city. If anything, he was the least objective person in the room, instead his sole focus laying upon the game at hand.
‘Still raining out?’ Creases asked as Turmoil took a seat.
‘Do you hear that boy?’ Turmoil asked amazed, indicating upwards with his thumb to the light roof that was hoisted above them. The sound of rain was heavy against the buildings cover, sounding with a rattling exchange of potential.
‘What!’ Creases whined ‘It could be just rain fall from another building,’
‘Don’t be a fool!’ Turmoil expelled ‘The nearest building to us is twenty yards away. At least!’
Creases shrugged, face screwing up, muttering under his breath ‘Hard breeze could be blowing it over here!’
Turmoil ignored him, shivering as a fresh chill swept his body.
‘Reminds me of the day I was to be shipped off to Theft!’ he remarked.
The other three men all looked up from their game. Eyes first reaching Turmoil, than each other, than back down to the cards that dotted the table. Turmoil had spoken often of his early career in the ranks of the army, always rolling on with the same old stories.
‘Was posted within Graymane’s ranks, all ready and waiting to set foot onto the ship heading to that damn island, when I was struck down!’ Turmoil was staring at the miniature fire which frothed on the opposite wall, eyes dreaming as he watched the expanse of flames that curled hungrily at the resting logs within the heath.
Faith attempted to blank out his Lieutenants words, almost knowing word for word what was coming, yet he was unable to. Instead, he found that his ears twitched with its telling, and he found that his mind was wandering away from the game.
‘Bloody Flux!’ Turmoil announced, crashing a fist against his knee.
Molehill threw a glance to his senior officer with the sudden action that he had made, before turning his eyes back to his cards. Here he choose the appropriate one, and flicked it casually onto the mounting pile.
‘Thought I was going to die, puking up for days on end, senseless for much of the time,’ Turmoil continued to speak ‘Remember thinking that it was the worst thing that could happen. Turned out to be the best,’
‘Why, what happened?’ Creases suddenly asked.
Faith kicked out from under his seat, crashing his booted foot against Creases shin.
‘Oww!’ Creases cursed, glaring at Faith with unfeigned hatred. Faith cast back a glare of his own, hoping that the younger man would be able to understand why he had kicked out at him. Why in Hood had he prompted the Lieutenant, when he had already heard the story as often as he himself.
Turmoil ignored Creases curse, instead answering his first enquire ‘Graymane’s force were pushed back, given a right bloody nose. Turns out that those Theftians knew how to fight,’
Creases continued to glare at Faith, until Molehill sent a punt of his own foot into the younger man’s shin ‘It’s your turn!’ he stated when Creases turned his anger towards him.
‘Most of the men I trained with were lost on Theft. Those who made it back were scattered throughout the campaigns. Only ever seen one since, and he’s a broken man. Lives off charity handed to him. it’s a bloody shame!’ Turmoil’s voice was abstract to the rainfall, drawing onwards with a serene yet pacified nature.
‘Ended up serving my own time in the back water of most places!’ he rumbled.
‘Not as back watered as this, though!’ Molehill laughed, lifting and bashing his foot down into the water that swam beneath them.
‘Watch the table!’ Faith moaned, as it shook slightly.
‘Sorry!’ Molehill laughed.
‘None of you have seen any real fighting yourselves have you,’ Turmoil asked, not expecting an answer.
‘Bollocks to that!’ Creases muttered, again head in his one free hand.
‘Was in Nathilog for a short spell!’ Faith stated, eyes never leaving his cards.
Turmoil was truly surprised ‘You never mentioned that before!’ he said.
‘Aye well, I was only there for about a week. Was part of the shipping guards who escorted marines over to the island. Lucky enough never to get involved with any of the fighting,’ Faith admitted.
‘Did you see anyone?’ Turmoil asked, suddenly engrossed with someone else’s storytelling.
Motioning with a raise of his shoulder, Faith answered ‘One or two, mainly Bridgeburners,’
‘Who?’ Turmoil leant forward in his seat.
‘That Barghast warrior Trotts, that seven city assassin Kalam…’
‘Ex Claw, or so they say!’ Turmoil added.
‘They say correctly!’
The voice startled all four men, coming as it had from seemingly no where. Yet twisting in their seats, Turmoil and his men could now see the figure standing at the door.
‘Hood’s breath!’ Turmoil grunted, finding that his heart had just missed a beat or two by the shock.
‘Aw ****!’ Faith murmured under his breath.
Turmoil wondered at that last expressed curse, yet as his eyes grew accustomed towards looking at the doorway, he could suddenly understand the sergeants insistence in swearing.
The man who stood blocking the sight of the raining world outside was dressed totally in black, a hood pushed back behind his head, yet it appeared as if it had only just been lowered. His entrance had been perfectly silent, and recognising his clothing, Turmoil could understand why.
This new person was a member of the Claw, and from what evidence was being portrayed, he could guess that this was the Claw Master that D’more was waiting for.
Jumping to his feet, ignoring the twinge that plagued his back, Turmoil was unsurprised that the other three men followed his custom. Finding themselves standing as well; game cards scattering as they sought attention.
‘Claw Master!’ Turmoil managed, trying not to show his discomfort.
‘Echo will be fine!’ the man said, drawing closer into the room.
Turmoil managed just enough not to take a step backwards, knowing that such a gesture would stain his self accumulated honour.
‘I need a escort to the Fist!’ Echo informed them, making it plain that a negative response was not expected.
Clearing his throat, Turmoil also rounded his shoulders before replying ‘Can I ask how many there are in your group?’ he managed not to shrink in his task, realising that D’more would only want to speak to the Master and not to any underlings.
The Claw Master, Echo, narrowed his eyes.
An empty space opened in Turmoil’s gut, a loose feeling that he had experienced only one other time in his life. He felt now, like he did than, that his time had come and that only Hood’s gate stood waiting as a possible prospect for the near future.
‘A single hand!’ Echo announced ‘Awaiting outside!’
A mental sigh broke free from Turmoil, mixed with the smug image of the five members of the Claw who were at that moment standing in the downpour outside.
