[Riot]

Master Gouver was helpless to the need of his body, no matter what positioned that he occupied, he soon found that he had to adjust himself. The seat was uncomfortable, forcing his spine to remain in a remarkably unsuited position, and so he fidgeted with continuous unrest.
The guard opposite him stared at the furthest wall without comment, instead his eyes almost glazed as he stared constrictively at the unfurnished plastering. Gouver kept looking over to make sure that his constant moving was not being observed, yet was rewarded each time with the guard staring at the same area. Each time he felt relief, yet again he would move, again looking to see if he had been detected by the immobile guard. Once more he would observe that he had not been spied, and so the circle would continue.
Much like his body, his mind was on edge, fidgeting with its own over warranted nervousness.
For the last six days, ever since he had not attended the call from the Guild’s late night request, he had been awaiting a new demand for his presence from the Guild. Each day he waited he knew that their anger was unlikely to ebb, instead demonstrating how incensed they must have been with him.
He had been ready to apply to their demands, but before he had the opportunity to leave his own apartment, a visitor had arrived and changed all of that. He was still unsure how the Fist had known where he had been preparing to head towards, but D’more’s suggestion of not bothering to depart had been heeded, and so Gouver found himself remaining in his front room. Sleep had not been found, instead concern overwhelming him with its willing endeavour.
And so he continued to feel the same rolling emotions of gathering anxiety, splitting his stability with a axe blow of deliberation, and torn apprehension.
All of that paled compared to what assaulted him now, resulting from the message that had arrived first thing that morning, barely a bell earlier. The Guild had made a request and so he found himself almost skipping in his steps as he made his way to their building.
He had arrived, he had been ushered in, and now he remained in the same seat for what seemed an age. The councillors of the Guild were within the room opposite, yet he had seen no one enter, or anyone leave. Instead his nervousness was allowed to grow unrestrained as he sought the agonising congesting of why they had now requested his presence.
Things had been different when he had been mayor. Instead of the constant threat that seemed to hang over him with every passing day, he had once been relaxed, almost benign in his route through life. The greatest exertions to have once taxed him, had only been the running of the city, allowing Evinor’s idolised life to run on with its simplistic ways.
All of that had changed with the coming of the foreign empire, instead demonstrating just how callous the dictation of leadership could very well be. Those who had once supported him seemed to dissolve away, instead seeking personal preferences which robbed Evinor of its own structured independence. The other free cities had also broken relationships, each city snapping that which had once bound them together, breaking the league of free cities and casting a fierce sense of independence which only went further to help enable the Malazan empire to gain prominence.
Gouver had no doubt that the last of the free cities would surely fall, the jewel of Genabackis, Darujhistan, probably being the last to remain, its lush treasury only fuelling this foreign invaders overwhelming demand.
In a sense he was almost glad that such things was happening to the rest of the continent, as it showed that no matter what he could have done differently, none of it mattered as the Malazan forces would have crushed any form of resistance. Be it by pure military wealth, or by the more decadence method of infiltration by the empire’s ruling assassins; the Claw.
He squirmed again in his seat. He had heard of the rumours of a Claw Master being in the city, yet he had not sighted such a figure, instead forcing down his appearance further by almost hiding within his apartment.
He wondered if this new development had anything to do with what was discovered at the Maggy Hills. Again he felt a slight form of satisfaction as he had warned the Fist of possible wraith activity in the area, but his concerns had been cast aside.
Guilt infused him however, as he knew that his own self satisfaction should not come first over the welfare of the Evinor and its populace.
Shifting his position, he gritted his teeth, wondering if it was because of the Claws arrival that he had been recalled by the Guild. Were they needing his experience so to gain further rewards in the field of their craft? Or had they simply come to the conclusion that to further punish him by refusing to address him, was not worth the effort in the long run.
Whatever the reasons, he knew that he was about to find out as the doorway opposite him opened partially. He could not see who was at the entrance as the door had only been opened marginally, all he could hear was a soft muffled voice that spoke to the guard.
The guard nodded once, and whoever was talking soon stopped, the door quickly closing behind them.
The guard gestured to Gouver ‘Your allowed entrance!’ he stated.
Gouver pushed himself from his seat, almost wincing in delight as his back responded with the exertions now no longer grating against his spine. Stepping forward, he awaited the few seconds it took for the guard to reach across and pull open the door and present him to the Guild councillors inside.
Walking into the room, Gouver was almost disappointed by the appearance of only two members; that of Yhan and Xander. He paused only momentarily, surprised that the Guild Master Quill Ruxon was not present.
Nodding to the two men who sat behind the low desk with smirks of satisfaction betraying their expressions, Gouver came to a halt in his usual position; the carpeted floor beneath him almost worn down by his previous audiences.
‘Master Gouver!’ Xander smiled ‘So good that you could make it this morning,’
Gouver nodded ‘Gentlemen!’ he replied. His stomach was bursting with fear, as he knew that of the Guild Members, these two individuals were the coldest of them all.
‘I expect that you are wondering why only myself and Guild Member Yhan are present this fine morning?’ Xander went on.
Gouver nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
‘As I am sure you are aware, Guild Master Quill is not best please with yourself at the moment. He believes, quite unfairly I might add, that your are to blame for D’more’s presence here at the night of the creatures disappearance,’
Gouver remained silent; shocked but silent.
Xander continued ‘We know that you were not involved, if anything you are as confused as we were ourselves. It appears as if everyone, us including, was unaware that the honourable Fist is not as stupid as we had all imagined. Far from it, it appears his cunning is crafted on alignment to our own.
‘We all feel shocked by this revelation, none more than Quill himself, and it is for this very reason that we have decided to have this meeting without his prior knowledge,’
‘I don’t understand?’ Gouver demonstrated his confusion by shaking his head.
‘Yhan and myself believe that this recent revelation has put Quill on the back foot. If anything he has shown restraint when we feel that action is very well needed,’ Xander again smiled, the expression not mirrored in his eyes.
‘What kind of action?’ Gouver found himself asking, surprised as he felt his throat tightening when Xander spoke.
‘We feel it is beneficial to the city, to Evinor herself, that the Malazan merchant Earn Paltroll was no longer engaged with commerce within the city,’ Xander explained.
‘How do you mean?’ Gouver managed, his words sounding far and distant to his own ears.
Yhan smiled, and with it Gouver felt his world tumbling down around him.
It was Xander who answered however ‘Earn presents a danger to this city, a danger that continues to grow and expand with every passing day in which he gains grants and rewards that should rightly remain the rights of those who have lived in Evinor all of their lives.
‘Only by cutting clean his influence can we hope to gain back that which is rightly ours!’
Gouver closed his eyes for a passing second, hoping that when he opened them that he would no longer find himself in the Guild’s councillor chamber, instead awaking back to his darkened apartment, the residue of sleep the only worry to assault him.
His eyes opened, and he was unsurprised to find that he still remained before the two meanest Guild Members.
‘We need your assistance!’ Xander said.
Gouver remained silent, not wanting to know how he could help aid these two sinister men.
‘We need for you to call a meeting between Fist D’more and the Claw Master. We need for you to give us the opportunity to distract these two figures of power so that we can remove Earn from the game,’ Xander explained.
Gouver almost smiled at the manner in which Xander suggested that they were entwined within some honest game. Yet his face remained neutral, more than neutral, almost lost to what they were asking of him.
‘We plan to act quite quickly, so we would hope that you could call a meeting sometime today,’
‘What makes you think that I will help you?’ Gouver asked, knowing that he had to voice some form of reason whilst the madness seemed to swirl around him.
When Xander next spoke he did so without a smile, yet his clear white teeth were in evidence, showing to Gouver that he was truly mad in his extreme ‘We want the same thing as what you want, former Mayor. We want stability within Evinor, we want these foreigners out so that we can once more reclaim the power that we have lost,’
Gouver’s mind was a mass of over imploding turmoil and venting frustrations, almost overwhelming him in the sheer magnitude of screaming voices and curses. He felt lost, deserted from the plight of what was right and correct. If anything a part of him was crying aloud with the idea of vengeance against a ruling invader that had swept him out of office and made him the cowardly individual that he had become.
This part of him was urging him to say yes, to reply in the affirmative so to once more sweep him up in the rewards of power that had once been his own.
Another part of him, the part which had actually seen the face of who the invaders truly were, was adamant that a negative was the only reply that he could answer with. The only answer he could afford if he wished to remain true to his original pledges.
To reply yes, he knew that he was granting Earn’s death; a reward that he was unsure if the merchant truly deserved. The foreign invaders were part of a empire that had took into its core other such nations which had attempted to keep out the aggressive force. Those Malazan’s who went about their everyday life’s within the city were simply normal folk, caught up within the notion of empire that had already dominated their own lands.
To answer yes, he was taking out his grievances against a man who was simply the nearest thing to the faceless entity that was the Malazan Empress. To do so, would mean affording death to a person who was only trying to make a honest living whilst under the restraints of a nation that had conquer his own.
Gouver shivered with what was asked of him, but before he answered, before he responded with what could have been one of the most important replies that he had ever made since losing his role as Mayor to the city, he was suddenly filled with salvation. A notion jarred his senses, yet refraining from smiling, knowing that such an expressed emotion could very well betray him, he kept tight reign upon his features, not wanting to show any form of exhilaration before these two creepy individuals.
Keeping his face passive he answered ‘Yes, I will help!’
Yhan and Xander both smiled their exceptionally evil smiles, overzealous greed fuelling their faces.
‘Excellent!’ Xander said ‘Make sure that both D’more and the Claw are engaged with you, and we will make our move,’
Gouver nodded, showing that he understood. As Xander went over their plans, Gouver listened only partly, nodding when he deemed its necessary. Most of his mind was focused else where, stimulated by the sudden revelation that had sneaked into his mind. Once finished here, he had plans of his own to fulfil, none of which complied with what the smug bastards before him drawled on with.

[Riot]

