Free Stonewielder by Ian C. Esslemont Page B

go.’
    ‘No one’s after me.’
    ‘Then what are you doing here?’
    ‘I’m here because—’ A small sound, the scuff of a foot on sand, turned Kyle’s head. Four figures emerged from the gloom of the entrance tunnel. All were dressed alike in dark leathers and bore two blades at their sides, one long, one short. Kyle straightened, taking up the nearest weapon as he did so, a sturdy heavy-bladed cutlass. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Whoever you are,’ one answered, waving him away, ‘stand aside.’
    The accent was not Malazan. It didn’t resemble any accent Kyle had ever heard in all his travels. At the voice, however, Orjin’s head snapped up, and he said to Kyle, his words suddenly stone-cold sober, ‘Go, now. Leave us.’
    ‘Go? Who are these guys? Hired killers?’
    ‘Killers, yes.’ Orjin stood, gathering up a long slim blade in each hand. ‘But not for gold or treasure – hey, Cullel?’ A gleaming bright hungry grin from the spokesman answered Orjin. ‘You kill for something else, don’t you? For religious faith alone.’
    ‘We exterminate heretics,’ Cullel assented, his voice a low purr. The four slowly spread out, walking the perimeter of the practice floor.
    ‘Where in the Abyss are these lunatics from?’ Kyle demanded.
    ‘They are Korelri. Veterans of the Stormwall. They’ve been given special dispensation to hunt me down. Yes, Cullel?’
    ‘Hunt you down?’ Kyle asked.
    Orjin shifted to put his back to Kyle’s. ‘Yes.’
    ‘But I thought the Malazans wanted you.’
    ‘Ah … well … them too.’
    ‘Wonderful.’
    The four now occupied each of the sides of the practice yard. As one they drew their weapons, the long and the short blades.
    ‘Get rid of that and use your fancy blade,’ Orjin told Kyle.
    ‘I … don’t have it.’
    ‘You don’t—’ Orjin sent an exasperated look over his shoulder. ‘Why in the Abyss not?’
    ‘Gentlemen …’ Cullel called softly.
    ‘It was stolen from my room.’
    ‘ Stolen? ’
    ‘Gentlemen!’
    ‘Well, we’re in a right fix now, thanks to you,’ Orjin grumbled.
    ‘Thank you,’ Cullel said. ‘Now, before we execute our duty it is my obligation to inform you, Greymane, that you have been tried in absentia by the High Council of the Chosen, Defenders of the Lands of Korel and All Greater Fist and Beyond, and have been found guilty of making pacts with the enemy. And that you did enter into said pacts and covenants with the daemonic Riders wilfully, and of your own cognizance.’
    ‘ Pacts? ’ Kyle whispered to Orjin.
    The man gave a beefy shrug of acquiescence. ‘I talked to them.’
    ‘Them – the Riders? You really cut a deal with the Stormriders? ’
    ‘Gentlemen! Decorum, if you please. The discharge of justice is a solemn responsibility.’
    ‘Justice?’ Kyle barked, offended by the idea. ‘You’re damned up yourself, aren’t you?’
    Distaste twisted the man’s blade-narrow face. ‘Very well. Judgement has been delivered. And now, the sentence …’ He nodded to his fellows.
    They advanced together, blades raised. So much for justice, Kyle decided – four against two. Entering the moonlight, the four Korelri suddenly blazed as the slanting rays revealed that their armour, fittings and scabbards were all studded and filigreed with thin curving traceries of the finest silver.
    It chanced that Kyle faced Cullel. Shifting his sandalled foot, Kyle kicked a scarf of sand for cover and parried the other Korelri. Instantly, he knew he faced the best swordsmen he’d ever met. He could barely deflect their attacks. Light cuts welled blood on hisforearms. A thrust tore into his thigh and he almost fell. They even worked as a team: he could only watch while they coordinated their attacks to draw him out and expose his side – Wind take it! There is nothing I can do! He sensed Orjin, behind, going down to one knee. Hit already?
    Then Greymane was up and the two swordsmen facing Kyle flinched, seeing something beyond him. One