‘The Fist will want to see you straight away!’ he said ‘But you’re men will have to find accommodation elsewhere. I would suggest the Lakeside tavern, its near enough to D’more’s residence,’ he thought of the first tavern that was away from his own local, not wanting Claw to pollute Tombs bar.
‘Fine!’ Echo stated ‘I will need to be escorted straight to the Fist!’
‘Oh!’ Turmoil managed ‘Well unfortunately I’m unable to leave my post, but I’m sure one of my men here will be delighted to show you the way!’ with this he turned toward the other figures.
Creases cringed in fright, eyes wide and alarmed. Molehill appeared less afraid, bravado prompting his strict stance. Faith’s expression was harder to pin down, until that was when a smile sneakily lit his lips.
‘I’ll show you!’ he announced, taking a step forward so to confront the Claw Master with his close proximately.
Turmoil disguised his surprise, wondering why the usual miserable bastard was smiling now, questioning what benefit the sergeant had just fathomed by leading this Claw to the Fist’s residence.
Echo neither thanked or gave any evidence for consent, except for the manner in which he turned and strode from the room.
‘No time like the present!’ Faith remarked, as he tugged from the back of his chair his rain cloak. Throwing the waxed material over himself, tightening the cloth closer to his face, he beamed happily to his lieutenant.
‘What you smiling about Faith?’ Turmoil asked, throwing an arm forward so to stop Faith from leaving.
‘Just offering to take the Claw to see the Fist, that’s all!’ Faith said in all innocence.
‘Make sure that you’re here before the bell ends. I don’t want you thinking that this means the end of your shift,’ Turmoil instructed, allowing his arm to drop. Not trusting the sudden smiling nature that had gripped the younger man. If anything, he would have been the last to volunteer, meaning that that little tiny mind of his was up to something.
Without a further gesture, not even a brief farewell, Faith followed after the Claw Master.
‘Bloody fool!’ Turmoil muttered, turning back to Creases and Molehill.
‘What!?’ Creases asked as he seemed to re-emerge from his paralysed status.
Molehill simply crooked his head downwards before uttering ‘Look, there’s my hand floating in the water, looks like I win!’
‘No fair!’ Creases moaned, wading forward he attempted to see what was before his fellow colleague.
‘Bloody fools!’ Turmoil muttered, shaking his head with the stupidity that seemed to revolve around him.

Faith led the following horsemen forward, waving in the general direction that he was heading. The rain continued to beat down upon him, yet he ignored its berating effect. A smile was still evident upon his lips, the sense of satisfaction brimming contently within him.
An idea had occurred to him with the arrival of the Claw Master, and he wanted desperately to act out upon his self induced wisdom.
Pausing in his steps, he waited as the Claw grew closer.
The man Echo looked down from his advanced position from atop of his horse. Not stating a word, his face displayed the query for Faith’s pause.
Indicating that he wanted the Claw to continue forward whilst he walked at the horse’s side, Faith tilted his face upwards so to speak.
‘You’re here because of what they found under the Maggy Hills!’ he stated rather than asked.
The Claw Master squinted his eyes, yet finally answered with a single nod.
Happy that he had received a response, Faith continued ‘Than you need to know more about the man who killed the creature!’
He wondered if he had pushed too far, perhaps landing himself in a spot that was now too deep to escape from. Gulping, he awaited the scolding that he was about to receive.
Echo stared down at Faith with such contempt that fear suddenly flooded Faith’s reserves.
After a pause of few minutes, the Claw Master spoke ‘Go on!’
‘Well…’ Faith started, his emotions rolling with the excitement that coursed through his being ‘He’s name is Riot, and we believe he’s a veteran, possibly even a former First Sword…’
Echo listened as the idiot of a guard went on with his flowing entourage of gossip. His interest was peaked however, and as the guard continued, he found that his curiosity was eventually snared.

[Riot]

Riot leant his weight against the engraved surface of the bar, his face blank, mind wandering as he just stood there, perfectly still except for the slow, even motion of his breathing.
Tombs Bar was quiet, the noise levels low so that the general noise of outside crept into the large room. The day was creeping steadily along, drawing closer into evening. The rain that had been falling with such robust diligence earlier had disappeared, the clouds above breaking open, allowing for a soft radiance of light to portray itself across Evinor.
Through the windows this elegant illumination was pulsating inwards, bathing the room in a red glutton of light.
Riot’s attention was pinned upon a portrait that was hung behind Tombs bar, finding that his interest was more than wavering upon that detailed image. The portrait was of a man in his late sixties, his plain features brought to life by the envisioned artist, breathing colour and sharpness to the dour expression that was planted sourly upon the man’s face.
Riot had seen the portrait every time that he entered the tavern, knowing that the man whose eternal image was painted within the frame was of Tombs grandfather, also named Tombs. For as far back as anyone could remember, the tavern had been owned by a Tomb, each man who inherited the bar being called by the same reputation.
However, it was not for this reason that Riot found his attention drawn so closely to its canvas. It was simply for the way in which the light fell upon the man and his clothing, giving off the impression that he was dressed in red and grey glowing garments.
The sound of the door opening soon expelled him from his enclosed foray, instead forcing him to cast a glance around his surroundings, simply to gage where he was.
Turning in his position, he was almost displeased by who entered.
‘Riot!’ Sheep nodded in greeting. The mage was followed by one of the city guards, the man Splinter.
Leaving Riot to his own devices, the two men made their way to the end of the bar, furthest from Riot himself. Ordering their drinks, they than settled themselves away in one of the corners.
Riot ignored them both, hoping that Sheep’s further attempts in following him had not resulted in him coming to the bar in a poor effort to continue with the futile endeavour in spying.
It had been five days since their meeting with the Fist, and of the day in which nothing had gone right. During those days, as Riot had attempted to return to some form of normality, the mage had been following him in what Riot guessed was suppose to be secrecy. Unfortunately for the mage, Riot had been followed by greater person’s in the past, and in his ineffectual efforts, Sheep was as good as hiding as a Trell amongst a group of humans.
The door again sounded behind him, yet ignoring the whine of the hinges, he settled his sight upon the short glass at hand. The liquid within the tumbler was almost gone, and swiftly he lifted it and downed the last of its contents. Placing the glass back onto the counter, he wiped at his mouth, hand brushing against the wild foliage of his beard.