The morning was a fresh one, chilled yet controlled in its manner. The city was bathed in a hazy presence of mist, but this was soon lifting, dissolving away so that the brightening world was truly awakening to the evidence of a grand day.
Staring down to the harbour, Riot grinded his teeth together, unaware of the action as he contemplated his running emotions. The Hudd sea appeared to be churning with a greater dexterity than normal, the waves roaming into the Horan Bay with such a passion that he imagined that he could see a pattern to its energetic way. Like a rolling storm, the waves swept forcefully into the bay, harvesting the calm motion of the cove and coiling the masses of water into a malevolent maelstrom.
Flitting his sights out eastwards, he could see the approaching storm, the massed gathering of dark clouds. It was this cruel tempest which was inflicting the waters, scattering the normality of calm surf into that of a malignant squall.
He imagined the disorder of that current as a reflection on his own inner belief, churning and rolling with ebbs of discord, strumming with obsession throughout his core.
He laughed aloud, not caring for the looks of those few people who were close enough so to hear his expressed sound.
Shaking his head, Riot wondered if it was old age that was causing him to be so dramatic when it came to self examination. Was he simply an aging individual who was placing too much lost faith upon the assumption that he was the only person in the world with troubles. The conjunction of self importance was a human trait, one that he was sometimes too selfish to admit to.
Again he wondered if age was maturing him in much the same manner that a flask of wine left unopened will mature to greater things. Was he a greater man now than the time spent in the Crimson Guard, or was he in fact a lesser individual, skirting through life without organisation; without purpose.
The last thought cast the smile from his face, again forcing his features to return to the stature of surly appearance.
Looking once more down to the wharf, he was again unsurprised by the lack of shipping activity down there. The dock was nearly empty of vessel’s, only a few older Evinor fishing boats, and a singular Quon Tali yacht were tied to the piers. The one vessel that he had hoped to see was not there, still yet to arrive. With the manner in which the ocean appeared to vent its frustrations out upon the waves, he was aware that the crafts appearance was very unlikely to make a arrival any time soon.
Whispering a curse to himself, he turned his attention away from the dock and the associated cliff that he stood at. Looking back into Evinor and the opened expanse that crowded him before running back into side streets and back alleyways, he spotted a figure darting back into a stretch of shadows that were etched out from one of the buildings.
Pretending that he had not noticed the motion, he strove his way forward, passing the small row of fish sellers who displayed their rank smelling goods to the wandering crowd.
He wondered who he had just spotted. It was certainly not the singular Claw who was following him, as Riot had already spotted him earlier on, high up in the roof tops that ran parallel to the streets that he had crossed.
No, it was either the damn mage Sheep who persisted with his futile efforts of spying, or any one of the other men that he had noted who followed him. In total, including Sheep and the more experienced efforts of the Claw member, he counted at least four people following him. Who the other two were, he was unsure. Only catching a light glance of their faces as they attempted to hide from his view. He guessed that one of the men was working for D’more; an instinct nothing more. The other man was a mystery, one that he was not urgent to discover. For all he cared they could follow, he had no illusion that they would discover anything further about him.
Ignoring the points of a young woman who gestured at him to another lady as he passed, Riot moved swiftly down through one of the main avenues, pausing not once as he made his way towards Earn’s offices.
He had come to the conclusion that he was shortly to leave the city, deciding that his time spent here had expired its limited stretch. He had no illusions that eventually his true name would be discovered, and he pledged to himself that such a time would come when he was already gone. His new fledged name dust to the wind.
However, his departure would not arise just yet, not until the vessel he awaited for brought word back from the last message he had sent. The tension that tended itself to the city could continue for all he care. Sheep, the Claw, D’more and all the others could continue with their games; he was past the point of caring.
Only with his employer Earn did he feel some pity for. True, the man was almost singular in his pursuit, yet he had dealt with Riot with all kindness. Whereas any other employer would be unrelenting in their goal of discovering his past, Earn expressed no such care, instead allowing Riot the privacy that he sought for. Riot respected his employer, in fact he realised that he enjoyed the other man friendship; a discovery which he was surprised to find for someone who was truly engrained with the notions of the Malazan empire and all of its associations.
Again he reflected upon how much he had changed. Would the old him have been able to deal with Malazan’s on such a routine basis. Managing to live with them for what was coming on for two years. He doubted it, and he hoped that this reflected well upon his maturing character.
It was why he had decided to inform Earn of his forthcoming departure, before he actually disappeared. This morning seemed as good a time as any, and so he purposefully strode towards Earn’s place of business.
He was perhaps a third of the way to Earn’s establishment when he sighted yet another figure shadowing him, off on the opposite side of the street. The middle aged man made no appearance in hiding his study, if anything he almost trailed after Riot in a manner that was designed to catch his attention.
‘Wonderful!’ Riot muttered, wondering what the man wanted.
Turning at the next junction, finding himself alone in the wet settings of a alleyway that was backed onto the structure of the cities avenue of slaughter houses, he paused and waited.
The man edged into the alleyway barely ten seconds after Riot, jogging in his attempt to catch up to him.
Hoisting an arm forward as the man almost bypassed him, Riot cared not for the look of surprise that denoted the man’s face.
‘What do you want?’ Riot asked, suggesting with his tone that he was not in the mood for games.
Gulping, trying to gain back his breath that had been lost from the fright that he had received, the stranger than spoke ‘I have a message for you!’
‘From whom?’
Turning his head back and forth so to make sure that they were alone, the stranger began ‘From…’
‘Don’t bother!’ Riot stated, knowing that the were being observed from the roof tops.
‘What’s the message?’ he asked instead.
The stranger gave a bemused expression of confusion, yet Riot held off from explaining, instead he continued to wait patiently.
‘Erm!’ the stranger began ‘Just that you are to meet with…’
‘To meet where?’ Riot cut in again, not wanting the other man to state aloud any names.
‘The Fener house out at Gable street. The empty outbuilding just south of its position,’ the man managed, worry now filling his widening eyes.
Riot wondered at the location, knowing that the building the man mentioned was long since abandoned. Its standing was one of neglect, its construction ignored in recent years.
Knowing that the person he was to meet was most probably the Claw Master and a small number of his henchmen, he had to wonder at the reasoning for such a irrelevant manner in a attempt to gain his presence there.
‘I was also told to tell you that if you want no harm to come to the merchant than you have to come as soon as possible!’ the man uttered, before realising his mistake.
Riot swiftly grasped hold of the man’s shoulders and thrust him up against the nearest wall. Ignoring the exhaled stale breath that was expunged from his misshapen mouth, Riot spoke in a low and menacing tone ‘Do not threatening me!’ he growled, eyes showing that he was not to be messed with.
‘You misunderstand!’ The man attempted to cower but the strength that held him there was unflinching in its purchase. Instead he just lowered his face, showing recoil in his stature by expressing demure in his every posture.
‘I didn’t mean it as a threat!’ the man cried, voice lowering as Riot tucked his elbow deeper into the man’s throat. Croaking now as he spoke, the stranger made a effort to continue ‘My master meant it as a warning, not as a threat!’
Pulling back his elbow, but remaining with the hold he had, Riot said ‘Go on!’
The stranger coughed, trying with his new found breath to spit out the answers ‘The merchant is in danger. To delay could mean certain death!’
Riot was angst with what the man said, but was well aware that any questions he asked would be over heard by the Claw that was bound to be listening in. Thinking quickly, wondering if what the man said was true, or simply some canny ploy, he asked ‘Your master, what does he gain from the merchant remaining alive?’
‘Stability in the city that he loves!’ the man ushered out, wincing more so as Riot had applied a greater pressure to him.
Riot dropped his hands, releasing the man as he knew that there was no further reasons to hold him ‘Go away!’ he warned, turning away, not wanting to see where the man departed too.
Anger was welling up within him, stemming from the frustration of what was occurring to him from the recent week. Why couldn’t they leave him alone, to allow his presence to go unnoticed and refrain from introducing him to the complexities of espionage that seemed to roll consciously throughout the city.
Trying to gather his control, he wondered if the message was simply an attempt by the Claw to gain his attendance in a controlled and remote area so to fulfil the pledge that the Claw Master Echo had mentioned. Were they at this very moment awaiting him, all prepared to ambush him when he entered the abandoned building?
For some reason this struck him as wrong. No, he doubted that they would act in such a manner. Instead he reflected back on the messengers reply to what was to be gained by Earn’s survival. The simple answer of Evinor’s stability seemed like an unlikely response from anyone who was associated with the Claw. If anyone it felt as if another player had made his entrance in acquiring Riot’s involvement.
Lightly caressing the hilts of his swords, Riot pondered his response. He knew that to go to Earn would have no resolution as the merchant would disregard any plots against his standing, believing that he was not important enough to warrant such ploys. Even if Riot did somehow manage to persuade Earn, than he knew that the man’s stubborn will would be unveiled, allowing to manifest itself in the manner of stubborn resistance.
Earn had never run away from anything, a belief that he had happily shared with Riot over the years. No, if anything, he would just stamp his feet and refuse to budge, believing whole honestly in Riot’s abilities to protect him.
Shaking his head with the annoyance that was brought directly to him, Riot knew that he couldn’t remain for much longer and so his ability to protect Earn was in jeopardy.
The only option he reasoned that he could take was to go to the abandoned building. To present himself to whoever was finding temporary shelter within its crumbling walls, and judge if he could prevent any attempts on Earn’s life at the source. Either to kill the Claw if they were found inside, or to find alliance to whoever this new stranger was and be granted possibly assistance.
Either way, he knew that to remain any longer where he was, was shortening the opportunity he had of finding out.
Drawing in a long breath, bringing equilibrium to his baring, Riot exited the alleyway, increasing his pace as he made his way from one half of the city to the other. Above him, he knew that the Claw continued to follow him, yet he allowed a small smile to decorate his lips as he recognised the fact that he was either leading the man towards the possible encounter of a trap designed by the man’s leaders, or towards an encounter that was beyond both his own and the Claw’s own understanding.
Whatever the outcome, he found that he couldn’t remove the smile from his lips.

[Riot]

Comb scratched at his throat, finding that the urgency to attack the itch was almost overwhelming in its desire. Every part of his body was infested with miniature bite marks, symbolizing his flesh with tiny precisions which all cried aloud with their own screams of ailment.
He refrained from scratching everywhere else except for his throat, instead his tight clothes rubbing agonisingly against the inflamed marks. Shifting restlessly, he gritted his teeth, trying desperately to control the irritation that burned his body.
The night previously, shortly after arriving into the city, himself and his comrades had followed the route that the guard Lieutenant had suggested, finding the Whirlwind Goddess tavern a bell before midnight cursed the world.
Following Halfdan and the mage, Edge, into the tavern, they were confronted with the owner, Echt Leven. Not bothering with pleasantries, Halfdan had ordered food and beds for the night, wanting as little commentary to be exchanged from their small group.
The food had been stale, and the beds worse. Infested with fleas, Combs would have been unsurprised if the Seven Cities owner had brought Chigger Fleas with him from his own continent.
Edge had used his warren to clean the beds, stating that the lingering expanse of his warren should act as a deterrent to the blasted little bugs. If anything, Comb had been assaulted more vigorously, very little of his flesh untouched by the damn things. Only Halfdan and Edge himself appeared to escape unfettered from the fleas, a notion that led Comb to believe that the mage had set up some form of wards upon himself and the commander so to remain relieved from the constant gnawing that had plagued him during the entire night.
Comb mentally made a note to himself to pay the mage back likewise, as Edge had surely not offered the same protection to either himself of Cube.
He also added that he would grant some form of revenge on the Lieutenant who had suggested the tavern in the first place. There was no doubt in his mind that the Malazan guard had known of Echt Leven’s reputation, yet instead of warning them of any such inconvenience, he had remained neutral in appearance as they had departed. No doubt he often offered such guidance to strangers to the City, finding amusement in the notion of their suffering.
‘Bloody Malazan’s!’ he cursed under his breath.
Scratching again at his throat, he allowed his head to lean forward, to peer from his position and look up to where the Claw was leant ungainly within the small place between two roof tops.
Even with his terrible nights sleep, he still found himself the last up this morning, finding the others already finishing their foul tasting breakfasts. Ignoring the rumbling from his own stomach, he refused the idea of eating anything further from the terrible tavern. Shortly after his appearance, Halfdan led them out, already knowledgeable of where the Lakeside tavern for which the Claw were said to be staying was situated within the cursive city.
Their surveillance was paid in full as two men who were undoubted Claw members had exited the tavern shortly after their arrival. Comb had been sent to follow one, Cube the other. Both Halfdan and Edge had departed to find where the Claw Master himself was located, leaving the task of further surveillance in their capable hands.
Comb had stayed a good distance away, allowing a distance to open up between himself and the Claw. His reward in doing so was founded as the Claw soon sought his way up to the roof tops, swinging his way upwards with grace and fluidity.
Keeping pace, sometimes guessing the direction for which the Claw was moving toward, it soon became clear that the Claw was tracking someone.
Comb had spied the man shortly after the Claw had crept up to the roofs, spotting the unkempt figure as the Claw maintained a close inspection of his travels. Wondering who the hair swept individual was, Comb’s interest was further fuelled as he soon spotted others keeping pace with the stranger. It soon became apparent that the stranger was being followed almost on mass; Combs’ own self only adding to the numbers.
Comb was curious as to why so many people were pursuing this largely unattractive person. For what Comb had seen of him, he appeared in his early forties, yet it was difficult to judge from the distance that was between them, and by the unruly beard and equally boisterous hair that flailed in the portraying breeze. He appeared in good condition, his average frame expressing a healthy construction.
What captured Comb’s attention was the manner in which he moved. Comb could gage very little, but what he could speculate in regards to the man being followed, was that he moved with a gracefulness that was usually associated with someone who was well guided to the ways of fighting. He appeared to slide along with a nimbleness that made everyone else around him appear as if mismatched fools, struggling with the simple act of walking.
Comb admired him for that. He also distrusted him equally for what it could mean.
And so he had followed the Claw, who followed the stranger, who was in turn being followed by at least another two figures.
Comb continued to hold back, yet he managed to spy all of this in quick succession, knowing that it was not his task to interfere . He was to watch only, even if it meant that answers were slow in coming, and that his abilities were being largely underused.
Interference at this point was unthinkable, yet he continued to trek after the Claw, knowing that when a opportunity arose that he would be allowed to take action. Perhaps to find out who the stranger who led them all was, and where he was now taking them.
The followed stranger had darted not too long ago down into an alleyway, and the Claw had settled and remained in the same elevated position for that time. Awaiting for further response from either person, Comb relaxed himself up against the side of a building. A veiled overhang blanketed him in shadows, allowing for his presence to remain unnoticed.
Every so often he drew his head outwards making sure that the Claw remained nestled within his same position. Comb had to admire the Claw’s attempts. Without his training he admitted that he would have overlooked the Claw’s motionless frame.
Again hazarding a look, he happened to spot the stranger reappear from the lane. Above, the Claw responded by shifting his weight and advancing forward, again trailing the stranger in the same way that he had done for the last two bells.
Comb allowed for ten breaths to escape from his mouth before he pushed himself away from the building, strolling casually after the disappearing stranger and his entourage of followers.
‘Now where are we going?’ Comb asked himself, making sure that his attention appeared to be non decisive if anyone cared to cast a glance his way.
Walking at a steady pace, he allowed all of those who followed to remain before him, making sure that he was the last to lead the line; an observer who was gaining an itch that was forming within his mind. An itch for which he could not scratch, not unless answers were to be discovered from the people that he followed.

[Riot]

