Kalam released a very soft sigh. Another dubious claim to fame for Malaz City: the Mahzan ratter, bred for its fearless insanity. There was no predicting what the dog would do once it had decided its meal was done. It might lick his hand. It might bite his nose off.

He watched it sniff at the mangled meat between its paws, then gobble it up, chewing overlong as it considered Kalam. Then it ate the rat’s tail, choking briefly – the sound barely a whisper – before managing to swallow its length.

The ratter licked its forepaws, rose into a sitting position, ducked its head to lick elsewhere, then stood facing the bleeding assassin.

The barking exploded in the night air, a frenzy that had the ratter bouncing around with the effort.

Kalam leapt up onto the balcony rail. A blur of motion darted beneath him, down in the alley. He plunged straight for it, the throwing knife in his left hand.

Even as he dropped through the air, he was sure he was finished. His lone hunter had found allies – another entire Hand.

Sorcery flared upward to strike Kalam like a massive fist. The knife flew from nerveless fingers. Twisting, his trajectory knocked awry by the mage’s attack, he missed his target and struck the cobbles hard on his left side.

The maniacal barking overhead continued unabated.

Kalam’s intended target charged him, blades flashing. He drew his legs up and kicked out, but the man slipped past with a deft motion. The knife blade scored against Kalam’s ribs on either side. The hunter’s forehead cracked against his nose. Light exploded behind the assassin’s eyes.

A moment later, as the hunter reared back, straddling Kalam, and raised both knives, a snarling black bundle landed on the man’s head. He shrieked as razorlike, overlong canines ripped open one side of his face.

Kalam caught one wrist, snapped it and pulled the knife from the spasming hand.

The hunter was desperately stabbing at the ratter with the other knife, without much luck, then he threw the weapon away and reached for the writhing dog.

Kalam sank his knife into the hunter’s heart.

Pushing the body aside, he staggered upright – to find himself surrounded.

‘You can call your dog off, Kalam,’ a woman said.

He glanced down at the animal – it hadn’t slowed. Blood spattered the cobbles around the corpse’s head and neck.

‘Alas,’ Kalam growled. ‘Not mine ... though I wish I had a hundred of the beasts.’ The pain of his shattered nose throbbed. Tears streamed from his eyes, joining the flow of blood dripping from his lips and chin.

‘Oh, for Hood’s sake!’ The woman turned to one of her hunters. ‘Kill the damned thing—’