Wondering whether to have another, or simply call it quits for the day, he was suddenly robbed of either ambition as the person who had just entered spoke to Tombs from Riot’s side
‘Another round!’ the newcomer said, sliding Riot’s glass forward.
Riot kept his eyes down, just allowing his sight to roam over the newcomers gloved hand. Recognising it for what it was, knowing that he had been expecting this ever since the first rumour had rippled throughout the city from early that morning, he remained silent. Awaiting for the Claw Master beside him to make the opening.
Tombs went about refilling Riot’s glass. Silent as ever, he worked with an efficiency that wasted not a single moment of his time, or more importantly, wasted any of the alcohol that he served. Returning the full tumbler to Riot, he moved silently away.
Riot pulled the glass closer, but instead of drinking from its reserves, he modestly cradled it in his hands, allowing the warmth of his digits to infuse the liquor further.
‘Are you the bodyguard Riot?’ the Claw Master finally asked.
Raising his head, allowing his sights to take in the arrogant assassin beside him, Riot instantly disliked the bastard. The man was as smug as other Claw members that Riot had had the misfortune of meeting before in the past. If anything, this man appeared more so than most.
‘Aye,’ he acknowledge, knowing that he wanted to keep things as brief as possible. Less chance than of giving away any of his past.
‘My name is Echo!’ the Claw Master said ‘I have some questions to ask you in regards to what was discovered just south of the city,’
Riot grunted ‘If you want to know what was out there than ask the mage,’ at this he waved to Sheep’s position. Ignoring Sheep’s methods of trying to conceal himself by lowering himself further into his seat, Riot continued ‘All I did was kill it. Just as simple as that!’
‘I’ll come to the mage late!’ Echo said, smiling as he noticed Sheep’s dismal expression.
Riot tried not to sigh, but it escaped anyway.
‘Yes, I understand your role in the events!’ Echo stated, turning back to Riot ‘Very commendable, killing such a creature,’
Riot ignored the imposed compliment.
‘But I have been hearing further rumours about you, and they lead onto further questions,’
‘This should be good!’ Riot said, feeling none of the confidence he was displaying. If anything he was wondering just how good the Claw was trained. How fast was he in drawing a blade. As fast as Riot himself. He didn’t think so, yet he would only make the attempt if things suddenly spiralled out of control. Killing the Claw Master would only make things more complicated, especially with the likelihood of a hand being stationed outside of the building in the possibility that Riot departed without the Master in tow.
‘It has been whispered in my ear that you are a veteran!’ Echo said.
‘Maybe, what of it?’ Riot lifted the glass, but still refused to drink from it, just allowing it to bob before him, pretending that his eyes were glued to the amber whiskey inside.
‘The rumours suggest that you were more than a simple veteran, much more!’
Riot remained silent.
‘I have been informed that you saw the former champion of our empire fight the champion of the Crimson Guards. Is this true?’ Echo spoke his words low, allowing them to go no further than to Riot himself.
Riot managed to portray an expression of emptiness, still refusing to acknowledge any prompting from the smug bastard.
‘Very few are aware of the fight between Dassem and Skinner!’ the Claw lent forward, his lips near touching Riot’s ear ‘But I am one of them, and I know which regiments were there at the time,’
Riot turned, managing not to lash out, maintaining his focus, but the Claw Master must have seen something as he backed up some, his own face suddenly pale by what he saw in the bodyguard’s expression.
‘Good for you!’ Riot said, also keeping his own voice to a bare minimum ‘I expect that you think that means something important?’
Regaining his posture, Echo grinned, and Riot could imagine that that smile was evident whenever the Claw Master went about his means of business.
‘Do you know that there are many local guards putting about rumours that your were a former first sword, hiding away in this back water port?’ Echo drawled.
Whatever the reaction the Claw Master was looking for, he was unprepared for the one that Riot demonstrated.
Riot laughed in the Claw’s face, amusement filling wonderfully within himself.
‘The fool’s!’ he grinned, putting the glass down, and wiping at his eyes so to remove the tears that had erupted with the enjoyment that had caused through him.
The Claw Master looked less than pleased, anger flaring up due to the manner in which the bodyguard had flung aside the wild accusation.
Pushing down his anger, doing his best not to express his resentment, Echo said ‘Very well, such rumours are nothing more than gossip, I admit to that. But I still know which regiments were there at the time, and I know that you served under Dassem in some form of capacity, your ability to defend yourself confesses as much. My only interest is why you are hiding this fact, and what your name was before you came to this damn city?’
Riot finally lifted the glass to his lips and downed its entire contents in one go. Slamming it back down on the bar, ignoring the sound that it produced. he growled ‘My past is in the past, what I was doesn’t matter. You can go piss yourself before I consider telling you anything further about myself,’
‘I could force you!’ Echo stated ‘I could take you away and force you to tell me anything I like,’
Silence filled the room, as the Claw had voiced the threat aloud.
Riot allowed the silence to remain for a few seconds before answering ‘Go ahead, try it!’
Echo looked deep into the bodyguards eyes, attempting to ply his own influence upon the man, forcing his usual hostility into focus, trying to battle down the man’s reserves.
What he saw, however, was not to his liking, if anything he saw a strength of will behind those murky orbs which suggested that too push this man any further would unleash a fury that he was unprepared for. A deep animal like instinct suggested that his own threat had been easily slapped aside, instead replaced by a threat which equalled his own potential doom.
Breaking eye contact, he said aloud ‘I have much more to ask of you! But for now I have other pressing matters to attend too. One of which is your friend the mage,’
Turning, he looked over to where the mage had been seated. However just a single guard was seated in the far corner, the mage disappearing while his attention had been ensnared by the blasted bodyguard.
Finding an emotion that had long since been used resurfacing, Echo glared at the remaining guard and strode forcefully from the tavern, the sound of his boots echoing out his frustration.
‘Seems like a nice fellow!’ Splinter announced, breaking the silence that had followed the Claw’s departure.

[Riot]

Riot again found his thoughts drifting away from the present, instead his mind wandering, swirling through the exploits of his past, trying desperately to escape that which continued to haunt him.