Dust filled light seemed to linger around the abandoned building, fuelling the illusion that the structure was more degenerate than was truly the case. The out building had once been used as a blacksmith’s stables, years before the Malazan’s had gained prominence within the city.
With the death of the blacksmith, his small estate had dissolved, leaving the building as a worthless shell. Over the years, as interest in its assembly faded, the doors and small windows which had once allowed for light to penetrate into its baring had been nailed shut.
From where Riot stood, he could see where one of the doors had been recently prized open, allowing for a entrance to be granted.
The building was made completely from wood, cut from a forest that had once lingered near the outskirts of the city. Warped bracing and discoloured panelling was in evidence, yet Riot was surprised by the over all appearance. It wasn’t as bad as first assumed. If anything, all it really needed was for someone to put in some effort and they could very well have a small store; localised near the eastern gate, it was not far from where the main avenue of overland trading was transported into the city.
He fancied that someone could make a go of it, and if he hadn’t been involved with recent spiralling events, he would have made a suggestion to Earn; perhaps even make a go of it himself.
The thoughts ran through his mind in quick succession, yet he quickly discarded them, knowing that the moment was too important; too grave to think of such insignificant possibilities.
Trying to judge whether he was making the right choices, Riot attempted to see if he could make anything out from the diminutive light that was being cast into the building from the ajar door. The gloom inside was too deep, too absolute for his eyes to sense anything.
Knowing that to wait was again eating into his chances of discovering what threat hung over Earn, he grimaced with the notion of unease that circled his being. Not knowing what was inside was disconcerting, leaving him with the assessment that he had been too long outside of any proper action.
Up to the past week, he had been living soft, weakening his resolve, leaving him as a husk of what he had once been as a guardsman. He may have matured as a individual, yet he was a shadow of his former fighting self. His clash against the Forkrul Assail only went to prove this, proving that he had let himself go.
Since that day, the morning after to be precise, he had engaged further in the activities of his former training, awakening old memories that seemed to burn his mind as well as his muscles.
With this new engagement of training, he had awoken old desires. Desires which stoked at his being, igniting the cravings that had once served him well when involved within the maelstrom of battle.
It was for this reason, and possible this reason alone that he found himself walking towards the unlocked door, wishing deep down that the Claw were within, hoping to participate himself back into the old ways.
He walked eagerly through the light emission of dust that swirled the area, finding that the small airborne particles bobbed and darted through the air with demented pursuits.
Pausing briefly at the threshold of the old stables, he pulled open the door, allowing a further assortment of light to break unrestrained into the widened opening.
The raw smell of horses broke out over him, seeming to linger even though it had been almost ten years since a mount had been stored within its aging frame. Drawing in the stale aroma, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the murkiness inside, seeing very little except for the running stalls that were aligned within.
Opening the door further, he than entered, smiling slightly as he knew that the Claw who followed would now be unsighted; unless of course a entrance could be found from the crown of the building.
The air within was as musty as the scent of horses long since departed, giving off the impression of a wavering heat. The humidity was high, and Riot could guess that it would only increase more so as the day warmed greater towards its rising peak.
Taking his steps forward in slow advancement, Riot found that his footsteps were largely disguised. The flooring within the old stables was simply soil, sprinkled through with a light covering of grit that had accumulated over the years, brought there by the constant breath of wind which carried the grit beneath the exposed joints.
Fingers tapping against the handles of his sheathed weapons, he continued inwards, trying to listen to any sounds that may escape from anyone hiding within.
A soft scrape of breath brought Riot to a halt. The breath had sounded from one of the stalls, further down the line, near the farthest wall.
‘Whose there?’ he called aloud, wanting, almost wishing that the response would be sounded from the Claw Master Echo.
‘Is that the bodyguard Riot?’ a voice asked.
Before responding, Riot wondered who the voice belonged to. It was faintly familiar, yet it was certainly not that of the Claw Master. Instead it sounded like a local, one that he was unused to hearing.
‘Yes!’ he finally replied, still trying to fathom who its belonged to.
From the furthest stall on his right hand side, a figure emerged. Stick thin, Riot recognised him from just over a week past. He had passed this man one late night, shortly before he had entered Tomb’s bar, shortly before he had made a mistake in announcing that he had seen Dassem contest against Skinner.
Master Gouver came forward from his hiding place, his narrow features betraying anxiety.
‘You came alone?’ he asked.
Riot shrugged ‘As near as!’ he admitted, knowing that outside remained those who continued to follow him.
Gouver appeared to not know how to take Riots response, yet he continued anyway ‘I called you here in regard to matters of great importance,’
‘Aye,’ Riot agreed ‘Earn!’
‘Yes!’ Gouver nodded ‘He is in great danger. The Merchant Guild, or at least two of them, have decided to remove him,’
‘You mean have him killed!’ Riot stated.
‘Yes!’ Gouver admitted, shifting his feet in shame.
‘Why warn me?’ Riot asked, not knowing the former mayors state of mind.
Gouver shrugged, his small shoulders bobbing from within the dark coloured clothing that melded itself into the swallowing darkness that surrounded him. He answered ‘I have no complaints against Earn and his role, yet the Merchant Guild judge him a threat to their trade,’
Riot nodded, understanding that the selfish merchants that ran the city would be jealous of Earn’s advances in commerce.
Gouver continued ‘I want the city to remain coherent in its running. I want stability whereas the Guild wishes to fund only their own treasury’s. By murdering Earn, they will bring disorder and anarchy, forcing D’more and the Malazan’s to take a even firmer grip within the city.
‘I don’t want Evinor’s people to have to suffer for the Guild’s own selfish desires, certainly not if it means for a innocent man to die, just simply for Xander’s own greed,’ he stated.
Riot remained silent, allowing for the pause to settle before replying ‘When do they plan to have him killed?’ he finally asked.
‘They wanted me to call a meeting between myself and the Claw Master, to distract them both so that their assassin can conclude with his assignment without complications,’ Gouver explained.
Riot frowned ‘I doubt that the Claw Master would care to talk to you, let alone join both yourself and the Fist in a meeting. The Guild must realise this, they must also realise that any attempts would easily be traced back to them,’
‘They seemed certain that the blame could be placed else where!’ said Gouver.
Shaking his head in a slow and measured way, mind wandering, Riot than said ‘You would be the one who would be culpable. They would set it up so that you would receive the blame for Earn’s death. Why else would they suggest for you to make the meeting,’
Gouver blanched, his grey face turning whiter as what Riot suggested sunk in.
‘Have you made contact with D’more yet?’ Riot asked, suddenly feeling his heart beat faster as realisation suddenly engulfed his senses.
‘What…what!?‘ Gouver stuttered, trying to contain himself ‘Yes… well no, the Guild sent a message addressed to D’more sealed by my mark. I was too caught up within myself to think much about it. I just thought of you and of the rumours running about regarding you that I assumed that you was the man to find to stop the events from unfolding,’
Riot reached across to Gouver, grabbing hold of the man’s shoulders ‘So the assassination could be any time. It could be happening right now?’
Realisation dawned upon the former mayor, causing his face to redden. Comprehension of the betrayal done to him by the Guild was an awareness all too true. Even without Quill’s involvement, Gouver could very well believe the Guild Master of doing the exact same task if things had worked out slightly differently. The Merchant Guild breed dishonour, an act of discredit that was in part shared upon his own part.
‘Oh dear Gods!’ he uttered, mind stained with the failing on his behalf in protecting Evinor’s honour, and his own safety.
‘Don’t go praying to any of those selfish bastards!’ Riot warned, back tracking his way towards the doorway ‘I suggest that you go to ground for the foreseeable future. If any of us survive what is to come, I will try and make sure that you are not dealt with too harshly,’
With that, Riot turned and ran, leaving the out building in direct contrast to the manner in which he had entered it.
Gouver stood in mystification, confusing reigning in upon him as he attempted to contemplate the situation in which he had found himself in. Not knowing whether to breakdown or cry, he continued to stand in mute astonishment.

[Riot]

Sheep was seated on the second step to the abode that was opposite the old outbuilding that Riot had only just entered. Stretching out his legs, trying to remove the tension that seemed to linger in the harassed limbs, he wondered what events were occurring within.
Since early morning, Sheep had been following the bodyguard with as much secrecy as possible, darting back behind whatever cover was handy when he guessed that Riot was looking in his general direction.
Riot had started the morning in a state of reverie, appearing as if he was consumed by his own thoughts.
Sheep was growing bored by Riots uneventful life, following him when it appeared as if normality was the only cause that Riot dictated himself to. Only when Sheep followed the bodyguard out of the fishing market and when Riot slid down some back street did things sudden become exciting.
Sheep had watched on as a single man jogged after Riot, chasing the bodyguard into the dark alleyway. Afraid of being noticed, he had resolved himself to hanging back, attempting to listen in to the breeze, hoping that it would shed some form of sound to his position. Perhaps carry the conversation between the two men to his standing.
No such luck. Instead he had to agonise in silence, hearing only the sound of seabirds floating above in the winds overhead; questing out with their echoing voices, almost mocking him as he strained to hear any form of speech.
Judgement had almost overwhelmed him, as he realised that he had taken a step forward toward the alleyway, burning with desire to know what was occurring. He came to a swift halt, as Riot suddenly remerged, walking on now with a more direct pace; a expression of determination writ upon his features.
Sheep quickly followed, finding that he now had to up his pace, as Riot was increasing his own, virtually on the verge of jogging towards whatever urgent matter was now commanding his presence.
He struggled to keep up, breath now bounding from him as he trotted after the fleeing bodyguard.
Eventually Riot led him to this outbuilding, disappearing inside only moments before.
Wincing as he eased himself down to the step, he was beyond caring if Riot happened to come out now and see his direct appearance.
Sheep was tired in mind, as well as tired in body. The last week had been of a reckoning almost beyond understanding. First the experience of the Forkrul Assail being discovered and the resultant bloodshed caused from its awakening. Secondly the threat of the Claw and his successful attempts in hiding from the Claw Master who was seeking answers from him, and lastly the craziest thing of them all, the guard Prime.
Sheep was still bemused as to how he had started a relationship with the young woman, believing that he had somehow been ensnared by her. Prime’s advances had been open enough, more than open, yet he had continued to act as a stuttering youth whenever she was around.
The fact that she was little more than a girl, seventeen years if what she said was true, only went further to confuse him by her mature standing. He should have appeared to her as a aging man, even though he was barely into his twenties himself, yet she acted more like the adult amongst them both, making him feel like the adolescence.
Sheep had never been good around woman, finding that his warren was easier to understand than the female psyche. What mystified him even more was that she was interested in him at all. There were plenty of guards in the city who were closer to her in age, and generally more appealing than Sheep himself, yet she continued to plague him.
Perplexed by her brazen flirting, Sheep had conceded in one of her fellow guards, trying desperately to gauge if she was trying to humiliate him, or if she was truly crazy.
Molehill had smirked, but instead of answering straight away, he ordered another drink from Tombs who stood patiently from behind the bar, and waited until the glass was presented before him.
‘You should count yourself lucky!’ the older guard stated ‘Plenty of guards have tried it on with her, me included, yet she don’t seem interested,’ with this, Molehill lifted himself gently from his seat and broke wind.
‘I wonder why?’ Sheep had replied,
‘Beats me!’ Molehill grinned ‘She usually a quiet one, but I fancy you’ve got her interest,’
‘Should I be scared?’ Sheep had asked.
‘Scared, why scared?’
Sheep shrugged, wondering how to express how bad luck seemed to revolve around him. Struggling to find the words which would express how he doubted that a woman could be interested in him without some form of bad fortune ready to strike him down.
For Sheep, Oponn seemed more interested in the push rather than the pull. This young woman was no doubt a agent of the Twin Gods, ready to embrace him in such misfortune that would see his luck being put to the wind.
He laboured to say something and so he finally relented ,and offered a shrug instead.
Molehill laughed aloud ‘No need to look so glum!’ he joked ‘If she’s game than there’s no need to be afraid!’
Yet Sheep could take no courage from the Private’s sage words, finding that his stomach was a breeding ground for unrest. Knowing that he was never going to gain any valour from Tombs establishment, he had left, ready willing and able to find some comfort in his own bed.
Shortly after leaving the bar, as night crept into the city, he was barely near his apartment when Prime happened upon him. Feeling his nerve disintegrate as she approach him, he wondered if fleeing would do him any favours.
Prime gave him no opportunity, perhaps sensing his apprehension as she lightly touched his arm, somehow forcing him to remain by the gentlest of contacts.
‘What do you want?’ he found himself uttering.
‘You!’ was her simple response.
With that Sheep had found himself sharing her cot back at the guardhouse. The first morning he had awoken, consumed by embarrassment by the nearness of the other guards, yet as they appeared not to care, he quickly found that each morning was as carefree as the next. He was accepted without a thought, and he had never been happier.
He thought all of this as he sat waiting for the reappearance of the bodyguard, still amazed by how lucky he felt. He still considered that his fortune was only temporary. The rightful balance which had followed him through life was sure to arrive, rolling over him was as much subtlety as a stampede.
He was still pondering on what form this misfortune would arrive in, when the door from the outbuilding which had slowly drawn itself shut, was slammed open. The bodyguard Riot exploding through the opening in full flight.
Sheep remained seated, yet he watched on with mouth open as Riot flew passed him with accelerating potential. Trying to grasp what had happened, he suddenly realised that Riot was gone, taking off down the lane which led back onto Gate street.
Jumping to his feet, he managed to right himself when his left foot almost slipped out from under him. Using the banister which edged the steps for balance, he quickly attempted to follow after Riot, knowing as he pushed himself away, that he was surely already too late in starting.
He almost called aloud, wanting to warn Riot to slow down so to allow him to gain closer, yet he instantly knew that such a suggestion was a stupid one. The fleeting image he had got of Riots features had been of grim determination, flecked through with anger that was sparing him on.
As Sheep upped his pace, knowing that to catch the bodyguard was near an impossibility as he had ran with such obvious speed, he realised that he had seen the same expression on Riots face only twice before.
Once when he had faced down the rioting mob, and secondly, moments before he had jumped down into the pit which contained the demented Forkrul Assail. On each occasion, Riot had displayed a reckoning which was unequal to anything that Sheep had ever witnessed before.
Cramps began to swarm within his stomach as he comprehended what that expression came to indicate. Riot was once more preparing himself for some form of confrontation, one which would surely equal that which he had faced in the past.
Wondering whether it was safer to remain where he was rather than to attempt to catch up with the bodyguard, Sheep came to the conclusion that this was the moment he had been waiting for. Here was the time to discover something about Riots past, to witness an unveiling of the bodyguards hidden talents.
The only fear he had was of missing what was to come, surprised by the urgency that was lining his stomach. Jogging forward, ignoring the protests that his legs called out with, Sheep followed in the general direction that Riot had fled through.
He realised that he had no way of knowing which direction to follow, but somehow he sensed that Riot would be helpful enough in his one minded way, alerting Sheep to his presence as he knocked aside any that happen to get in his way.
Increasing his velocity, Sheep disappeared into the heart of the city, unaware that he was one of many who chased after the running bodyguard.

