By Ian C. Esslemont
The small island of Malaz and its urban gave the nice empire its identify, yet now it's little greater than a sleepy, backwater port. this night, in spite of the fact that, issues are diverse. this night town is on part, a hive of moved quickly, occasionally violent job; its voters bustle approximately, barring doorways, shuttering home windows, warding off any stranger’s stare. simply because this night there's to be a convergence, the once-in-a-generation visual appeal of a Shadow Moon – an celebration that threatens the great humans of Malaz with demon hounds and different, darker issues … It used to be additionally prophesied that tonight may witness the go back of Emperor Kellanved, and there are these ready to do whatever to avoid this taking place. As factions in the higher Empire draw up conflict traces over the imperial throne, the Shadow Moon summons a much more old and effective presence for an all-out attack upon the island. Witnessing those cataclysmic occasions are Kiska, a tender lady who yearns to escape the restrictions of the town, and mood, a grizzled, battle-weary veteran who seeks just to get away his earlier. each one is to play an element in a clash that may not in simple terms be certain the destiny of Malaz urban, but in addition of the realm past … Drawing on occasions touched on within the prologue of Steven Erikson’s landmark fable Gardens of the Moon, evening of Knives is a momentous bankruptcy within the unfolding tale of the terribly imagined global of Malaz.
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Additional info for Night of Knives: A Novel of the Malazan Empire
Murl was reminded of blue gamen whales leaping before the prow. Another broached the surface further out. Then another. They rode the waves abreast of Rheni’s Dream yet seemed oblivious to it. Were they men or the ancient Jaghut race, as some claimed? He watched feeling oddly detached, as if this were all happening to someone else. A crewman, Larl, steadied himself at the railing and raised a crossbow at the nearest Rider. The quarrel shot wildly astray. Murl shook his head – what was the use? They were dead already.
But the one afore, I was just a lad, near fifty years ago. The pits of the shadows open up. Damned souls escape and new ones get caught. Devils run amok through the streets. I heard ’em. ’ He jabbed the pipe-stem against Temper’s chest.
There was nothing they could do. Then, remembering the sternchaser scorpion, he tore himself from the mast and lurched sternward. Lack-eye still stood rigid at the wheel, arms wide, staring ahead. Murl wrapped one numbed arm around the pedestalled weapon and seized the crank. The iron bit at his flesh as if red-hot, tearing patches of skin from his palm as he fought the mechanism. ’ Murl called to Lack-eye. Tears froze in his eyes, blinding him. The scorpion wouldn’t budge. He pulled his hand free of the searing iron.