The empty glass remained before him, empty. Tombs remained distant, staying away from him, perhaps sensing that Riot needed to be alone.
Focusing his eyes upwards, he again found his sight sweeping across the old portrait. The exposed radiance of light that had come bleeding in through the window had died down some, leaving only a slight blur of orange to tarnish the paintings image. His mind flickered back to the crimson shade that had glazed its likeness not a tenth of bell past.
Red flushed across an expanse of grey. Colours that ignited his memories, colours which ignited and reawaken his sleeping soul.
‘All Skinner’s fault!’ he whispered, eyes glazing as he remembered back…

The morning had begun well. The small skirmishes of the army had reported a under strength enemy, suggesting that the inevitable push forward would crush those who opposed them in one brief assault.
Readying his blades, making sure that they slid easily from their restraints when called upon, he applied another coat of thin oil to their polished lengths, making sure that the layer he covered them with was neither too fine so to allow for loss in prowess, or too thick so to allow difficulty when pulling them free. Content with their condition, he shelved them by his waist, enjoying the manner in which their associated weights hung from his side.
Rounding his shoulders, ridding himself of all the kinks and knots that had crept into his body due to inactivity, he began to ready himself mentally. Focusing his attention into a small ball of poised ambition.
His fellow soldiers went about their own routines around him, yet he ignored them, knowing that their milling customs could very well distract him from gaining his composed formula.
There was a sense of eroding emotion roaming eagerly throughout the camp, he had perceived its flowing state from when he had first awoken that morning. It was a sense of unease, and for a army that was attempting to ready itself for a mounting conflict, he knew that such a intuition of apprehension could very well dishearten those men who were in the lower leagues of the ranks.
‘Sir!’ a youngling approached him, his youthful features displaying to him his own advancing age.
‘Yes!’ he acknowledged.
‘Command wishes for us to proceed forward,’
He nodded, yet as he twisted his head to look around him, he could see that there was no other man of rank.
‘Where is everyone?’ he asked, unaware that his self induced mind wandering had allowed him to lose sight of his own fellow officers.
‘The Commander has taken the elites forward, only yourself and Keal remain,’ at this the youth pointed over towards a crowded tent. A large group of younglings were standing in a semi circle, blocking his view of who was addressing them.
‘Keal!’ he muttered ‘Great,’
Walking forward, he easily made his way to Keal’s poisiton, as those who crowded around him stepped aside.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked of his fellow officer.
Keal shrugged, his face nervous and disbelieving ‘We’re to take this lot and proceed to the left flank,’
‘And everyone else?’
‘Mainly at the centre, a few scattered on the other flank,’ Keal replied.
‘And we’re to hold the left with just us two and a few recruits?’
Keal nodded ‘Aye, skirmishes reckon that the left is the weakest, most fighting’s going to be right down the centre,’
‘So we’re to miss everything!’ he asked.
Keal allowed a small smile to break out ‘Aye, let the other’s have some fun for a while,’
‘Fine. Lets move out,’ he moved away, allowing Keal to deal with the milling recruits whose faces one and all showed unredeemable fright for what was shortly to come.
‘Nothing going to happen anyway!’ he muttered under his breath. As he strode towards the left flanks position, ignoring the sounds that followed him, he reached up to his decorated chin, finding small relief from sliding his glowed hand through the light goatee that was settled there.
He wondered at his orders, wondering for what reason he had so aggrieved the Commander so that he was given this undemanding role. He snorted. There were hundreds of reasons. The one that sprang freshly to mind was of his retort when the plans had been addressed the evening previously. Out of spite, the Commander had given him a role in which his abilities would be under used.
He finally crept into the position that was necessary. The ground before him was pleasantly docile, a rolling expanse of open field, dotted with few trees and even fewer rocks and boulders. Furthest from his sight, a crop of trees hungrily devoured further appraisal.
Turning himself eastwards, he could see where the central forces were focused. The land before them was equally as plain as that which sat before him, yet their killing field was squat and level. The land plotted ahead of himself was falling away, running downhill so that any charging force would kill themselves in attempting to scale its surface.
It was the centre that would receive the greatest of fighting, the two forces coming together in that focused area, battering away at the other until one side folded and fled from sight.
His directive was to make sure that no one on the opposing flanks would break out so to engulf the centre, allowing for the frontal assault to suddenly be turned and so shunted aside from twin positions. The plan was a good one, hood it was a basic one, yet a nervousness still existed within his guts. Pure instinct which he usually ignored, but he had brought it up the night previously, only for a sneer to be granted back his way.
If that was the way that the Commander wanted it than that was the way it was going to have to be played. Here he would stand, and here he was likely to do absolutely nothing.
Footsteps beside him, and shifting his weight he turned to Keal.
‘Men are nervous!’ Keal commented ‘Me too if I admit to it!’
Saying nothing, he awaited for the signal which would mean the commencing of the fight to come.
Time rolled on for what appeared to be too long, yet he suddenly shifted his footing as he heard a sounded horn.
‘Bastards are attacking us?’ Keal murmured allowed, disbelief filling his words.
‘Aye, patience is never one of their virtues. Their emperor probably wants this over and done with quickly,’ he said, making sure that only Keal beside him could hear him, knowing that the recruits were nervous enough already.
Looking over to the centre, he could see the elites forming the established lines, the Commander settled back from the front. From the line of trees ahead of the centre, the first enemy appeared, moving forward at a slow pace, shields locked together as they planted each foot forward in a union of formulated formation.
‘Have to be impressed!’ he remarked.
‘Looks like Lazars up for it?’ Keal pointed at the medium sized figure of Lazar in the centre ranks. His helm and black shield giving him away as he appeared to goad the enemy closer.
‘Won’t hold back for much longer!’ he commented, just as the Commander appeared to flick a hand forward, and the entire front two lines ran forward to greet the offending side.
He winced as the lines meet, the sound of crunching metal, and deafening hollers of screams and released frustration as the opposing forces swung their attacks upon each other.
Impatience of his own was creeping into him as he watched the fighting continuing, almost wishing that he himself was amongst that cramp, hostile environment, as every action either denoted a motion of defence, or the forward thrust into the man before you.