[Riot]

The tall spanning buildings, with their patchworks of colours and assembly of different styles, rose either side of him. Riot ignored their elegant structures, instead seeing them only as a passing blur, a hue of colouring which drew no real attention, but managed to organise him towards Earn’s accommodation.
He had noticed Sheep outside of the abandoned building, but he had given off no illusion of recognition, instead rushing past him without a second thought. What he had seen of the mage, with his mouth hanging open in astonishment, would in normal circumstances have caused him some amusement, but for now the issue of protecting Earn was far too important.
Even the notion of being followed by the Claw and by the other yet unidentified individual caused him no pause; if anything he sprinted as if to distance himself even further from their pestering endeavours.
Managing to side step around a small cluster of figures who stood at the corner which led onto Gate street, he kept his acceleration constant, knowing full well that time could be a deciding factor; either to success or the unmanageable factor of failure.
He was heading towards Earn’s apartment, hoping that the Malazan was there rather than out and about on his travels. If anything, the worst possibility that sprung to mind was that Earn would be outside of the city, perhaps at the mining site. If so than Riot had an almost impossible task of trying to gain ground upon his employer.
‘You better be home!’ he exhaled, dodging again around a stationary person who happened to be in his way.
To his immediate left, he by passed the Merchant Guild’s council chambers. Not slowing, he allowed just a quick turn of his head, glancing towards the establishment of those who were responsible for the undertaking that he was attempting to impede. Knowing that those inside would have to await his judgement, he continued forward with his set pace.
He quickly came into the Main square, the mass of people here were clumped together in associated groups, forcing the spill of those who attempted to travel this route to escape into the centre of the street itself.
Diverting himself off of the side where the minority of people were gathered, Riot pushed, and shoulder charged his way through the lesser number of the crowd, receiving curses and angry glares as a response.
Too quick to care, almost wishing for his swords at hand so to clear his path that much quicker, he continued to bash his way forward. One stocky man was thrown backwards by Riots momentum, falling into and knocking further individuals from their feet.
Still he refused to pause, not even looking back to the carnage he had caused.
Shoving aside yet another small congregation of people, he found that those who obstructed him thereon were forming a closer net, staring at him with anger as he persisted in his attempts to go through them.
‘Watch out!’ one man warned, waving a finger under Riots nose.
Riots training, his years under the associated tutorial of the Crimson Guard in the manner of keeping ones head whilst in the confines of fighting, was suddenly tested to its limit. Feeling anger well up within him, bottled down for so long, he acted without thinking. Clasping the limb that was being waved in front of him with one hand, he than thrust upwards with the other, striking the opposing figure at the elbow. The power behind Riot’s blow was greater than the joint that rivalled him, causing the bone to snap, flexing in the opposite direction to what was usually normal.
For a split second, Riot was reminded of the Forkrul Assail and its multi jointed arm, before the present caught up with him.
The man screamed aloud, eyes wide and fearful at the manner in which the bone was now sticking up through the flesh of his arm.
Screaming with new found terror, the man managed to back pedal his way into the men behind him. His roar of fear suddenly igniting the passion of those surrounding him, causing panic to spread and for a opening to arise before Riot.
Riot allowed for no pause, instead rushing forward through the new found gap, fleeing the unrest that he had caused in a single instance.
Turning left, down into the street that eventually led onto Earn’s apartment, he noticed a small number of guards appearing from the opposite side of the street. Their interest was snared upon the rumbling commotion that Riot had left behind him.
Recognising a couple of the figures, he was uncaring for what awaited them. Instead he carried on, finding that the path of the sun was now being blocked by the overhang of the surrounding buildings. Bathed in shadows, he raced the last four hundred yards in half as many heartbeats.
During that last stretch, his mind was roaring at what harm he had caused to that man. For those two seconds for which he reacted, and possibly disabled the man unless he was taken directly to a mage who was trained in high Denul, he had lost every sense of ability that had served him for so long. The cohesion of his restraint had been severed, revealing a trait that was possibly bloodthirsty in its liberation. More than anything else that had mentally assaulted him over the past week, this was the most disturbing, forcing home hard truths which dictated the baring of his stability.
Was he stable enough to continue with what was required of him. Would another episode wash over him, causing him to kill someone who was innocent. Would the frustrations of old overwhelm him in their decadent calls of release. He hoped that he would never have to find out, yet he was willing to believe that he would shortly be tested.
Finally he came to Earn’s building, killing his speed so that he came to a halt directly before the steps that led up to the front doorway.
Composing his breath, he made as if to take the first step before a sound was generated behind him. The sound was of a lightly attempted footstep, closing in to his position with as much guile as possible.
Riot turned with grace, catching sight of the short blade that was being arched towards his face. Using his gained momentum, he pushed himself backwards as he span around, watching as the point of the knife sliced the air mere inches from his eyes.
The assailant appeared unprepared for Riot’s reaction, instead spinning himself as he had expected for the knife to have made contact with Riot. Using this opportunity as his attacker lost balance, Riot kicked his right foot away from the first step, and propelled himself at the unbalanced attacker.
The attacker attempted to gain his stability, trying to bring the knife back around before Riot was allowed the opportunity to close the already short distance that separated them. Too late however, and Riot grabbed the shorter man in a bear hug, forcing his arms into himself, not allowing the attacker to bring the short blade back into play.
The attacker lost his footing, folding under their joint weight, as Riot engulfed him. Falling to the ground, Riot made sure that his weight was pressed down by the act of bending his knee, forcing the joint to bear down upon the attackers thigh; deadening the limb so to immobilise him further.
The assailant cried aloud in pain, yet this was cut short as his head struck the cobbled ground.
‘Bastard!’ Riot grunted, making sure that his grip was tight as he fell onto the attacker.
The attacker appeared dazed by the sudden impact to his head, eyes glazing slightly as he attempted to gain back his constancy. Riot allowed for no further opportunity. Again feeling the rage sweep over him, he head butted the prone figure, wincing momentarily himself at the pain that flashed before his eyes.
The man beneath him seemed to sag, and Riot heard the sound of the knife striking the ground. Releasing his hold for but a second, he allowed himself to gain to his knees, pulling the stunned man away from where the knife was now laying.
Blood was trickling from the attackers busted nose, as well from a cut that was just above his left eyebrow. Too dazed to fight against Riot’s actions, he simply allowed for Riot to pull him closer to Earn’s building.
‘Bastard!’ Riot cursed as he pulled the lame figure, urging himself not to simple bash the man’s head off against the cobbled surface until little more than crushed skull and brain matter were left. The demand for violence was calling with such a demand that he was simply trying to focus his breathing before he committed himself to the deranged act of aggression.
‘What’s going on?’ a voice called, and looking up from where he dragged the attacker, Riot could see Earn standing at the now open doorway.
‘Get inside!’ he warned, throwing the prone figure up against the bottom step, not caring that the man again struck his head against the solid foundations that greeted him there.
Earn looked dubious at Riot’s demands, yet he walked his way back into the building, allowing the door to almost settle back into its frame.
Satisfied that his employer was now out of harms way, Riot contemplated the action of forging answers from the cataleptic attacker. Looking down at the bleeding man, he realised that answers were very unlikely to be forthcoming, and he suspected that he knew enough already so to not learn anything anew from the Guild’s assassin.
Wondering what was now the best course of action, knowing that he wouldn’t kill the man, he scanned his sight around, seeking out for any assistance.
The street was near empty, only a small contingence of figures could he spotted, and these were drafted back near the corner that led onto Gate street.
‘What’s going on Riot?’ Earn stood at the door, remaining inside but peering out so that Riot could easily see him.
Happy enough that the prone figure was not moving anytime soon, Riot rose to his full height, advancing up a couple of the steps so that he stood before his employer.
‘The Merchant Guild have put out a contract on you!’ he stated, turning ever so slightly so that he could continue to apprise the motionless assailant.
Earn nodded, as if he simply accepted Riot’s words with apparent ease.
‘I’m surprised that they haven’t tried something sooner!’ he said.
‘Aye!’ Riot agreed ‘Bastards probably decided that the mines was the last straw,’
Earn grunted in acknowledgement, standing on tip toes, he attempted to see who the assassin was.
‘Don’t worry about him!’ Riot advised ‘He’s out cold,’
‘Surprised you didn’t kill him?’ Earn remarked.
Riot offered a shrug ‘No doubt he deserves it, but it’s the Guild that needs sorting out,’
‘Don’t go doing anything harsh, we need them. The city needs them,’ Earn said.
‘You’re right, but I don’t have to like it,’ said Riot.
‘I can take care of myself!’ Earn replied.
Riot turned to look at his employer ‘You know that I’m leaving?’
Earn smiled, his wrinkled face carved into further creases ‘Yes. I’m surprised that you remained for so long,’
Riot exhaled slowly, wondering if his apparent unrest had always been so visible.
‘Do you know where your going?’ Earn asked.
Licking at his lips, Riot nodded ‘Well kind of. Been offered a proposition, feel obliged to take it,’
Earn nodded as if he understood, but Riot could detect the disappointment lingering beneath his employers surface.
‘I’ll go and speak to the Guild, see if I can change their minds,’ he said, hoping to cheer his soon to be former employer.
‘Promise me that you won’t kill any of them!’ Earn said.
‘They more than deserve it!’ Riot replied, looking over to the grounded assailant who suddenly emitted a vocal groan.
‘I mean it Riot!’ Earn reach forward and touched Riot’s arm ‘Don’t harm them. Evinor needs them for its survival. Don’t make them Martyrs!’
‘Aye, your right!’ Riot admitted, disturbed by the very thought.
This seemed to satisfy Earn as he settled back, nodding lightly in agreement.
‘What are you going to do with him?’ Earn asked, gesturing towards the stirring attacker.
Riot grinned ‘Nothing!’ he answered, before nodding back towards the lane ‘Here’s someone to solve that problem for us,’
Jogging unevenly up the street, Sheep made his appearance. The mage looked as if he was totally shattered from attempting to keep up with Riot, his youthful features betrayed by the exertions coursing his body. His face was a crimson red, and as he made his way over to their position, first looking dumbfounded by the moaning figure on the floor, they both heard his wheezing gasps for breath.
Riot turned his attention away from the mage, again allowing his concentration to settle upon his former employer. Offering his hand, he was satisfied when Earn took it and shook with a firm smile on his face.
‘Goodbye!’ Riot smiled back.
‘Good luck!’ Earn indicated with a nod of his head.
Releasing his grip, Riot turned back to Sheep and took the few steps with apparent ease. Passing the mage, he slapped Sheep’s shoulder before saying ‘Next time you decide to follow someone. Don’t bother!’
With that he jumped over the downed attacker and walked casually away from Earn’s life. The summit of shadows that swam in the street appearing to greet him as he made his way towards Gate street.
Sheep stared on in confusion, before he turned his attention to Earn ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.
Stepping forward, closing in to the mage so that he joined him in standing over the rousing assailant, Earn replied ‘Don’t worry. Riot’s decided to quit my service,’
‘What!!!’ Sheep blurted out. He even made as if to follow after the departed bodyguard.
‘Wait!’ Earn commanded, pleased as Sheep responded by halting in mid step ‘Stay here and watch over our pained friend, whilst I’ll go and get the guards,’
Sheep dropped his sight down to the awakening attacker, fear starting to show on his face ‘What do I do if he wakes up and decides to leave,’
Earn looked at Sheep with undecorated expression before looking down to the stirring man. With his right foot, he kicked out, catching the assailant with a blow to his temple, again forcing unconsciousness upon his fragile frame.
‘Problem solved!’ Earn stated, before walking steadfast towards the crowd that was lingering near the corner of Gate street. To where he had spotted a Guard.
Sheep looked down to the coma induced stranger ‘Oh Hood!’ he muttered.

[Riot]

Stepping back into the side alley, confusing reigning through him due to what he had just witnessed, Comb again looked up towards the moving Claw.
Tracking the Claw had gained an urgency since the chase after the stranger, forcing Comb to almost give away his presence as he darted after the fleet footed Claw member. Moving through the lanes of the spawning city, he had followed the Malazan assassin with as much guile as possible, almost losing him as he took the longer routes through the back streets. The Claw simply launching himself from rooftop to rooftop, scrambling his way across the littered crowns of the massed buildings.
Comb would have surely have lost the assassin if not for the urgency that he displayed in attempting to keep track of the long haired stranger. The Claw often rose to his full height when jumping from one levelled surface to another, allowing for Comb to spot him when it appeared as if he had disappeared.
Usually this display of abrupt exhibition would not be associated with any that was a member of the highly trained Claw, yet it was evidence enough to Comb of the man’s arrogance. True, it was very unlikely that many people would be looking up to the zenith of the structures that existed around them, never suspecting that one of the most feared and reputable of all of the Empire’s agents was above them. But Comb still grudged the man’s conceited mannerisms, smiling only with the apparent truth that this ill bred method of stalking was allowing his own pursuit to continue.
All of that seemed less tangible now, less significant, as what he had just witnessed left him perplexed and somewhat fearful.
He was unable to explain the strangeness that corrupted his stomach. All he was able to consider was what had just played out.
After chasing the Claw, he broke out from one of the small lanes and into the main avenue of a long street. Darkness was situated here, given off an impressive tone of negativity, which seemed to roll for the full length of the street. Two buildings over, in a small hollow which was birthed between two arched roofs, the Claw was positioned, knees bent, body leaning forward. His study was directed down toward the same long hair stranger which he had been following for much of the morning.
Settling into the consuming gloom, Comb watched as events appeared to roll on with mystifying regularity.
He watched in silence as the stranger came to a stop before what appeared to be a well adored household, steps presented before him.
Comb observation continued as he saw another figure peel himself off from the shadows behind the stranger. From his hip he brought forth a knife and rose it to shoulder height, ready to swing the short blade into the strangers unprotected, and unaware flank.
Comb almost breeched his secreted cover, nearly stepping forward to call out an alarm. Too late however, yet unneeded as it turned out, as the long haired stranger must have been alerted by the attackers presence, swinging round and avoiding the slash from the would be murderer.
From then on, Comb was allowed the honour of watching as the stranger reversed the situation, bestowing a quick and efficient manner in disarming and finally knocking the attacker unconscious.
He was too far away to hear the conversation that followed between the stranger and another man who crept forth from the household. He was further bemused to find that one of the men that he had witnessed earlier following the long haired stranger appear from the far end of the street. Bemusement turned into full incomprehension as the stranger briefly consulted to the newcomer who had been tracking him, before quickly leaving without a moments pause.
Not knowing what in Hood’s soiled name was going on, he prepared himself to run after the Claw who would surely trace his way after the stranger once again. However, he soon found that the Claw was not coherent to this concluded belief, instead the Claw remained in his lone position, appearing as if to consider what action to take next.
Minutes soon passed, and Comb could see as local guards were brought to the front of the household, crowding round the comatose attacker. Patience was soon turning into frustration, as Comb was burning with the need for the Claw to move; to do something.
He found that he was wishing for the assassin to once again follow after the long haired stranger, yearning to find out more about who the stranger was and why he was important enough to have so many people stalking him.
Earlier he had guessed the stranger to be good enough to defend himself, yet he was still surprised by the rapid response that he had managed in defeating the attacker. In little more than passing seconds, he had judged the situation and reacted. And all without having to consult to the blades that were belted to his hip. Comb was impressed, and he knew that it was for this very reason that he felt reverberations unsettling his gut, realising that a bubble of anticipation had burst and was remained lodged within him.
The Claw suddenly became active, slowly turning as if to retrace the route he had already taken. The new manner in which he moved, now showed to Comb that the Claw had lost his urgency, instead he acted as if he was still undecided.
Comb was well versed enough with Claw activity that he could guess that the Claw would in this kind of situation return to his commanding officer. To report back on what he had seen and to gain new orders.
Clearing his throat, spitting off into the gutter that lined the street, Comb once again committed himself to the act of following, guessing that he was about to be led to the Claw Master that was designated to this city. Hopefully he would come across his own commanding officer and explain to Halfdan what he had witnessed, not knowing if it was of any importance, but simply knowing that he tingled with expectancy.
The events surrounding the long haired stranger had ensnared him, and he wished whole heartedly that he could conclude his business within the city with the solution to what was so important with the stranger. An answer that would wash away the tingling sensation that continued to crave within him.

