Kellanved's Reach

Liss straightened among the rags heaped over her shoulders, her mocking smile falling, and Silk was momentarily taken aback to see that she was even taller than he – and he was considered a rather tall fellow. ‘I see a storm approaching, Silk. One you may not weather well.’

‘Really? A storm? You can’t do better than that? A storm?’ He laughed, shaking his head. ‘Any cheap Dragons Deck reader on any street corner could do better than that! You do realize that’s a cliché, don’t you?’ He slapped at the drying mud marring his fine trousers. ‘I can’t believe you dragged me here for this.’

The old hag’s pinched mouth drew down and she cut a hand through the air as if to say, Very well! ‘I see a time of great upheaval approaching. One that may cost you in particular a great deal.’ She cocked a brow. ‘Dismiss that – if you will.’

Silk crossed his arms. ‘Fine. Brass tacks, as they say. What sort of upheaval?’

The old witch turned away, hunching once more. She probed the mud before her. ‘Ancient,’ she murmured. ‘Very ancient. That is all I can say, to my peril.’

‘Peril? You mean whatever this is – it threatens even you?’

She turned upon him, suddenly, peering about. ‘Oh yes. Everyone. Even the Elders. None can escape this.’

Despite his scepticism, Silk retreated a short distance from the woman. ‘Elders? You mean, even the … Tiste?’

The hag shambled off. ‘I can say no more. It may come. Beware. That is all I dare say.’

Silk remained – ankle-deep in the muck – watching the old witch as she wandered off. Madness perhaps? A sad need for attention? Nothing more? Or so much more than that? Who could say?

He set his hands to his hips and let out a great breath, nodding to himself.

Fine! Time to talk to Ho …

Chapter 1

Dancer slipped silently into the main reception hall of Mock’s Hold and peered round. It was night and only the torches in their sconces lit the broad empty chamber. Turning, he nodded to Surly and indicated the stairs. ‘He’s in his rooms,’ he mouthed as quietly as possible.

Surly, a Napan woman bearing the characteristic blue hue of those isles’ natives, turned to the two men hanging back, also Napans. Cartheron Crust and Urko Crust were brothers, but as unalike as night and day, since Cartheron stood short and wiry while Urko bulked as wide as an ox. ‘No one comes down or up,’ she ordered.

Cartheron nodded, while his brother smacked one meaty fist into the other palm. Dancer and Surly glared at the loud slap of flesh and he grimaced, muttering, ‘Sorry.’

Surly started up. Her bare feet were silent on the polished stone. Dancer glided with her almost as if he were floating up the steps. Together, they reached one particular door in the hall and took up positions to either side.

They nodded in unison, then Dancer took the latch and threw open the door. Both stormed into the chamber.

An aged, dark-skinned Dal Hon native snorted at the interruption, feet up on a desk, arms crossed over his paunch. He blinked, surprised, then frowned his displeasure. ‘So,’ he announced, ‘it has come to this.’

‘You leave us no choice, Kellanved,’ Dancer answered. ‘If you cooperate we’ll make it quick.’

The wizened elder twisted up his lips and turned his face away. He crossed his arms. ‘Never. You wouldn’t dare.’

With a gesture as graceful as his name, Dancer invited Surly forward. She leaned up against Kellanved’s desk. Crossing her arms, she cleared her throat and began, ‘Let me see … Nom Purge remains in perpetual warfare with Quon Tali. Dal Hon is currently probing a weakened Itko Kan’s borders. The Seti continue to attack anyone other than travellers who enters the central plains. The War Marshal of the Bloorian League, in secret connivance with Unta, is steadily isolating Gris from its surrounding principates and allies, while the city state of Cawn sells arms and provides mercenaries to all sides.’

The wrinkled ancient had pressed his hands to his ears and was shaking his head. ‘No! Stop this horrible babble – you’re killing me!’

‘Then how are we to proceed?’ Dancer demanded. ‘Tell us what you have in mind. For once.’

‘Never! The element of surprise …’

‘Surprise our enemies,’ Dancer pleaded. ‘Not us!’ He nodded for the woman to continue. ‘Surly here has spent a great deal of time thinking about Nap.’

The ancient mage rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, please. Who cares about Nap now? Dancer, a much more profound errand beckons …’

The assassin glared a warning. ‘Hear her out, at the least.’

Kellanved groaned and let his head fall to the desk.

Ignoring this, Surly went on, ‘We should approach Dal Hon for an agreement exempting their shores and merchants from all attacks. We could ask for twenty ships with crews – or funding to the equivalent. For if we take Nap we will be the sole raiders of the Southern Seas. And they know this.’

Kellanved’s head snapped up. ‘We? What is this we business?’ He eyed Dancer narrowly.