Aggravation was building steadily within him, so much so that he found himself pacing back as forth. He liked to think himself a good judge of warfare, much of his adult life had been nestled within its bloody embrace, yet he was hard press to gage who of the two forces was winning.
‘What’s that?’ one of the younglings voices quizzed as the fighting seem to increase in its ferocity.
‘What?’ he asked, angered by the disruption.
The youth pointed downhill, toward the line of men that had appeared opposite from their joint position. Coming from the trees, there appeared to be a fair number of men.
‘Oh Hood!’ Keal gasped ‘That’s their Champion!’
‘Line up,’ he commanded. As Keal continued to stand there muted into inactivity, he punched his armoured shoulder ‘LINE UP!’ he shouted, arousing Keal from his paralysis state.
‘Line up!’ Keal called out ‘Into formation!’
‘Damn it!’ he muttered as the nervous youths behind him began to form up in some kind of order. The men emerging from the trees were quickly making their way up the incline, and as Keal had correctly identified, the man leading the flanking manoeuvre was the enemies champion.
Quickly looking over to the centre, he could see that they had yet to appraise the new line of men who had appeared, and as every second passed, the chances of them disengaging and forming a new line to counteract this new threat was becoming more and more futile.
‘We’re engage and give the centre enough time to perceive this new threat,’ he commanded, hoping that as he threw himself and the men around him into the horror that was about to commence, that he could turn what was about to be a bloody disaster into some form of delay; maybe even survive it if he was lucky enough.
Looking at Keal, he nodded once.
Keal answered back with a nod of his own, his grim features displaying unashamed fear. To the grouped men behind him he called aloud ‘Forward, and engage!’
Running forward at a pace that would not fatigue himself and his men, he angled his run so that they would arrive at a position that would give them a slight height advantage on the incline, and enough space so to stop the enemy from breaking onto the exposed flank of the elites and their centre.
He was encourage by the rumbling sound of metal and striking footfalls that followed his flight forward. Finally, reaching the spot where he could very well meet his end, he called a halt to his men. Ahead the enemy had slowed their advance, yet continued forward with eerily controlled focus.
‘We hold this position!’ he called aloud, as he stared back at the enemy. Their advancing line now only thirty yards away. At the point of the line was their champion, his manner in coming forward proving that he was a lithe and threatening individual. Around him was his entourage, men recruited into what was known as the First Sword.
Drawing his swords, happy with the feel of them in his hands, he allowed a slight smile to lighten his features as the enemy steamed forward.
Their Champion, the man who also led their army, Dassem Ultor, angled his run so that he struck just right of his position, straight into Keal.
Keal attempted to attack yet was quickly on the back foot. Not having time to take in what was occurring to his own forces, the man who would latter gain the name Riot, hacked and deflected the range of strikes that happened his way.
Allowing the patterns of fighting that had been taught to him, flow through him. He found himself occupying that place where those who opposed him appeared to slow down, almost pause in some of the actions that they were performing. Smashing his blade into the face of one of the First Sword, he was proven unhappy by the way in which the man appeared to only stutter back by the blow that cannoned against his massive helm.
The blow must have hurt some, as the man fell backwards, falling into his own ranks, before regaining his control and flooding forward once more. By that time more men had appeared before Riot, and these were of skills unproven to the First Swords ability. These men he quickly dispatched, managing to avoid every attempt that was made against him.
He was steadily finding that he was being pushed back, the men beside him falling aside as the onrush continued. Hearing a scream, he turned his head slightly, seeing as Keal was cut down by Dassem Ultor. Keal’s armour torn to pieces by the unrelenting assault by the man who was supposed to be Hood’s own Mortal Sword.
He managed to watch in that period of slow time, as their Champion danced his way through more of his men, sliding his sword through the necks and exposed areas of their slow moving selves. He was amazed, even in this slow down period that was taught to him, that this Champion appeared still as a blur, parrying uncouth attacks aside as if a child was only resisting him.
Anger consumed him, yet he fought it down, knowing even in that hectic period that to allow it control would only throw his life away that much quicker. Sidestepping another attempt from one of the First Sword, he readied himself, prepared to throw himself against the mortal sword that opposed him.
At that moment Dassem must had sensed something as he turned his gaze onto him, opening his entire body up to the stance of welcoming Riot’s attack.
Battering aside a lowly Private, Riot surged forward, swords low, body leant towards the man opposite him.
Riot was suddenly shoulder charged by a huge figure, knocking him from his feet. Falling into the last of his own men, he managed to curse and splutter his way up to his hands and knees. Trying desperately to fathom out what had just happened.
The figure of Halfdan stood above him, yet instead of looking down at the person he had just knocked aside, he was staring towards where Riot had been ready to throw himself.
Dassem was fighting, only this time the man who attacked him was equally as fast. Riot from his lowered position watched on as his own Commander, his own forces Champion, fought against the Malazan’s Champion.
He watched on with mute amazement, either side of him the fighting appeared to loose coherency, instead everyone too engrossed by the skill and prowess being displayed by these two master fighters.
He found that they fought at such a overwhelming pace that much of their exchanges were too fast to see. Only the short sharp clangs of their blades was evident, and this sound felt as if it was increasing rapidly to.
The two men continued to beat away at the other, neither managing to draw blood, neither managing to step inside and break the others aggressive attacks. Like two dancers they whirled around each other, smears of light raining around them as the sun’s rays blinked incoherently from their flashing blades. Silence reigned around them, only the blades singing vocals voicing aloud as they sought an opening.
He wanted to engage but knew that to do so would only do greater damage to Skinner’s attempts.
The contest would not continue, could not continue, eventually one of the men would grow tired, would surely let slip a small mistake.
But still they fought on, the exchange passing on from simple combat to a altercation that would last forever to those who witnessed it.
A horn sounded, and with it the contest was finished.
Dassem broke away as the horn’s loud vast ranging resonance echoed around them. His First Sword who had been paused as if in toxicity, joined him, fleeing back down the incline, returning from where they had arrived.