[Riot]

The Merchant Guild’s council building was set back from Gate street, enclosed by a small wall which settled around a standard designed garden. Two sentries were positioned at the small entranceway, neither bothering to ask Riot any enquiries, instead casting a quick glance at him as he strode into the main lobby of the building.
Riot allowed himself no opportunity to linger over the study of the interior, knowing that the sheer volume of wall hangings was a glimpse into the greed and voracity that swirled around the egotistical nature of the Guild members. The quantity of glittering keepsakes disgusted him, leaving him feeling dirtied by their evidential betrayal. No doubt much of what was on display was of great worth, but instead of denoting a sense of value, it left him with the sense that much of it was probably endowments, made payable by those who had found themselves indebted to the supposed nobility of the Guild.
He wanted nothing more than to tear the hangings down, to rip the portraits and souvenirs from their fixings and express to the world at large that those men who made up the council were nothing more than high-born criminals.
Restraining himself, not wanting to once more fall into the grace of overwhelming resentment which had recently been plaguing him, Riot glided forward.
He had never been in the council building before, yet its clear layout was easy enough to follow. To his left a balcony rose, spiralling upwards with small twists and turns, following the hollowed vacancy which was capped by a roof made of distilled glass, allowing different colours of light to spill down into the heart of the building.
Momentarily enlightened by these tones of reverberating light, Riot kept his pace constant, shortly coming to a small arch which broke into another, but smaller, vestibule.
Here he noted was a bench settled against the nearest wall, and opposite stood a young sentry, standing beside a closed door. The small vestibule was empty except for the guard, and so Riot glided toward the door with a purpose which expressed that he was not to be disturbed.
The sentinel must have been oblivious to Riot’s portrayed image, as he took a step forward, blocking Riot route to the door.
‘You’re business?’ The guard asked, clearly bored as his eyes communicated the weary link of boredom which inflicted him.
‘I’m here to see the Guild Members!’ he stated, coming to a halt, allowing his hand to rest again his waist, within easy reach of his swords.
‘Unfortunately most of the Guild are away,’ the youth explained ‘Only Guild Master Quill Ruxon is present and he has requested that he not be disturbed,’
‘Oh well!’ Riot muttered, turning slightly as if to leave. Judging that the guard was relaxed enough by his motion, Riot suddenly reacted. The guard had no moment to respond, as Riot moved with such swiftness. Reaching forward, Riot grappled the guard and plunged the tips of his stiffen fingers from his right hand into the region between the guards armour and exposed ribs.
Breath was torn from the unsuspected guards lungs, forcing him to collapse into himself due to the strength behind the blow. Not slowing, Riot catapulted the youth into the door, forcing the state of unconsciousness upon the sentry. The sound of the guard striking the wooden door must have disturbed whoever was inside, and so continuing without a pause, he stepped over the fallen sentry, opened the door, and walked in.
The council chambers were smaller than he imagined, mainly dominated by the table that was swept across the width of the room. Behind this low stabled desk, sat a singular figure, before him littering the desk was collected a large spool of paper and a inkwell.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the figure asked, not rising, instead remaining in the same pose that he had been settled in when Riot first entered.
‘I’ve come to make a request!’ Riot smiled.
‘Request?’ Quill asked in confusion, before shaking his head ‘Where is my guard, why has he allowed you entry?’
Riot offered a shrug ‘Unfortunately he cannot be disturbed just now, his thoughts have been stolen from him,’
‘You killed him?’
Shaking his head Riot answered ‘No, he’s just unconscious,’
Quill appeared to take more notion of the stranger before him, standing now in much the same position as Gouver usually adopted.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘You don’t know me?’ Riot asked, laughing slightly as he realised that Quill allowed others to do his immoral tasks ‘My name is Riot. In service to Earn Paltroll. I’ll assume that you know who he is?’
For the first time since entering, Riot noticed the Guild Master squirming in his seat, fear beginning to bloom upon his sharp edged face.
‘Earn’s bodyguard?’ Quill managed to ask, face paling in the adoring light which fleshed out the room.
‘The very same!’ Riot admitted.
‘What do you want? Why are you here?’ Quill asked, sweat beginning to bead upon his forehead.
Riot took another step forward, bringing himself closer to the desk, so close that Quill couldn’t help but notice the blades at his waist.
‘I want you and your associates to remove the contract on Earn,’ he spoke in a neutral tone, yet his eyes were pinpointed upon the Guild Master with absolution, daring Quill to refuse his request.
‘I…I don’t know what your speaking of!’ Quill uttered, lips trembling as he answered.
Riot moved with such acceleration that Quill only responded after the blade had cut into the table before him. Flinching back in surprise, his eyes widened as he saw that the bodyguard had managed to pull free his sword, and strike its length into the engraved desk in a mere instance. Missing his hands by a measly whisper.
Riot lent forward, his voice snarling as he spoke ‘Don’t lie to me!’ he warned, before levering the sword, releasing it from the desk. Now free, Riot pointed the fine edge towards Quill, allowing the tip to waver in front of the Guild Master’s face, beckoning him to lie to him just one more time.
Quill was almost entranced by the elegant movements of the blades tip, finding that his mind was engrossed by its motioning endeavours. The point bobbed only a foot away from his eyes, yet he was unable to move backwards, feeling as if his body was a traitor to his will, ungrateful to the motivation that wished for him to get as far away from the manic before him.
Knowing that his life was in the balance, he attempted to explain his innocence ‘Please believe me, but I know nothing about any threats to the Malazan merchant. I would never act against a fellow trader in such a way,’
Riot remained in the same position, locked in that state as he was afraid of what he would do if he moved.
Quill took the pause as a good sign and continued with his mumbling explanation ‘Claw are in the city, only a fool would do something when such devoted followers are abound,’
Riot exhaled, allowing his anger to flow out with the breath that escaped. Bidding his will into a more regimental regime of coherency, he spoke with a soft and slow manner ‘Then you have such a fool within your midst. I believe his name is… Xander?’
Quill seemed to sit straighter in his seat at the mention of his fellow Guild Member ‘Xander?’ he asked ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes!’ Riot answered, remembering the name that Gouver had mentioned.
‘Than it would appear that we have both been betrayed,’ Quill remarked ‘For any attempts made upon the Malazan merchant were not of my making. Oh, most certainly not!’
Riot watched as the Guild Master seemed to gage some of his former posture, probably believing that his innocence in this instant was to pass him by. Refusing to lower the blade, he instead took another step forward. The table pressing up against his legs from just below his knees. The small discomfort was nothing compared to what now confronted Quill, as by taking a step forward, Riot had allowed for his sword to dance a bare inch from the Guild masters eyes.
Again Quill was unable to move, due to the fear he had of not knowing what response the bodyguard would take if he happened to stir.
‘I don’t care for you virtue in this instance,’ Riot warned ‘I just want you and your damn associates to leave Earn alone,’
Quill remained motionless, again fearful even if he just nodded.
Riot continued ‘Earn and his businesses are to remain without threat from your collective. No retribution will be attempted in any guises, other wise I will come back here and tear your head off,’
Quill’s eyes began to blink rapidly, trying desperately to keep away the sweat that was now pouring from his forehead.
‘I will crush your council, kill you all if that is what it will take for Earn to remain safe,’ Riot persisted ‘I don’t care for Evinor’s stability if it means taking you down. Evinor can go to Hood’s realm for all I care,’
A strange noise was coming from Quill’s throat, and Quill was afraid to find that it was the forming of a plea, ready and willing to utter itself so to help prevent this madman from hacking him down.
‘Do you understand me?’ Riot asked, not caring for the strange gurgling sound coming from the terrified Guild Master.
‘Yes…’ Quill croaked, glad as Riot lowered his sword back to his side.
‘Best tell your associates, and Hood take you if they attempt to betray you any further!’ with that Riot shelved his blade back to his waist and turned and left, disappearing back the way he had came.
Quill took the first breath he had taken since the bodyguard had plunged the swords point nearer to his face. With his inhalation, he found his body shaking with fear, adrenalin pumping his body as he realised that he had survived the meeting. Placing a hand back upon the table before him, he found that his digits crossed the impression that was left into the wooden surface, left there by the bodyguards sword.
He retreated his hand in fear, knowing that the encounter could have resulted with the cut being in him rather than the desk.
Never had he felt such fear, never had he felt as if his body had been saturated in such overriding anxiety, leaving him coated in a fine layer of cold sweat, drenching his clothes.
He wanted to curse aloud, he wanted a glass of water to help regain the lubrication of his dry throat.
But most of all, he wanted to damn Xander and his stupidity for making attempts against Earn. An attempt which had not only failed but had resulted in him, the Guild Master, being threatened by someone who’s display of power had up to now been hidden.
No not hidden, he reminded himself, remembering back to the fact that the bodyguard had defeated the strange creature beneath the Maggy Hills, only underused.
Understanding that he had come up against someone who held no restraints when it came to threats and acts of vengeance, Quill wondered what form of punishment he would bestow to Xander. Instead of feeling aggrieved by Earn and his employee, Quill reasoned that there was no need to take any form of revenge against the Malazan merchant, not if what the bodyguard had promised would come as a response.
He could live with the notion of having another rival in his home city, he would if he wanted to live any further.
Taking a long sigh, he found that his hand was no longer shaking.

[Riot]

Morning had disappeared, allowing for the congestion of midday to stroll its purposeful way into the world. The chill which had first roamed the city since dawns break was now wilting, pushed aside by the brightening sun which rolled down a bathing heat which settled wonderfully throughout Evinor.
Sheep enjoyed the massaging effects of the sun, tilting his head upwards, eyelids closed, simply relaxing as the suns emissions stroked at his face.
For the first time in some hours he felt tranquil, benign in his baring. The sudden rush of following Riot and the resultant conclusion with the unconscious assailant felt as if it had happened long ago, rather than the half a bell that it truly was.
Around him the usually sounds of gathered people and the nominal feeling of the populace moving through the central reservoir of Evinor bristled at his senses. This state of well being was all consuming in its relief, rolling over him with treasured memories.
He knew that there was more than likely a stupid grin plastered upon his face, yet he did not care. He had earned this respite, and if he was damned if self consciousness would threaten this momentary standard.
He attempted to let his mind drift away, to flow easily away from the thoughts of what had occurred with the bodyguard and with the merchant. It was harder than he imagined, finding that the short term memories floated back with enticing ease.
Earn had quickly returned to Sheep’s position with a small contingence of local guardsmen, none of which Sheep recognised. Standing back as they went about their business of lifting the man, retrieving his knife and hauling the assailant away, Sheep felt even more foolish than he had when Riot had passed him and mocked his attempts of following him. His presence was of no use, instead he stood back and listened half dumbfounded as the guard asked questions of Earn, all of which were easily answered.
Sheep himself had not even been asked a question, instead dismissed without hardly a glance from the guard.
Finally the guard nodded at Earn and thanked him for his assistance before leaving, retreating after the other guards who had led the stunned assailant away.
‘What’s going on?’ he had asked, stepping closer to his occasional employer.
Earn paused from where he was walking back towards his front door, turning slightly to appraise Sheep.
‘It was nothing more than a thief, trying to steal from Riot,’ Earn explained.
Sheep knew that Earn was lying, and he knew that Earn understood that Sheep was aware of this fact, yet Sheep was not capable in breeching the gap that was strung out before them both. Instead he persisted his questioning else where,
‘You said that Riot’s leaving you service?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ Earn replied, again returning to the entrance to his home ‘He has decided to move on,’
‘But where?’
Earn shrugged ‘I don’t know!’ he admitted before stepping inside and closing the door, ending the pitiful line of questioning that Sheep had tired to ask.
Frustration had burnt at that point, threatening to cast a awful hue of disappointment across his well being. Turning away, he had walked slowly back towards Gate street, feeling as his aggravation slowly ebbed away.
Finally he had concluded his motion until he stood in the same position that he now occupied; at the south eastern corner of Main Square. It was here where the clouds had faded, and allowed for the elegant nature of the sun to energise his wilted state.
‘Ah, fine!’ he announced, opening his eyes.
His first reaction upon his sight returning was that he was no longer where he believed himself to be, feeling as if he had been moved away from the usual blitz of activity that went on at Main Square. He soon lost this thought as he could see that he was still in the same location, only the number of people that littered the area was there lacking.
Those who remained appeared just as startled, before suddenly dispersing, disappearing down back streets and alleys, leaving the square almost deserted.
‘What’s going on?’ he whispered, stepping forward, moving out from the corner so that he now came to the stretch of lane that ran through Main Square as a crossroad.
Activity to his immediate left caught his attention, and glancing over, he realised why many of the natives to the city had abandoned the square.
The Claw Master and two of his followers crept forward from the opposite corner, emerging alongside the Fist’s office.
The well-being that had infused Sheep’s essence was suddenly torn free. Breath caught in his throat, he managed only the action of back peddling, retreating back to the corner so to hide himself from their menacing attentions.
Leaning himself up against the adjacent building, he focused his sight upon the three men.
The Claw Mater, Echo if the rumours of his name were true, stood before the other two, settled in a stance that expressed that he was the leader and that he was not to be challenged.
Of the two remaining Claw, one was a beast of a man, head shaved clean, showing off a deep bane of burnt flesh scattered across his scalp. The other man was slightly smaller, yet no less fearful in appearance. If anything he gave the impression that he was more fearsome, only by the manner in which he appeared to be equipped with weaponry.
Each man was equipped with the normal weaponry associated with the Claw’s reputation, but the smallest man looked as if he was engrossed with blades from almost every known continent. Sheep recognised crafted blades from Genabackis, Seven cities, and Quon Tali. As well as a number which appeared almost alien in appearance, ranging from areas that Sheep was unaware of.
Shivering with fear, he wondered why they had come dressed like this, especially so publicly, scaring away the inhabitants of Evinor by their garbs alone.
For a staggering second, the thought rose that they had finally come for him, tracking him down to this place, ready to learn the truth of what had occurred at the Maggy Hills.
This notion nearly spilled his rational thinking, causing his legs to sag, and for nauseous to well up from within him. Using the wall to maintain his balance, he realised that such a concept was a crazy one. Surely they would not come dressed in such a manner simply to arrest his lonely self. He represented no such fear to their well trained standards, being trained in no state of warfare himself. His warren was beyond him, and he could guess that they would have learnt such truths about him from just speaking to the average citizen. Sheep’s lack of ability was well known, perhaps too well known; just as he had wished it to be, wanting no part of being sought for by the means of his meagre talents.
Again he understand that they would not come for him by such means, which meant that they were after someone else. Someone who was considered powerful enough to warrant such attention.
‘Oh Hood!’ Sheep muttered, realising that it was Riot that they were after.
Earn’s former bodyguard was deemed skilled enough to merit such attraction, a thought which struck Sheep with full potential.
Perhaps someone had witnessed Riot’s defence of Earn against the probable assassin. Most likely a Claw member himself had been following Riot, spying upon him in much the same guise as Sheep himself had been performing up to half a bell earlier.
Sheep began to whisper a prayer to his chosen God, hoping that Riot had already departed from the city. Leaving the Claw behind as a forgotten memory.
From where he stood, he saw a smile bloom upon Echo’s lips, moments before he strode forward. Again his two associates following closely behind him, spreading out slightly so to allow for more room between themselves.
Drawing his sight away from the Claw, Sheep turned his attention northwards, in the direction that the smiling Claw Master was looking.
‘Oh Burn…’ he choked, seeing as Riot was making his way towards the Main Square in his usual nonchalant way. Was in fact walking towards the closing Claw.
Slowly lowering himself down to the ground, ignoring the wet patch that he sat in, Sheep attempted to make himself look as small as possible, not wanting to gain anyone’s attention for the duration of what was about to occur.
He tried to grab his warren, wanting at least something to buffer him from the conclusion that was moments from being settled. As always when he was nervous, D’riss was slipping from his grasp, just beyond his manageable grip.
‘Burn shelter me!’ he whispered.

