Kellanved's Reach

This disruption of the cult of D’rek, for example; were there whispers or vague rumours of similar upheavals among cults in other lands? The priests of Hood, say, or the Enchantress? Poliel? Or any other god or goddess? The phenomenon troubled him for reasons he could not yet firm up in his mind.

So it was that he entered, tapping a finger to his lips, his mind elsewhere, not paying particular attention to the common room until a gruff voice called out, ‘Hey, skinny – you work for the Dal Hon mage, Kellanved?’

He paused, blinking, drawing his mind in from its wanderings, and glanced over to see a very squat, sun-darkened older man gesturing at him from a table. He drew himself up to his full height and peered down his nose at the bald sweaty fellow. ‘And you are …?’

‘Fucking irritated to be kept waiting like this, kid.’

‘How very unfortunate for you.’

A broad, frog-like smile cracked the man’s face and he pushed back his chair to cross his thick, muscular arms. ‘No. Unfortunate for you, ’cause I was invited by Kellanved to join him here. So, my question to you is … who the fuck are you?’

Though quite taken aback, Tayschrenn controlled his features; he glanced about the common room and saw several of their Malazan hires lounging about, all armed, and all eyeing this stranger.

‘I have been asked to organize a mage corps,’ he answered. ‘And so I must ask again. You are …?’

The fellow’s dark gaze moved about the room also, his smile becoming, if anything, even more evil. ‘Oh, I see. You’re organizing a mage corps, are you? Well, we’ll see about that. Name’s Hairlock, and I’ve already seen some action with your Dal Hon friend. Up north. Seven Cities way.’ He hooked his thumbs at his tight belt. ‘So maybe I’ll just hang about till he shows up.’

Tayschrenn lifted a brow. ‘I was unaware that Kellanved had been to Seven Cities.’

The mage – for it was clear to Tayschrenn that this fellow was a fairly powerful mage – deliberately turned away to peer out of the dimpled glass of a slit window. ‘Oh, he gets around, he does. You’d be surprised.’

Privately, Tayschrenn was coming to the conclusion that nothing involving that mage of Meanas ought to surprise him at all; yet he shrugged. ‘As you please. We are recruiting, of course. Our aim is to place a talent with every military unit.’

The fellow barked a harsh laugh. ‘Slog through muck and dust surrounded by a pack of dimwitted knuckleheads? No thank you. Not for this mother’s son.’

Tayschrenn waved his dismissal. ‘Very well. We need people who aren’t afraid of a little discomfort,’ and he turned away.

A Malazan guard at the stairs motioned to him and he stepped close. ‘Yes?’

‘She wants to see you.’

He nodded and started up the stairs. He allowed himself one quick glance back to see Hairlock scowling savagely as he stared out the window.

At the top he knocked on the door to what was once Kellanved’s office, but had since been taken over by Surly as her headquarters; like him, she found the Hold too … high profile.

The door opened and he faced two guards in blackened leather armour. A more divergent pair one would be hard-pressed to find: a Dal Hon woman, surprisingly tall, with extraordinarily long thin arms; her partner, a man of swarthy shading, perhaps of south Itko Kan, squat, bearded and barrel-shaped. Yet both shared the same flat evaluative gaze as they studied him in silence.

Tayschrenn couldn’t remember having seen either of them before. But then, he wasn’t around much.

‘Let him in,’ spoke a hidden Surly from somewhere further within.

The two parted, hands on the knives at their belts. Curious, Tayschrenn also noted the glint of identical brooches at their chests: silver tokens that resembled birds’ feet. Some sort of order, or brotherhood?

Beyond, Surly stood, chin in one hand, peering down at a swath of papers spread out on the hardwood floor before her. Two aides, or scribes, knelt before her, arranging the pages. Seeing him enter, the two hurriedly turned each sheet face down.

He glimpsed copious notes and numerous long lists. The blue-hued Napan woman turned to him, rubbing her eyes, which shone bloodshot and bruised.

‘You appear to be in need of rest,’ he told her.

A half-smile ghosted her lips. ‘Ever the smooth flatterer and courtier, Tayschrenn.’ She added, musingly, ‘Rather like me,’ then, more forcefully, ‘thank you for coming. How goes the recruitment?’

‘It proceeds.’ He glanced to the guards. ‘As yours appears to be. Where are your old crew? Urko? Tocaras?’

‘They are far too busy these days. Urko is off raiding the coast, as is Tocaras.’

‘Raiding? I thought they were preparing for the—’ He caught himself before saying anything specific aloud, even here, and finished, ‘ah, the attack.’

The lean woman nodded, gestured for the scribes to turn back the pages, and resumed her study. ‘They are. We need weapons, stores, supplies. Raiding is the quickest way to amass them.’

‘Ah. I see.’ He waved to the papers. ‘And these?’