Skinner came to a halt, his breaths in large gasps as he sought to balance his essence. Knowing that a moment had passed, Riot kicked out from his position, lashing out against Halfdan’s leg.
‘What was that for?’ Halfdan grunted.
‘Bastard!’ he remarked as he climbed to his feet. Around him everyone awoke from their standing slumber, grouping together, the few remaining survivors surveyed what remained.
Keal lay dead amongst a fair number of recruits, his and their blank faces staring up with the dishonour of warfare.
Emotions swept through him with such disdain that he wondered at the futility of it all. The vow, the original ideas of the companies fabrication and creation. Was any of it worth it. Was any of it worth it when such young faces stared emptily upwards to a sky that stared back with non caring intention.
‘Good job!’ Skinner, his Commander stepped forward and stated.
‘You knew!’ he stated rather than asked, feeling again the rage swelling within him.
‘We had a feeling that Dassem would choose this particular avenue to assail his main assault,’ Skinner announced, looking down at the bodies that was settled around him.
‘Bastard!’ he whispered, feeling his anger build and build, almost rising, almost willing him to strike out at the arrogant bastard before him.
Skinner walked away, back towards the centre, back towards the recruits who looked on at him with new found awe.
‘Sorry!’ Halfdan laid a hand upon his shoulder, offered a squeeze that caused the thin armour there to flex under his strength, before he to left, following after his direct officer.
He shook his head at the injustice of it all, knowing that he felt personally aggrieved for what had happened, feeling as if Skinner had put his life on the line at the simple request of attacking Dassem himself.
Walking away, pushing all thoughts aside of getting vengeance on the smug bastard, he stepped over the corpses of the men who had fought at his side. He knew then that this grievance against him would never go away, would never escape him unless answered in kind.
To the sound of near silence he trekked his way back to the camp. Weariness settling with willing embrace upon his soul…

Riot sighed aloud. Memories were memories, yet still they stung.
Atonement had been made, yet in doing so, his role in the Crimson Guard had been made void. His vengeance against Skinner had not been enough, yet he had been cast out. Broken from the Vow. Named as traitor, his former name stricken from the Crimson Guard records.
Vengeance had been attempted, had in part been fulfilled, yet still Skinner continued with his parade as Champion, causing untold damage against the enemy which had taken Prince K’azz D’Avore crown.
‘Captain First Blade, Second Company!’ he whispered lightly to himself, remembering his rank. Remembering the brotherhood that he had once served with. It was Skinner he detested, Skinner he blamed for the manner in which many of his brothers had died.
Wiping a hand though his thick beard, he came to a decision. Standing, signally with a nod of his head to Tombs, thanking him for his understanding by leaving him alone. He than departed, heading in the direction of the docks.

[Riot]

Every nerve in Echo’s body screamed in frustration, crying aloud with the mortification of what had occurred in that damn tavern. The manner in which the bodyguard, a damn veteran, had swatted aside his imposing stature was infuriating, lodging a fissure of annoyance deep within him.
He was still seething as he stepped once more back into D’more’s office. The fat Fist was standing by the bay window, his plump arms folded behind his back as he stared down into the heart of the city. Not turning at Echo’s entrance, the Claw could only imagine that D’more had not realised who had entered.
‘How goes your questioning?’ D’more’s rasping voice queried.
Echo raised an eyebrow, wondering how the Fist had known it was him. Stepping closer, he could sight his own darkened reflection within the windows before the Fist. Nodding in appreciation at the small wonderment being answered, he replied,
‘The bodyguard refuses to go into any details. I suspect him of hiding something!’ he said, coming to stand beside D’more.
‘That is obvious!’ D’more refused to turn to the Claw Master, instead allowing his gaze to stay sighted upon the darkening outside world.
‘What do you know of him?’
D’more grunted ‘Nothing, only the rumours of his prowess, which he seems to keep hidden,’
‘Tell the Forkrul Assail that!’ Echo commented.
Finally turning his bulk to the Claw, D’more addressed him with tiredness flecking his features ‘Is your investigation over?’
‘I still have the mage to question, he seems to have a fine ability in remaining hidden from questioning,’
‘You’ll find him more often than not either following Earn’s bodyguard, or staying at the watch quarters with one of the young guards,’ D’more informed him.
‘You have men following this bodyguard?’ Echo asked.
D’more shrugged, offering a almost insolent reply ‘Rumours, that is all. Simply rumours!’
Echo grunted, believing not a word.
‘So, once you have questioned the mage will your investigations be over?’ D’more again asked.
‘No!’ Echo answered, delighting in the manner in which D’more appeared to deflate ‘I will remain for the short future. There is more I wish to uncover,’
‘Regarding the bodyguard?’ D’more wondered aloud.
‘In part!’ Echo nodded ‘Two of my colleagues will transport the corpse back to the capital. I have no doubt that the Empress and Topper will have much to discuss about its discovery. I wish to learn more about this city’s history, try to discover what else could very well be buried beneath our feet,’
D’more turned and walked away from the window, his rumbling frame bobbing from side to side as he made his way back to his desk. Reaching across the flatbed of scattered papers, he pulled free a large book. Returning to the Claw Master, he offer the hard backed volume to Echo.
‘Here,’ D’more offered ‘The history of Evinor. I have already flicked through its pages and there is very little of interest,’
Echo took the book, surprised by the lightness of its baring. Looking at it plain, unadorned cover, he read what was displayed.
‘Why give me this?’ he asked.
‘If you need to learn more about Evinor’s past, I can think of no better case of study,’ The fist replied.
‘Anyone else would suspect that you no longer want me in your city?’ Echo stated, presenting the volume back.
D’more kept his hands to his sides, refusing to acknowledge what Echo was offering, instead keeping his piggy eyes locked to those of the Claw Master.
‘Stability is needed to run a city such as Evinor. Stability for which rumours of a Claw and a hand do no favours,’
Echo remained silent, allowing the Fist to have his say.
D’more continued ‘I would be eternally grateful if you could fulfil your investigation with the utmost haste, so to allow normality to once more reign in this city. Of late, we have had far too many excitements. Excitements that you as a Claw Master, must recognise are of no use to a occupying army,’
Echo granted himself the appearance of at least accepting what was being requested, yet anger again burned as a radiant fuel. The encounter with the bodyguard had sparked the fires initial burning, yet this so called authority figure of the city was fanning the embers of his patience, allowing the cinders to spark and spit with intensifying regularity.
