Paran stiffened. «Oponn?» The Twins, sister and brother, the Twins of Chance. He who pushes, she who pulls. Have they been in my dreams? Voices, mention of my: sword. He was still for a moment, then he strode over to the dresser. On it lay his sheathed sword. He laid a hand on the grip. «I purchased this sword three years ago, though its first use came just a few nights past-against the dog.»
«You recall that?»
Something in Tattersail's voice brought him around. In her eyes he now saw fear. She made no attempt to hide it. He nodded. «Yet I named the weapon the day I bought it.»
«The name?»
Paran's grin was ghastly. «Chance.»
«The pattern has been long in the weaving,» Tattersail said, closing her eyes and sighing. «Though I suspect even Oponn could not have imagined your blade tasting its first blood on a Hound of Shadow.»
Paran closed his eyes, then he sighed. «The dog was a Hound.»
She looked at him and nodded. «You've met Hairlock?»
«I have.»
«Beware him,» Tattersail said. «It was his unleashing of a Warren of Chaos that left me fevered. If Warrens are indeed structured, then Hairlock's is diametrically opposed to mine. He's mad, Captain, and he vowed to kill you.»
Paran strapped on his sword. «What's his role in all of this?»
«I'm not sure,» Tattersail said.
That sounded like a lie, but Paran let it pass. «He was coming in nightly to check on your progress,» he said. «But I haven't seen him the past two nights.»
«How many days have I been out?»
«Six, I think. I'm no more certain of time's passage than you are, I'm afraid.» He strode to the door. «All I know is, I can't just hide here for ever.»
«Wait!»
Paran smiled. «Very well.» He faced her again. «Tell me why shouldn't I leave?»
The sorceress hesitated, then spoke. «I still need you here,» she said.
«Why?»
«It's not me that Hairlock's afraid of,» she answered, seeming to find the words difficult. «It's you-your sword-that's kept me alive. He saw what you managed to do to the Hound.»
«Damn,» he hissed. Though essentially still a stranger to him, she'd reached through to him with her admission. He tried to fight the compassion welling up inside him. He told himself that his mission overrode all other concerns, that he'd repaid his debt to her, if ever there was one, that she hadn't given him all the reasons he suspected existed for his staying hidden, meaning she didn't trust him-he told himself all these things, but none of it was enough.
«If you go,» she said, «Hairlock will kill me.»
«What of the wards about you?» he demanded, almost desperately. «Hairlock said you've wards about you.»
Tattersail's smile was drawn. «You think he'd just come right out and tell you how dangerous you really are? Wards?» She laughed. «I've barely the strength to sit straight. If I attempted to open my Warren in this state the power would consume me, burn me to ashes. Hairlock wants you kept in the dark-about everything. The puppet lied.»
Even this rang like a half-truth in Paran's ears. But there was enough there that made sense, that gave reason to Hairlock's hatred of him, and the puppet's obvious fear. The greater deceit would come from Hairlock, not Tattersail, or so he believed, though there was little to support that belief-only: at least Tattersail was human. He sighed. «Sooner or later,» he said, unclipping his sword belt and returning it to the dresser, «You and I will have to cut past all this misleading game-playing. Oponn or no, we've a common enemy.»
Tattersail sighed. «Thank you. Captain Paran?»
He eyed her warily. «What?»
She smiled. «It is good to meet you.»
He scowled. She was at it again.
«This seems an unhappy army,» Lorn said, as they waited outside Pale's north gate. One of the guards had entered the city in search of another horse, while the remaining three stood muttering a short distance away.
Toc the Younger had dismounted. He moved close to his horse and said, «It is, Adjunct. Very unhappy. Along with the dismantling of the Second and Sixth Armies came a shuffling of commands. Nobody's where they were before, right down to the greenest recruit. Squads split up everywhere. And now there's the rumour that the Bridgeburners are going to be retired.» He glanced over at the three marines, saw their hard eyes on him and the Adjunct. «People around here don't like that,» he said quietly.
Lorn leaned back in her saddle. The pain in her shoulder had become a steady throb, and she was glad the journey was done-at least for the time being. They'd seen nothing of the T'lan Imass since the barrow, though she often sensed his presence, in the dusty wind, beneath the plain's cracked pan. While in the company of Toc the Younger she'd sensed the restless anger churning among the Malazan forces on this continent.
In Pale, ten thousand soldiers crowded the edge of revolt, the spies among them brutally removed, awaiting only High Fist Dujek's word.
And the High Mage Tayschrenn wasn't easing the situation by openly countermanding Dujek's instructions to his officers. Yet what troubled the Adjunct the most was this vague tale of a Hound of Shadow doing battle with the 2nd's last cadre mage-there was a mystery there, and she suspected it was vital. The rest could be dealt with, provided she took charge.
The Adjunct was eager for her meeting with Tayschrenn and this sorceress Tattersail-the name was familiar, tugging at memories that seemed born in her childhood. And around such evasive hints rustled a cloak of fear. But she was determined to deal with that when the time came.
The gate swung open. She looked up to see the marine with a warhorse, and they had company. Toc the Younger snapped a salute, the energy behind it making Lorn wonder at his loyalty. The Adjunct dismounted slowly, then nodded at High Fist Dujek.
The man seemed to have aged a dozen years since she'd last seen him, thirteen months ago in Genabaris. A small smile came to Lorn's mouth as the scene emerged in her mind: the High Fist a worn, weary one-armed man, the Empress's Adjunct, her sword arm in a sling, and Toc the Younger, last representative of the Claw on Genabackis, one-eyed and half his face scarred by fire. Here they were, representatives of three of the four Empire powers on the continent, and they all looked like hell.
Misreading her smile, Dujek grinned. «Good to see you, too, Adjunct. I was overseeing the resupply when this guard brought word of your arrival.» His gaze grew thoughtful as he studied her, the grin fading. «I'll find you a Denul healer. Adiunct.»
«Sorcery doesn't work on me, High Fist. It hasn't in a long time. A mundane healer is sufficient.» Her gaze narrowed on Dujek. «Assuming I'll have no need to unsheath my sword within the walls of Pale.»
«I make no guarantees, Adjunct,» Dujek said casually. «Come, let us walk.»
Lorn turned to Toc the Younger. «Thank you for the escort soldier.»
Dujek laughed, his eyes bright on Toc. «Unnecessary, Adjunct. I know who, and what, Toc the Younger is-as does virtually everyone else. If he's as good a Claw as he is a soldier, you'd do well to keep him. Dujek gestured that they walk. «Meaning that his reputation as a soldier of the Second is the only thing preventing a knife across the throat. Meaning get him out of Pale.»
The Adjunct eyed Toc. «I will see you later.» she said joining Dujek, who had passed beneath the gate's massive arch, Lorn matched his pace as they entered the city. Soldiers crowded the streets, directing merchant wagons and the mobs of citizenry. Evidence of the rain of death still scarred many of the buildings, but labourers had been
«The nobility are about to be culled,» Dujek said at her side.
«Empire policy,» Lorn replied stiffly. «You're well aware of that, High Fist.»
Dujek glared at her. «Nine out of ten nobles to hang, Adjunct? Children included?»