‘Careful,’ a voice murmured beside Kalam.
He turned to see a tall, hooded and cloaked figure standing a few paces away, flanked by two Hounds. Cotillion, and his favoured two, Rood and Blind. The beasts sat on their scarred haunches, lurid eyes-seeing and unseeing-on the portal.
‘Why should I be careful?’ the assassin asked.
‘Oh, the shadows at the gate. They’ve lost their masters… but anyone will do.’
‘So this gate is sealed?’
The hooded head slowly turned. ‘Dear Kalam, is this a flight from our realm? How… ignoble.’
‘I said nothing to suggest-’
‘Then why does your shadow stretch so yearningly forward?’
Kalam glanced down at it, then scowled. ‘How should I know? Perhaps it considers its chances better in yonder mob.’
‘Chances?’
‘For excitement.’
‘Ah. Chafing, are you? I would never have guessed.’
‘Liar,’ Kalam said. ‘Minala has banished me. But you already know that, which is why you’ve come to find me.’
‘I am the Patron of Assassins,’ Cotillion said. ‘I do not mediate marital disputes.’
‘Depends on how fierce they get, doesn’t it?’
‘Are you ready to kill each other, then?’
‘No. I was only making a point.’
‘Which was?’
‘What are you doing here, Cotillion?’
The god was silent for a long moment. ‘I have often wondered,’ he finally said, ‘why it is that you, an assassin, offer no obeisance to your patron.’
Kalam’s brows rose. ‘Since when have you expected it? Hood take us, Cotillion, if it was fanatical worshippers you hungered for, you should never have looked to assassins. By our very natures, we’re antithetical to the notion of subservience-as if you weren’t already aware of that.’ His voice trailed off, and he turned to study the shadow-wreathed figure standing beside him. ‘Mind you, you stood at Kellanved’s side, through to the end. Dancer, it seems, knew both loyalty and servitude…’
‘Servitude?’ There was a hint of a smile in the tone.
‘Mere expedience? That seems difficult to countenance, given all that the two of you went through. Out with it, Cotillion, what is it you’re asking?’
‘Was I asking something?’
‘You want me to… serve you, as would a minion his god. Some probably disreputable mission. You need me for something, only you’ve never learned how to ask .’
Rood slowly rose from his haunches, then stretched, long and languorous. The massive head then swung round, lambent eyes settling on Kalam.
‘The Hounds are troubled,’ Cotillion murmured. ‘I can tell,’ the assassin replied drily.
‘I have certain tasks before me,’ the god continued, ‘that will consume much of my time for the near future. Whilst at the same time, certain other… activities… must be undertaken. It is one thing to find a loyal subject, but another entirely to find one conveniently positioned, as it were, to be of practical use-’
Kalam barked a laugh. ‘You went fishing for faithful servants and found your subjects wanting.’
‘We could argue interpretation all day,’ Cotillion drawled.
There was a detectable irony in the god’s voice that pleased Kalam. In spite of his wariness, he admitted that he actually liked Cotillion. Uncle Cotillion, as the child Panek called him. Certainly, between the Patron of Assassins and Shadowthrone, only the former seemed to possess any shred of self-examination-and thus was actually capable of being humbled. Even if the likelihood was in truth remote. ‘Agreed,’ Kalam replied. ‘Very well, Minala has no interest in seeing my pretty face for a time. Leaving me free, more or less-’
‘And without a roof over your head.’
‘Without a roof over my head, aye. Fortunately it never seems to rain in your realm.’
‘Ah,’ Cotillion murmured, ‘ my realm.’
Kalam studied Rood. The beast had not relinquished its steady stare. The assassin was growing nervous under that unwavering attention. ‘Is your claim-yours and Shadowthrone’s-being contested?’
‘Difficult to answer,’ Cotillion murmured. ‘There have been… trembles. Agitation…’
‘As you said, the Hounds are troubled.’
‘They are indeed.’
‘You wish to know more of your potential enemy.’
‘We would.’