Releasing his breath in a slow hiss, Echo than spoke ‘As I said, I will be remaining to uncover further evidence,’
‘Your staying for the bodyguard!’ D’more stated, annoyance now filling his voice.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you are as intrigued with him as I am,’ D’more admitted.
Echo smiled an evil and menacing grin ‘So you are having him followed!’
D’more shrugged ‘Yes, and I will continued to do so. Have no fear, if I uncover anything untoward, you will be the first to be informed. There is no reason for your stay to last any longer,’
‘I too have a man now following him,’ Echo stated ‘And I trust his abilities far better than anyone you could employ. Therefore, I will remain,’
D’more shook his head ‘You mean to confront him?’
It was now the Claw Master’s turn to shrug ‘Perhaps!’
‘You know nothing of the man,’
‘I will shortly,’
D’more was now showing more tense exhibition, his face growing a deeper shade of red as he attempted to sway the Claw Master ‘You mean to confront him whilst knowing nothing of his back ground,’
‘He has some skill, I have no doubt, but I judge that it is all show, nothing special,’
‘Well, I certainly won’t confront him, certainly without knowing more about him. If anything he deserves not to be pushed, certainly if he continues with the same circumventing presence that he has shown so far,’ said D’more.
‘In what way has he shown restraint?’ Echo asked, before answering his own query ‘Since his arrival he has put down a rebellion, and of late dispatched an entity that was thought extinct, was hoped extinct because of its unknown potential,’
‘It shows that he has helped the city when called upon, more so than most Malazan officials would care to do themselves!’ D’more stated.
Echo laughed, a gritty non humorous sound ‘Sounds as if you’re a little in awe of him!’
Ignoring the comment, D’more continued ‘I again ask that you conclude your inquest and leave. I will permit no further disturbances within the city, especially with the increasing number of marines and soldiers that come through here,’
Echo listened with passive indifference reflecting his face, before he replied ‘Unfortunately I will have to refuse that offer, as I’ve said, I have other matters to conclude with,’
D’more appeared to grind his teeth, yet when he spoke it was with a calm and almost reassuring manner ‘Very well, than I ask that you leave and continue your inquest with all urgency. If only so that you can leave as soon as possible. I will present my own testimony of course, addressed both to the Empress, and to Topper,’
Echo tilted his head in cynical consideration ‘I’m sure that Topper will find great delight in its reading!’ Turning sharply, displaying his snake like fluidity, Echo walked towards the door.
‘Until later, most prodigious Fist!’ he waved as he departed.
D’more counted down from ten, and as zero surfaced in the countdown, he cursed aloud ‘Bastard!’
Adjusting his stance once more, he again looked down in the city for which he was adjudicated to govern. Watching as a minor number of people appeared to stride their ways through the streets below, he wished whole heartily that the Claw Master received what was due to him.
A grin surfaced to his face. Created by an image of the Claw Master confronting the bodyguard, and of the resultant altercation that would surely arise from the meeting. Everyone got what they rightly deserved, he liked to think. Hopefully the bodyguard would donate to the Claw Master the justice that was destined for him.
He laughed distinctly and clearly, and unlike the sarcastic mirth that had fuelled Echo’s own laughter, D’more’s was full of heart and true amusement.

[Riot]

Night was gradually consuming the world, the sun’s limit falling away, leaving a simple line of illumination harking at the horizons limit. Another quarter of a bell and even this would be gone, cloaking everything within the inky like darkness of nightfall.
Ahead, and rising above them from the adverted landscape, the first glowing lights were being ignited from within the city. Heralding their arrival, this radiant pulsation of light gave further guidance to their forward advancement. As a pinnacle of direction, the glowing city was evidence enough that their journey was coming to its slow moving end.
The four men moved at a steady pace, allowing the horses beneath them to take each trot forward with slow deliverance, fearing the possible handicap of finding potholes within the darkened world before them.
Edge led them forward, sending forth his senses to help enable a carefree passage, knowing that if he missed any signs of deterioration in the landscape ahead, that it would be his mount that would find the rent in the ground, and his head sent crashing forward into the land itself.
Shivering with the image of this, he focused his thoughts forward, sweeping his senses back and forth with as much concentration as possible.
The line he led forward was in single file. Closely behind him rode Halfdan, mounted high upon his own strongly mounted beast. Next was Cube, following his commander with quiet assurance. Lastly, the youngest member of the Guard was Comb, and he continued to allow his head to swing back and forward with frustration, his sight lost to the darkness that was closing in.
All four men were out of uniform, attired now in casual garments, so to give the impression of a lacklustre group of roaming mercenaries; down on their luck.
Edge again shivered from his advance position, feeling almost naked without his usual uniform. They could have entered the city without being seen, yet Halfdan had ordered this indirect method of infiltrating the city, wanting to lie low for sometime within Evinor before making the attempt upon the Claw that was still believed to be walled within the city.
Edge knew better than to voice aloud any complaints, trusting wholeheartedly within his superior officer, knowing that Halfdan wasn’t as simple as he sometimes pretended to make out. If anything, his cunning was buried beneath a stolid impression that he bared to others, giving him yet another dimension to his heightened abilities. As one of the original Avowed, one of the few remaining hundred’s that were scattered throughout the world, his role was sometimes unappreciated, yet Edge believed him to be one of the greatest leaders he had served under; including the Prince himself.
Directing his mount across a soft underbrush of grass, he followed the curve of the hill that was gentle positioned to the left of them. It was here, as he passed a unfertile bush which appeared to be wholly undernourished, that he felt a strange but recognisable current attack his senses.
Coming to a halt, gesturing with a raised fist that those who followed should do like wise, he sent his senses out further. Two flavours remained before him, lingering yet distant. He could feel that whatever had left the taste had gone, yet it persisted with an aftertaste which meant that it had been here, up to recently, for an unimagined stretch of time.
‘What’s up?’ Halfdan had brought his own horse up beside Edge.