[Riot]

Trailing after the Claw Master had been a slow and largely uneventful task, yet Halfdan persisted, hoping to gain some form of consistency from the Claw’s habits; to aid in any future attempts upon the man’s life.
Edge remained by his side at all times, remaining silent as Halfdan watched alertly, following his officer so to assist him if they were somehow detected. So far their progression had been monotonous, and the Claw Master had yet to sense their presence, instead going about the city as if he ruled its habitat, striding along without care to those who fled from his path.
Halfdan seethed with the arrogance that the Claw Master displayed, wanting to crush the illusion that the man cloaked around himself. He restrained himself however, holding tightly to the regime that had dictated the majority of his adult life.
Patience was a trait which was engraved into his soul, binding him to the Vow with absolution. Over the years, decades of opposing the Malazan’s, he had never rushed a situation. Instead he allowed every option to arise before taking action, only then would he display his full ambition, completing the task with swift efficiency.
Often his slow calculated efforts were viewed as protracted deliberation, causing many of his fellow officers to curse his slow mannered proficiency. Of those who were irritated by his methods, very few had lived to this day, allowing for the numbers who were bound to the Vow to have fallen.
To his knowledge, only a few hundred of his Avowed brothers remained, and as the conflict between the Malazan empire continued, the numbers were forever dwindling. There were times when he was afraid that the Vow would finally fall, none of the original Vow takers surviving the countless battles that were fought on all of the different continents.
He brooded on such thoughts rarely, and when he was on assignments, never.
Which was why he was surprised to find his thoughts drifting on such reflections as he pursued the Claw Master.
‘Damn it!’ he muttered, shaking his head to remove such distracting thoughts.
Edge glanced at Halfdan, but remained silent, allowing his officer to vent his frustrations in the only manner that he knew how.
Concentrating forward once more, he sighted the Claw Master being approached by another man, surely another Claw by his attire.
‘Now what’s going on?’ Halfdan stated aloud.
Edge shrugged, too engrossed by what was occurring ahead of them both to reply. The newcomer was gesturing lightly back the way that he had come, from near the centre of the city.
The Claw Master was nodding in agreement, but no words were swept towards their position, too great the distance that separated them.
Another man approached, and again it was obvious that he was a Claw as well. Together they talked amongst themselves.
‘Sir!’ Cube arrived from behind Edge.
Halfdan turned slightly to acknowledge Cube’s presence but remained silent, again returning his attention to the gathering between the three Claw members.
‘Anything to report?’ Edge asked of the Private.
Cube raised a eyebrow in response ‘Nothing!’ he stated ‘I just followed him around the docks, as if he was waiting for something. He finally grew bored and returned here,’
Edge nodded as if he expected just as much ‘Any word on Comb?’ he asked.
Cube shook his head ‘Haven’t seen him, but he must be near if he’s been following the other Claw,’ with this he indicated the first Claw to have reported to the Claw Master.
‘As long as he hasn’t lost him,’ Halfdan grunted.
Edge again remained silent, judging that there was something on his commanders mind, but unsure how to breech such a subject. He had served under Halfdan for years, and during that association he had grown to understand Halfdan’s ploys. Yet their relationship was purely built on a strict command structure. The true Avowed, those who had sworn their lives to the reinstatement of Prince K’azz D’Avore at the beginning of the formation of the Crimson Guard, were a divided bunch, yet they were all unique in that they were distant, almost detached from the rigours of normality.
Edge understood that it was due to the Vow which allowed for them to persist in their continuous aim to win back the Prince’s crown. This advance throughout the years was near all consuming, forming a viewpoint which was lost by those who were not part of this long established brotherhood.
In a sense Edge was sad for this development, but understood that without it being this way, that Halfdan would not been half the man he truly was.
‘We’re on the move!’ Halfdan stated, awakening Edge from his trance.
Edge struggled to keep up with his commander as Halfdan pursued after the quickly departing Claw and his two acquaintances, yet he managed to join his side, feeling as if his own two feet were marching at twice the rate just to remain level with the bigger man’s wider stride.
Behind them both, Cube made up the rear, glancing around to make sure that they were not being followed themselves.
Halfdan scowled in dissatisfaction, wondering where the Claw Master was now leading them, feeling that something was not right here, and that there was every possibility that they had either been detected, or that Comb had been discovered. Neither option was much of a prospect, yet he continued after them, knowing that his sense of foreboding would not quiet down just yet.
The Claw Master ahead led his men into the western edge of Main Square, coming to a halt as he advanced his sight northwards. Halfdan paused likewise, content when Edge stopped beside him.
He waited with frustration, wondering what was ensnaring the Claw Masters attention for so long. He was also slightly disturbed by the apparent truth that Comb had not reported back, believing that something must have happened to the younger guard.
Gritting his teeth together, he wondered if should have broken up the company whist within what was in truth enemy territory. Comb was the youngest member of the company, but his skill and training should have been enough to enable him to escape from any such threats which were easily apparent. The fear that assaulted Halfdan, was the fact that they followed the Claw, and he knew that they didn’t play to any given rules.
The Claw Master suddenly resumed in his forward motion, his fellow associates opening the gap between themselves and their commander.
‘Here we go!’ Halfdan muttered, sensing that by their sudden opening of pace that they had spotted something of great importance. Again following, he trailed around the corner.
Edge kept pace, looking bemused at a young man who was sitting in the eastern corner of the Square. He allowed his eyes to shift away, yet he hasty pulled his attention back, feeling as if the man was attempting to open a warren.
The man appeared to be reasonably young, barely into his twenties if Edge guessed correctly, yet he was forming what felt like a ward of D’riss around his cowering body, trying desperately to wrap layers of the warren around his lowered self.
‘Err sir…!’ Edge touched at Halfdan’s large arm, trying to direct the commander’s attention towards the recoiling figure in the corner.
Halfdan hardly felt Edge’s contact, instead his eyes were drawn ahead of himself, beyond the Claw Master and his cronies, and towards where they seemed to be walking toward.
A man was walking in the direction of the Claw, appearing as if it was too these men that he was travelling toward.
A memory flickered in Halfdan’s mind, a sense of recognising the manner in which the man walked. The easy stride that he took forward, the delicate rotation of the shoulders as he ambled down through Gate street.
From the distance that separated him from the closing figure, he could not make out his face, enclosed so much by hair which was falling from his head, and by the spillage of hair which was formed as a wavy beard.
Recognition stung at his mind, so much so that he was chewing at his bottom lip, trying to remember where he had seen such a trait in walking before.
His eyes swung further over the stranger, and down to the man’s waist, latching onto the swords that were hung there.
‘Err…sir!’ beside him, Edge was once more tying to catch his interest. Only this time, Edge was gathering closer to himself his own warren, that of Serc, hoping to repel any form of enchantment which may be flung throughout their enclosed area.
Halfdan ignored the young Corporal, instead finding that he recognised the swords which the stranger ahead wore. Staggered by the comprehension, he came to a halt, causing Edge to carry on beside him before realising that Halfdan had stopped.
Again disregarding anything that Edge attempted to say, he allowed his mind to swift backwards, to visualise the last time that he had seen the owner of those blades.
The manner in which he walked, the pose he settled into as he stood before the Claw and gestured lightly with his hands. Halfdan recognised them all, almost disbelieving that the rugged individual could have been the same as that he recollected from his past.
‘Dammit!’ Halfdan muttered, recognising by the slight adjustment of footing by the man, that he was ready to defend himself.
‘Sir!’ again Edge demanded, feeling aggrieved by Halfdan’s lack of empathy towards his concerns.
Halfdan raised a hand, indicating not to disturb him further. With the action he spoke aloud a word, a word which was also a name, a name which he had not spoken in sometime, was in fact surprised to find that he was uttering it now.
‘Pariah!’ he whispered, feeling a shiver develop his body with the announced name.

[Riot]

Riot made his way over to the advancing Claw with as little show as possible, pretending that he wasn’t as anxious for the meeting as he actually felt.
He was still fuelled by the confrontation with the Guild Master, his hands opening and closing as he sought to work out the kinks from his inflamed desire.
The first thing to strike Riot as he closed the distance between himself and the Claw, was that the Claw Master Echo had a smug smile on his lips, showing overconfidence in its formation.
Riot admitted that Echo had ever right to be conceited in his beliefs. Unlike the first meeting between them both, Echo had been alone, seated within easy reach of Riot whilst within the confines of Tombs bar. Now however, the situation was vastly different, more aligned towards Echo’s own preferences.
With allies by his side, both of whom looked as confident as their superior, Echo was elevated in bargaining prowess.
‘Well, well, well!’ Echo smiled as he spoke, halting a few yards before Riot. A step back, and to either side, the adjoining Claw stood self-assuredly.
‘Claw Master Echo,’ Riot nodded, before offering the same to the bigger man that stood off to one side ‘And the man you had following me all morning, good day to you all!’
The big Claw lost his smirk at Riot’s recognition, now replaced by a expression of loathing.
Excellent! Thought Riot, knowing that it would be this man who would attack first.
‘Riot!’ Echo acknowledged, ignoring the remark made towards his inferior ‘It has come to my attention that you have been having an eventful morning!’
Riot shrugged ‘I’ve had busier ones,’ he admitted.
Echo nodded as if he could understand Riots position.
‘The last time we met, I said that there were many question still unanswered,’ Echo said ‘Time has come for you to pay in full’
Riot adjusted his stance by the slightest of motions, enough so to ready himself fully but not enough so to alarm the men before him.
‘As I said last time,’ Riot said ‘Just try it!’
‘You force me to take actions which are uncalled for,’ Echo said, opening his arms wide to express his understudies beside him.
Riot kept his eyes pinned upon Echo, ignoring the other men who settled from one foot to the other, primed to engage by the smallest of indications from the Claw Master.
‘This need not happen!’ Echo stated ‘All you have to do its admit to us who you are, show us that you are not a threat,’
Riot softly laughed, heading tilting down slightly as he expressed his mirth ‘What if my name alone, my true name, is deemed a threat. Will you attack then?’
‘Unless your Dassem himself in disguised, than I doubt that there’s any true threat,’ Echo joked back.
‘You rely too much on information that I really saw Dassem fight Skinner,’ Riot replied.
Echo nodded ‘Yes!’ he agreed.
‘You assume that I fought as some form of understudy to Dassem, as if I was his ally,’ Riot went on.
Echo’s forehead rippled with the misunderstanding that suddenly filled him.
‘Explain?’ he demanded, judging that he had misinterpreted what the bodyguard had implied.
Drawing in his breath, knowing that he was making the most of this moment, Riot than answered ‘What if I told you that I fought on the side opposing Dassem, that I led the counter charge to repel his flanking manoeuvre?’
Echo took a stride backwards, reaching for his blade as he cried aloud ‘Crimson Guard!’
The two understudies reacted in near union, the bigger man of the two possibly faster as he drew two long knifes from his belt and rushed Riot, intent to get the killer blow with quick succession.
Riot was not idle as Echo responded backwards, and his colleagues sought forwards. Bringing his swords to hand, he parried the big man’s slices and responded with a thrust of his own, catching a blow against the Claw’s unprotected face. The Claw twisted at the last second, and instead of having the full width of the cutting edge impaling his eye, the sword sliced at the man’s temple, pulling free a large sliver of flesh. Blood sprayed, and the man fell backwards, his curses forming into cries of pain.
The second figure reacted slower, but already Riot could see that he had in his grips a long curved blade which was associated with Seven Cities, and a shorter, much nastier looking knife which was engraved with whirling lines of etched scoring.
Shifting his balance from one side to the other, Riot launched an attack of his own towards the man, allowing no time for him to gather his bearings to that of a formulated assault.
The Claw managed to turn aside the first few blows which Riot sent towards him, but was unprepared for the onslaught that was crafted against him. Stepping forward, Riot slide his sword up into the man’s stomach, plunging upwards so to allow for the tip to pierce the heart.
Pulling the blade free with the free flowing rush of blood and gore, Riot now ignored the falling Claw. Instead shaking the sword which had ended the man’s life, sending a cascade of gore scattering through the air.
The first Claw, the big man, reappeared before Riot, blood smearing his features from the wound which continued to run freely.
Silently, continuing in the same adopted calmness that had settled over him since he had first pulled free his weapons, Riot flowed into the next stage of attack, again dispelling the Claw’s attempts in defence. The second man fell in much the same manner as the first, the sigh of his last breath breaking free with unrestrained reaction.
Riot heaved inwards, allowing for his lungs to replenish his quickening body.
Only Echo stood before him, and upon the Claw Master’s face undiluted fear was sketched, associated with every small quiver which broke out around his thinning lips and wide apprehensive eyes.
Riot expected the Claw Master to simply open the imperial warren and disappear inside, fleeing from a fight that he had no hopes of surviving, but instead Echo cried aloud in frustration and attacked, launching himself forward in a maddening state of violence.
Riot swallowed his breath and reacted, moving in a passage of time which caused the Claw Master to appear as if he was in slow motion. Dodging Echo’s swords by simply sidestepping their swings, he brought both of his own blades around in a forceful swing, swiping their lengths down the back of Echo’s spine as he passed, severing the spinal cord with delicate precision.
Again blood flew, this time entwined by the sounds of the Claw Master screaming in anguish. The joint efforts of his momentum and the sudden lapse in his legs moving coherently were enough to send Echo tumbling to the ground. His screams cut short by the large wet smack of his face striking the cobbled street surface.
Riot allowed himself to slow, gathering his thoughts back to the routine of familiarity.
The sound of blood pumping through his ears was all consuming, yet he focused his core, allowing for his heart to slow, to return to its natural state of beating. The muscles of his arms felt tight, again the lack of lengthy training coming to the fore.
From the corner of his eye he caught movement. Turning he readied himself for the next engagement.