Wetting his lips, wondering how to make his announcement without uncertainty entering his voice, he managed to speak ‘Up ahead!’ nodding with his head ‘There’s been some activity going on!’
‘Warrens?’ Halfdan asked, his poorly lit features showing nothing.
‘Yes, well kind of!’ he admitted.
‘What do you mean?’
Edge wondered how he should answer, unsure himself, yet he attempted to explain ‘I sense some kind of shattered ward, something that had been here for some time. It feels like its only just been broken, and in doing so its infused the surrounding land,’
‘What is ahead of us?’ Halfdan asked.
‘Feels like a mine, lots of earth scraped away. I can also taste that munitions have been used recently here as well,’
Halfdan grunted ‘Bloody munitions!’ he stated.
‘That’s not the worst of it!’ Edge said.
‘Oh!’
‘The wards, the ones that are scattered and dying, they feel like Imass!’ Edge admitted.
‘Great!’ Halfdan muttered ‘Probably the reason why the Claw are here, something of importance must have been discovered,’
‘There’s something else,’ Edge warned ‘There was something else resonating form the mine, feels strange, I don’t recognise it!’
‘How do you mean strange?’
Edge shrugged ‘Hard to say. Feels almost alien, but not. Kind of ancient!’
‘Well if the Imass had trapped something down there, then it probably was ancient. Hood, it could have been stuck under there forever!’ Halfdan again grunted.
Edge remained silent, knowing that there was no real way of confirming what had happened here, certainly not by remaining where they were.
‘Lead us on!’ Halfdan gestured ‘Best if we can get to the city as soon as possible,’
Saying no more, Edge motioned with his reins, guiding once more the small party towards Evinor’s awaiting embrace.
They continued on with much the same progression that had led them this far; in silence.
Another half a bell and they finally reached the roadway which led onto Evinor. The darkness now was near all consuming, only the rallying light from the city helped to fend off its harrowing ways.
The south gate into the city was opened, the erected turrets that over looked the land south of the city appeared to be unmanned, betraying the negligent state of those who commanded the city.
Escorting the small party through the spanning gates, Edge paused as he entered within the city’s limit, surprised that their passage had in fact been spotted. Here, standing at the door of a gatehouse that was set just past the rightmost turret, stood a small number of Malazan guards.
Five of the guards appeared as fresh recruits, their young faces revealing an energetic fever which betrayed that they were un-blooded in proper warfare. Only one man appeared older, and it was to his right shoulder that Edge found his eyes falling too, seeing the rank of Lieutenant stitched there.
The Lieutenant opened his mouth to appear as if he was to talk, but it was at that moment that Halfdan appeared from the cast shadows and drove his mount beside Edge. The Lieutenant’s mouth remained open as he studied Halfdan, and Edge suddenly found his stomach retracting, knowing that their plans had been foiled in the very first moment of entering the city. Halfdan must surely have been recognised, the older man was probably a veteran and found himself standing before one of the Crimson Guards most recognisable figures.
Edge had feared such notoriety, yet Halfdan had shown refrain from such a suggestion, instead shrugging as if such a concern was unfounded.
The Lieutenant continued to look Halfdan up and down before saying ‘My, you’re a bloody big boy!’
Edge breathed a sign of relief, thanking the gods for the short mercy they had just shown them.
The Lieutenant continued as both Cube and Comb reigned in so to finish the group ‘What are you fine lads here for?’ he then gestured to the guards surrounding him, encouraging them that there was nothing to be fearful of. They all soon departed, all except for a young woman- barely older than a girl- and a rather stupid looking man who stood with his back pressed up against the gatehouse’s wall.
Halfdan spoke ‘We’re looking for a place to spend the night,’
The Lieutenant nodded, as if he had suspected as much ‘No doubt!’ he agreed.
‘Any place you would suggest?’ Halfdan asked.
The Lieutenant snorted ‘Usually I would suggest the Lakeside Tavern, but I already sent trouble that way this morning,’
‘Trouble?’
‘Aye, some Claw!’ the Lieutenant said, shaking his head.
If Halfdan felt any excitement for the easy method in which he had learnt of the Claw’s residency, than he hid it behind his usual non committing features.
‘Anywhere else you would suggest?’ he asked.
The Lieutenant scratched as his chin, as if he was deciding upon an answer, finally he replied ‘Aye, you could try Echt Levens tavern. He’s from seven cities, but don’t let that fool you. He’s all right!’
‘Where is that?’
The Lieutanent turned so that he now pointed into the heart of the city ‘Follow Gate street here for about two, three hundred yards and take a left at Slumbers Anvil, it’s the house with pink walls. Go down there for another three hundred yards and its on the right. The lights will be on, and a sign will be high up with a painting of the Whirlwind Goddess on it,’
At this last statement Edge raised his brows in surprise.
The Lieutenant must have spotted his reaction as he laughed aloud ‘Aye, he’s a funny one, but as I said he’s all right for a seven city bastard!’
‘Thank you!’ Halfdan nodded in appreciation before urging his mount on. Edge, Cube and Comb quickly followed, shortly disappearing from view as they sought shelter for the night. Tomorrow they would have much to do, but for now they were all prepared for the justification of a peaceful sleep.

Turmoil watched as the four men disappeared up through Gate street, before turning back so to enter through into the gatehouse. The young recruit Prime was staring at him, whilst beside her the other recruit Wanton stood with his usual bearing of stupidity.
‘What?’ he asked as Prime continued to stare him down.
‘Nothing!’ Prime stated ‘Just that you’re an evil bastard that’s all!’
Turmoil laughed ‘We’ve already got enough going on in the city already without having further strangers causing trouble. I would rather have them stay at Echt’s than having them at my local,’
‘Tombs isn’t the most absorbing of places in the world!’ she noted.
‘It’s enough for me, and enough for that mage fellow of yours,’ he hoped from some reaction from her, possibly a blush so to show her embarrassment, but all he received was a emotionless stare, before she herself turned and disappeared back into the gatehouse.
‘Women!’ Turmoil stated, all ready forgetting the men that he had allowed into the city. Shaking his head briefly, he followed into the gatehouse which he had been occupying for most of the day.