[Riot]

Comb had been sheltered across the way, opposite and behind from where the Claw confronted the stranger.
He had pursued the Claw ever since the Malazan assassin had broken away from following the stranger, leading Comb to Main Square and to the encounter that was now taking place yards away from him.
Comb had noticed Halfdan, Edge, and Cube from his secreted position, but had decided not to join them, afraid that any movement on his part would draw unwarranted attention. So he remained silently on the eastern edge of the Square, mere yards from a cowering figure who was crouching in the nearest corner.
Not bothering to notice who the figure was, he continued to watch on as the stranger spoke softly to the Claw.
Fidgeting, he wished that he could hear what was passing between them. Only by their stances could he make any assumptions. The Claw generated the impression of relaxed menace by their postures, spread outwards so to almost overwhelm the stranger by their mere presence.
The strangers own adopted bearing was easy to decipher, expressing by his carriage that he was anxious to leap forward and engage these strident men who opposed him.
Wetting his lips, Comb could feel that something was about to happen, moments before the man who he guessed to be the Claw Master repelled backwards and cried aloud ‘Crimson Guard!’
He convulsed with the exclaimed words, panicked by what it meant. He had no time to wonder as the Claw inferiors launched joint attacks against the stranger, one after the other.
The stranger responded quickly, yet he appeared to react with casual indulgence, seeming to knock aside the biggest of the Claw before dispatching the smallest in quick sequence.
Comb watched with mouth slowly opening, truly astounded by the strangers skills and ability. Feeling almost detached from his body, he watched as the stranger slaughtered the Claw member that Comb had been following for much of the morning.
Sending the Malazan assassin tumbling to the floor with his stomach weeping with its entrails, Comb gazed on as the stranger engaged the Claw Master himself.
He suddenly blinked, realising that it was over, trying desperately to fathom what he had just observed. The stranger had somehow darted around the Claw Master’s sweeping attack, appearing to materialised behind the Claw before launching his own attack against the exposed stern of the Claw.
Comb realised that the stranger was now alone, confronted by no-one. Unable to comprehend how the stranger had managed to defeat the three Claw with such ease, Comb felt a deep fissure of anger ignite within himself. The Claw were to be disposed of by Comb and his fellow colleagues, not by some fancy blade work of some unknown vagrant.
Feeling the embrace of this tainted responsibility which had been theirs to uphold, he found his hand reaching for his own sword, just as he broke free from his cover, running toward the stranger.
He heard a shout coming from the direction of his commander, but he was beyond such warnings, instead his mind blanketed by the sudden injustice which had been dealt their way by the stranger. The Crimson Guard were set the task of disposing the Claw, and that responsibility had been snatched from them, leaving the entire journey of reaching Evinor as a effort uncalled for.
He rushed forward due to the shame that was cast his way, as much for the injustice that settled on his soul. He rushed forward with sword pulled free, ready to strike its fine gleamed edge into the strangers flank, not caring to consider what abilities he had just witnessed being displayed from this vagabond.
The verge of his sword was only a foot away from connecting with the stranger, when he found himself almost spinning away, deflected aside by the strangers parry. Grunting in frustration, besieged by anger and running emotions, he leapt forward once more, lashing out with his sword.
Every strike he directed towards the long haired stranger was warded away, yet no effort was made back against his own self. The stranger was eluding his attacks but refusing to retaliate, instead fanning aside Comb’s attacks with the flat of his blade.
A red mist settled, blanketing Comb’s sight, overwhelming him with the condescension that was being directed his way by the strangers refusal to retaliate.
Roaring, increasing the speed of his blade work as he sought to break through the strangers elite defence, he lunged forward, believing that no-one could hope to avoid the wrath of his directed sword.
The stranger eased aside, seeming to slide to the edge of Comb’s perception. Over extended, Comb near lost his footing as he went forwards, managing at the last second to gain purchase to his equilibrium. Straightening, he began to turn, seeing at the last possible moment motion reaching towards him.
He attempted to react but was too slow, instead pain suddenly washed over him, followed quickly by the depths of engulfing darkness.

[Riot]

Riot stared down to the man who had assailed him, recognising him as one of the assembly of strangers who had been trailing him all morning. Inspecting his swords, making sure that they were unmarked from their brief exploits, he happily shelved them, please by their intact measurements.
Stepping closer to look down at the man he had just knocked unconscious, noting that his breaths were shallow but manageable, Riot leant closer, bending down to his knees so to appraise the unrecognisable figure.
A stirring edged at his mind, and complying to the need that itched at him, he touched at the man’s collar. Lifting back the fold of material, he saw the emblem that designated who this man worked for.
Repressing a laugh, allowing just for a snort to escape, he tilted his head as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
‘You’re recruiting rejects I see!’ he said to the man who stood over him.
‘Aye!’ Halfdan agreed, eyes squeezing partly shut due to the glare of the poaching sun.
Riot drew himself to his full height, still dwarfed compared to the large designated standing of the man who stood before him. To either side of Halfdan, stood two other members of the Crimson Guard, each man appearing tiny in companionship to their commander.
The man to Halfdan’s right made as if to move closer to the downed figure, but Riot raised a hand to halt him.
‘He’ll be fine!’ he stated ‘Just have a headache when he wakes up,’
The figure to Halfdan’s left was standing on the balls of his feet, his fingers touching lightly at his shelved weapons. The muscles around his mouth were flexing, and Riot could guess that his teeth were grinding together behind the cover of flesh and lips.
Riot shook his head, indicating that he was not in the mood to be pushed around any further.
Halfdan pressed a hand against the man’s chest before he made an attempt forward ‘Don’t bother, Cube!’ he stated, never allowing his eyes to leave Riot. Cube seemed angst to commit to such a command, yet he stepped backwards, probably hoping that distance would help aid the anger that was rebellion within him.
‘What are you doing here?’ Halfdan asked, his voice neutral, tone empty of any hint to what he was thinking.
Riot loathed the idea of fighting his former colleague, his former friend, yet he would if Halfdan pressed the need to do so.
‘I live here!’ he answered.
Halfdan nodded once, as if he could easily accept the response as spirited truth.
‘Sir?’ the man who Riot guessed to be a mage, gestured to his officer ‘Do you know this man?’
Halfdan appeared to consider the answer, and again Riot wondered what emotions were being bottled within the hulk of the man before him.
‘Don’t worry Edge!’ said Halfdan, reassuring the mage with his simple words.
Edge seemed anything but reassured, especially as Halfdan gestured for Riot to follow over towards the eastern corner of the square.
Riot ignored the other Crimson Guards, instead trailing after Halfdan as he stepped closer to a cover of shadows that was created from a close set building.
Coming to a halt, waiting as Riot came before him, Halfdan’s blocked emotions suddenly open, relaxing so that a smile was crafted upon his features.
‘Skinner would be ****ting bricks if he knew I was talking to you!’ Halfdan laughed, slapping Riot against the shoulder to express his pleasure.
‘Aye!’ Riot managed, side stepping due to the force behind Halfdan’s slap, a smile emerging on his own face as he accepted the man’s over familiar stroke.
‘I thought you’d be dead by know?’ Halfdan said.
‘Aye, me too!’ Riot agreed.
‘You hardly look any different, except for the hair and that bloody stupid beard!’ Halfdan joked, yet Riot could sense that the big man was more than surprised to find that Riot had barely changed since their last meeting.
He shrugged ‘I’m still bound to the Vow!’ he stated, as if that answered everything.
Halfdan shook his head ‘That shouldn’t be. You were cast out, deemed a traitor. You should be an old man by now!’
‘I feel old!’ Riot remarked, feeling the excess of stress that continued to linger within his frame from the fighting that had barely finished.
Halfdan suddenly looked serious, his features displaying no mirth ‘You betrayed the company!’ he said.
‘No!’ Riot explained, shaking his head as he answered ‘I betrayed Skinner, not the company, not the Vow, only Skinner,’
‘Was it worth it?’ Halfdan asked.
Again Riot shrugged, but this time he remained silent.
Halfdan sighed, his frame lifting slightly before lowering, appearing as if the weight of the world was balanced upon his shoulders.
‘By rights, I should have to kill any that are judged as traitors!’ Halfdan stated.
Riot drew himself up, heart beating a little faster as he wondered what action Halfdan was to take.
‘Only your name has been stricken from the Guards records. Its as if Pariah no longer exists,’ Halfdan continued.
‘He doesn’t,’ Riot replied ‘Pariah died after he got his revenge against Skinner. I went on for years without a name, not until I came here,’
‘Oh!’
‘Pariah’s dead,’ Riot explained ‘Only Riot remains!’
‘Riot?!’ again a smile resumed itself upon Halfdan’s lips.
‘Aye!’ Riot nodded, smirking at the adopted name that had been so easily accepted by himself as well as by those who had created it in the first place.
‘It suits you!’ Halfdan remarked.
‘Thanks!’ Riot acknowledged.
‘Sir!’ the Guard who Riot had noted was called Edge called over from his position ‘We cannot remain much longer,’ he warned ‘The local sentries will be here shortly, I’m surprised that their not here already!’
Halfdan raised a hand to acknowledge that he understood, but he made no attempt as if to move.
‘So why are you here?’ Riot asked.
Halfdan nodded towards the gathering of deceased Claw members ‘Here to take them out!’ he replied.
‘Too late, sorry!’ Riot professed.
Halfdan offered a shrug of his own ‘As long as their dead!’ he commented.
‘The Prince been receiving my messages?’ Riot asked.
‘What?’ Halfdan asked.
‘I’ve been sending reports to the Prince, informing you all of the number of men entering the continent, and their destinations,’ he stated.
Halfdan appeared stunned, yet he finally managed a response ‘It was you?’ he coughed out.
‘Aye,’ Riot nodded ‘Probably best if K’azz remains ignorant of the fact,’
Halfdan shook his head ‘Skinner would be cursing your name to the end of his days if he knew,’
Riot nodded ‘Aye, I know!’ he admitted.
Halfdan continued to express bemused fascination, before he asked ‘Is that how you’ve remained loyal to the Vow, by relaying this information to us?’
‘Yes!’
‘You bloody bastard!’ Halfdan said ‘Shouldn’t have let you go, shouldn’t have cast you out in the first place,’
‘Skinner’s too important to the Prince, he couldn’t very well allow me to go unpunished, not if he wanted to keep Skinner on his side,’ Riot explained.
Halfdan signalled with his head that Riot was right, but looked far from convinced that he felt happy about it.
Riot allowed for the silence between them both to linger before he asked a question that had been burning at him for so long,
‘Any word on my cousin?’ he asked.
‘Ironbar?’ Halfdan enquired, before hesitation beckoned his words ‘He’s missing,’ he finally replied, showing his frustration.
‘Sounds just like him,’ Riot commented.
‘Yes!’ Halfdan agreed, not knowing what to say to help comfort the former Crimson Guard.
Riot drew in a deep breath, wondering if his cousin was still alive, or if just another number of the Avowed had fallen to the layside in the effort of regaining D’Avore’s crown. He felt an empty space well up inside of himself, echoing out the frustration that he was unable to aid Ironbar.
The decision that he had come to earlier in the day rose freshly to mind, gleaming with a new sense of purpose.
Addressing his focus back to Halfdan he spoke,
‘Listen to me!’ he began, knowing that what he was about to say was of the utmost of importance ‘Believe me when I say that there is more important matters at hand than our continuous efforts against the Malazan’s.
‘An old enemy is about to rise, gathering to himself powers which if left unattended will crush everything that is important. There are no favourites in this coming war, enemies will have to become allies if there is to be an hope of repelling this invaders future assault,’
‘I don’t understa…’ Halfdan started to say before Riot over ruled him.
‘Please listen!’ he implored ‘Speak to the Prince, get him to question your ally Caladan Brood. Ask him why Burn sleeps, and you will get your answer,’
‘Brood?’ Halfdan expelled in surprise.
‘Trust me, please old friend!’ Riot pleaded ‘A enemy unlike any other is soon to arise, bringing about changes which will result in deaths in the millions if left to his devices. Already he is gathering to him those who are preparing for that time. We must begin ourselves if we have any chance of opposing him,’
Halfdan was clearly unsure what Riot was trying to explain, yet he attempted to understand what his former associate was getting across.
‘How do you know this?’ he asked.
Riot smiled, this time however it was born from a reflected sadness rather than from any joyous endeavour that had resulted from this unexpected reunion.
‘I’ve found a new employer,’ he stated ‘Someone who is preparing to challenge this old gods campaign against all of life itself,’
Halfdan’s forehead was creased in confusion, his understanding now being pushed to its limits ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘I’m returning to what I was trained for!’ Riot grinned, again sorrow filling his expression.
Taking a step backwards, almost pushing himself away from Halfdan, Riot called aloud with a clear and controlled voice ‘I accept your offer!’ he exclaimed ‘Take me now,’
Halfdan raised his hands to his face as a gash of spilling darkness seemed to revolve itself around Pariah; no Riot. Cloaking itself around the former Captain, the sheeted darkness pulsated before consuming him entirely, greedily devouring him with purpose.
From his position, Halfdan heard Edge’s exclamation of surprise from behind that rippling darkness. He also forced himself to watch as the black ink like darkness encircled his former colleague, Riot, and seemed to pull him backwards into the wound that appeared to spill out from the air itself.
A gust of discharged air blew over him, and with its flowing whisper of breeze, the darkness was gone; with it to Riot.
Halfdan remained motionless for perhaps ten seconds, before he moved forward, coming to stand where Riot had only just been himself.
‘What happened?’ Cube came running forward, joined there by Edge as well.
‘A warren!’ Halfdan muttered, not believing what he had just seen.
Edge appeared more dumb stricken that his commander, his mouth gapping with disbelief.
Halfdan turned to his Corporal ‘What warren was that?’ he demanded.
Edge snapped back to attention with the stern tone of his commander, his eyes blinking as he attempted to recognise the forces that had just swirled around the area.
‘It was Hood’s own!’ he uttered, managing to form the words even though his lips felt numb, almost lifeless due to the energy that had carried itself around them all.
‘Hood’s warren!’ Cube choked as he spoke.
Halfdan remained silent, his thoughts racing at what he had just witnessed. Riot, the newly established figure who had replaced the man who he had formally recognised as Pariah, had somehow struck a bargain with Hood, forming some form of alliance with the God.
He struggled to understand what this relationship meant, believing that Riot’s speech in regards to forming alliances with past enemies was crucial to comprehension.
Pariah in his past had never shown any devotion towards any God’s, if anything quite the opposite, as Halfdan could remember the occasions when Pariah had actually killed a couple of lower God’s. The notion of Pariah joining in force with a God seemed quite incredible, beyond belief.
Yet Riot had admitted that he had found a new employer, one who appeared committed to fighting whatever threat was not yet apparent to mortal kind. Hood’s evidential undertaking was clear, sending the cold hard truth that whatever Riot was now involved with, went beyond normal realms of conflict; instead to illustrate that God’s were willing to become involved.
‘We leaving!’ Halfdan informed his understudies ‘Now!’
Edge nodded, whilst Cube remained almost locked into position. Shock still etched into his features.
‘Come on!’ Edge pulled at the arm of Cube’s shirt ‘Help me lift Comb,’
Halfdan allowed Edge and Cube to retrieve the downed Comb, whislt remaining standing in the same position for which Riot had disappeared from. Looking up towards the sky, he came to the conclusion that he would speak to the Prince. He would admit to speaking to someone who was charged as a traitor to the Vow, and implore the Prince to question Brood in regards to the matters that Riot had spoken of.
He knew that Skinner would be more than upset by the announcement that Pariah was still alive, but Halfdan decided that Skinner was the least of problems, especially if Skinner decided that he wanted vengeance against the man that had nearly been successful in ending his life.
‘Oh Hood,’ Halfdan said aloud, a grin wide upon his lips ‘But you chose well, oh yes you did!’
Reflecting once more on Hood’s choice of employee, Halfdan snorted before following after his waiting colleagues.

[Riot]

The enticement of D’riss was all consuming, circling around him with its persistence, sparkling with a sensation that had never developed him before. Like a tsunami it roared over him, before crashing down, flinging his senses and mind aside, scattering his will throughout the nexus of its motivational complexity.
Still curled up in the corner of the Main Square, Sheep was numb to the irresistible power of D’riss, finding that he was having to shut himself away from its dominating effects, realising that its eventful authority was resultant to the fear which had gripped him since the appearance of the Claw and the confrontation that had concluded with Riot slaying them in order of credibility.
The sheer power of D’riss had suddenly flooded through him as the last Claw, the master himself, had fallen.
Sheep was still amazed by how such intensity had come to saturate him, believing that such strength was beyond his reserves.
His attempts at capturing D’riss had begun as usual, sliding away when he tried to catch hold of its dry heaving way. Only when Riot began his elimination of the Claw did Sheep find the warren developing him, seeming to glide over him as he watched in amazement at Riot’s prowess.
Amazement soon turned to incomprehension as he realised that D’riss was circling through him, almost willing him to fling its conscious state into the mix before him, wanting to release the stock of power that burned through the marrow of his bones. Gritting his teeth, he had found his sight falling toward a small group of men standing at the Squares western corner. One man in particular was staring at him, and suddenly from this figure, Sheep recognised the rising of Serc, the warren which was opposed to his own, causing the stability of his wards to flounder, to sudden begin to shake, loosing all control as it repelled at the other mage’s augmented warren.
‘****!’ he had whined in silence, teeth shaking in his mouth due to the resonance of power that echoed around him.
Again he found his attention torn free from D’riss derisive attempts at dominating him, finding that the appearance of another man attacking Riot was a timely diversion. Concentrating upon Riots defence and the abrupt manner in which he side stepped the foreign attacker before hammering a fist into the man’s skull, Sheep felt as if D’riss was again attempting to catch his observation.
Pushing out his breath, he also pushed forward his senses, fancying that D’riss was sent soaring away from him. Sent away from his weary frame, sweeping away as a wave sent back towards the position of low tide. Allowing for him to regain some form of familiarity, returning to the natural state of a lowly mage with no real ability in the way of enchantments, Sheep took the brief. opportunity to stare up from his location, and to confront the evidence that was playing out before him.
D’riss was forgotten as he watched the altercation between Riot and the biggest of the three strangers. He heard every word that was passed between the two figures, mouth widening with every discourse that passed between the two men.
Riot was in truth a Crimson Guard, or at least a former member of the elite mercenary unit which’s creation was formed in direct opposition to the Malazan empire and its spreading domain.
Sheep was shaken to the core, his inner self coiling down further into itself, trying to distance its centre from the revelations that were being presented.
Silently he observed, afraid that the slightest acts of motion on his behalf would result in catching Riot’s and the other man’s joint attention. He was too afraid to draw breath, instead his face turning purple with the lack of air that his deprived lungs demanded to inflate their beings.
He listened to everything that the two men said, finding that Riot’s explanation was beyond belief; or at least beyond his lowly understanding.
Finally, as the demands for air grew to great, his sight beginning to buckle down with the lack of breathable nourishment, he was forced to cough outwards, drawing in great mouthfuls of air as Riot stepped backwards and called aloud ‘I accept your offer! Take me now!’
Sheep felt the warren opening before he actually saw the spillage of darkness creep forward from the weeping wound which split the air. Repelling backwards, instinctively knowing that everyone else in the gathered area would be committed to the responding sight, Sheep watched on with amazement as Riot, the former bodyguard, the former Crimson Guard, was coiled by the rich coating blackness, sweeping him up and pulling him back into the tear.
Riot was gone, pulled into that warren by a God that had craved his skills.
Sheep’s mind was buzzing, flying through suggestions with such a speed that he was oblivious to the remaining Crimson Guard, ignoring them as they collected their downed man and quickly disappeared from Main Square.
He recognised the warren, knowing that Hood had just gathered Riot up into his realm. He also suddenly recognised where he had perceived the warren only recently, damning himself for not realising it sooner.
It was the same warren that had opened a week past, back at the mines of the Maggy Hills, from under them in fact. After Riot had defeated the Forkrul Assail, Sheep had felt a warren opening, but his wide eyed stupid approach had not recognised what associating the warren had been related to. Instead his fear had consumed him, overbearing his rationalisation, forcing him to witness the warren but to not truly understand which aspect had lingered through it.
Only now, barely seconds after its close formation was he able to recognise what he had sensed. Hood had visited Riot under the mound of the Hills, had in fact offered him a proposal, a proposal which Sheep was unable to comprehend, but sensed that it was important, far more important than he could ever hope to understand.
Caught up by his induced turmoil, Sheep was unaware of a approaching figure, not until a shadow blocked out the remainder of the sun that had been brought his way did he break free of his persistent thoughts.
Looking upwards, afraid that the Crimson Guard had crept back to steal the life of the only person to witness their advent appearance. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Prime was standing over him.
‘Prime?’ he asked in surprise, lacking in belief that she was truly there.
Prime raised an eyebrow as she stared down to him, saying nothing as she observed his position.
Suddenly realising that he was still lingering in the dirt and wetness that caked the ground, Sheep brought himself to his feet, taking hold of the offered hand that Prime brought out before him.
‘Thanks!’ he acknowledged, face red as he attempted to brush aside the worst of the froth and residue that encrusted his robes.
Prime remained silent, instead turning so that she allowed Sheep to witness the gathered crowd that now encircled Main Square and the bodies of the Claw Master and his colleagues.
‘Oh!’ was Sheep’s only statement as he saw a large contingence of Evinor’s guards, including the bloated figure of D’more himself standing over the corpses that littered the road.
Still Prime remained silent beside him, her stance almost rigid as she stood there.
Trying to comprehend everything that had been happening to him over the last week, Sheep felt a tug at the core of his being, and pushing aside the conflict that assaulted him over these issues. Instead, noticing Prime’s quiet distress he asked,
‘What’s the matter?’ reaching forward, he gently touched at her arm, feeling the knotted muscles beneath the flesh bunched into cords.
Turning her head, Sheep was surprised to see tears in her eyes, waiting to drop as she attempted to hold in her reserve.
‘I’m being posted out of Evinor!’ she stated, her voice firm, but underlined by running emotions which she refused to voice.
‘What?’ Sheep expelled, forgetting everything else in a instance ‘Where too?’ he asked, fearing that she would be sent southwards to the continuous war that seemed to rile between the Empire and the associated forces of Caladan Brood and his impressive host.
‘Seven Cities!’ she announced, head tilting down at the admission.
Again Sheep felt his head repelling backwards, as if his young lover had suddenly slapped him rather than speaking aloud two simply words.
‘But that’s another continent away!’ he managed, realising now why she appeared so tearful.
Prime was part of the Malazan forces, integrated into the regime of warfare since she joined the army from her homeland of Falar. Her life was not her own whilst under the command of the empire, instead she would be shipped around from one war to another, until a time came when she either survived the coming of retirement, or she…
He shuddered with the thought, not able to contemplate what the other option left open to her was. Again Hood sprung to mind, and he damned himself for thinking that way.
Gritting his teeth, knowing that there was no way that Prime could not be transferred to Seven Cities, he came to a decision.
Looking steadily at Prime, loving the way in which the parallel lines of sunlight seemed to ignite the radiance of her hair, he asked ‘When do we leave?’
Prime lifted her face, tears streaking down her cheeks as she looked back at him.
‘What?’ she finally managed, stuttering as she hardly believed what she had heard.
‘I just want to know when we are leaving?’ he again asked, making sure that he exaggerated the use of the word we.
A smile broke out on Prime’s mouth, a smile which thanked Sheep for the commitment that he was making.
‘I always thought that I would make a good Private!’ he smiled back, happy as she sniggered at his declaration.
Movement from the centre of the Square caught his attention, and looking over, he could see D’more, Turmoil, and a increasing number of guards making their way over to his position.
‘Oh Hood!’ he stated, his thoughts returning to Riot and to whatever future was held for the former bodyguard. Smiling as he imagined Hood regretting his decision in making Riot a employee, Sheep wondered if he would ever see the man again.
‘Lets get this over and done with!’ he decided, stepping forward with Prime to explain away the strange events of the day.

The End

[Riot]

that's your lot, hope you enjoyed it as much as i did writing it.
please leave any feed back, good and bad. i would like to hear both.

maybe i write some more, i've already got another idea on the horizon, but we'll wait and see!

[Limaris]

Very detailed and a pleasure to read. I see that the RPG community is rather small here...which is a shame. I wonder would you like to start an RP stort involving the both of us?

[Lord Gordonis]

Very good indeed, would like to read more, dammit give me more!!!! lol, cant wit for the next story!!

[Riot]

i've started the next story, will begin to post sometime soon!

[Dust of Dreams]

Amusing how things creep up on us and how we fall away. I read some of the story due to limited time and it was very entertaining.