The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  “Then why,” Tayschrenn asked, “did it appear in the street? Why not in your room?”

  Tattersail smiled. “I can speculate.”

  “Please do,” the Adjunct said.

  “I have wards about my room,” Tattersail said. “The innermost of these are High Thyr.”

  Tayschrenn started at that, clearly surprised.

  “Such wards,” Tattersail continued, “create a flux, a tide of power that surges and ebbs like a pulsing heart, one that is beating very fast. I suspect that these wards were sufficient to bounce the Hound away from my immediate area, since in its transitional state—halfway between its realm and ours—the Hound could not fully express its powers. Once it had arrived, however, it could, and it did.”

  “How did you manage to fend off a Hound of Shadow?” Tayschrenn asked.

  “Luck,” Tattersail replied, without hesitation. Her answer hung in the air, and it seemed to Toc that everyone had forgotten their meal.

  “In other words,” Lorn said slowly, “you believe that Oponn intervened.”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  Tattersail barked a laugh. “If I could work that out, Adjunct, I’d be a happy woman. As it is,” her humor fell away, “it seems we’re being used. The Empire itself has become a pawn.”

  “Is there a way out?” Dujek asked, his words a growl that startled everyone. Tattersail shrugged. “If there is, it lies in Darujhistan, since that’s where Oponn’s gambit seems centered. Mind you, High Fist, drawing us into Darujhistan might well be what Oponn seeks to achieve.”

  Toc sat back, absently scratching his wound. There was more to it, he suspected, though he could find no discernible source for his suspicion. He scratched harder. Tattersail could be glib when she wanted to be; her story had a straightforwardness to it. The best lies were the simple ones. Still, nobody else seemed unduly suspicious. The sorceress had shifted attention from her story to its implications for future action. She had everyone thinking past her, and the faster their thoughts raced, the farther behind they left their doubts about her.

  He watched her watching the others, and was the only one to notice the flash of triumph and relief in her eyes when Lorn spoke.

  “Oponn is not the first god seeking to manipulate the Malazan Empire,” the Adjunct said. “Others have failed, come away bloodied. It’s unfortunate the lesson was lost on Oponn—and on Shadowthrone, for that matter.” She sighed deeply. “Tattersail, whatever your differences with the High Mage, it is necessary, no, vital, that you work together in seeking to discover the details of Oponn’s intervention. In the meantime, High Fist Dujek will continue preparing his legion to march, as well as solidifying our hold on Pale. For myself, I will be leaving the city shortly. Rest assured, my mission has goals identical to yours. Now, one last thing,” she turned to Toc. “I wish to hear the Claw’s evaluation of the words that have been exchanged here.”

  He stared in surprise. He’d assumed the role she had expected of him without even realizing it. He sat straight and glanced at Tattersail. She now looked nervous, drawing her hands beneath the table. He waited until their gazes locked and held before he turned to the Adjunct.

  “In so far as she knows it, the sorceress speaks the truth,” he said. “Her speculations were genuine, although concerning the dynamics of magic I’m at a loss. Perhaps High Mage Tayschrenn could comment on that.”

  Lorn seemed vaguely disappointed with Toc’s evaluation, but she nodded anyway and said, “Accepted, then. High Mage?”

  Tayschrenn released a slow breath. “Accurate,” he said. “Speculation is sound.”

  Toc refilled his goblet. The first course was removed almost untouched, but as the second course arrived everyone turned their full attention to it and conversation ceased. Toc ate slowly, avoiding Tattersail’s eyes, though he sensed them upon him time and again. He wondered at his own actions: deceiving the Adjunct to the Empress, the High Mage, and the High Fist all in one shot struck him as rash, if not suicidal. And his reasons for doing so were not entirely rational, which made it all the more distressing.

  The 2nd had a long, bloody history. More times than Toc could count someone had come through for someone else whatever the odds. And, more often than not, it had been the mage cadre. He’d been there on the plain outside Pale, and he’d watched with a thousand others the cadre being torn apart, hopelessly outmatched. That kind of waste didn’t sit well with the 2nd. And, though he was a Claw, the faces that surrounded him, the faces that looked upon him in hope, despair, and—at times—fatal resignation, those faces had been mirrors of his own, and they defied the Claw at every turn. The years in the Claw where feeling and caring had been systematically assailed, those years failed to withstand the day-in, day-out reality that was the 2nd Army.

  This night, and with his words, Toc had given something back to Tattersail, not just for her but for the cadre. It didn’t matter if she understood, and he knew she must be feeling bewildered by his actions; none of that mattered. What he’d done he’d done for himself.

  He sat up. Now that’s odd, he thought, my wound’s stopped itching.

  Feeling light-headed, Tattersail wobbled every now and then as she walked down the hall toward the door to her room. She knew it wasn’t the wine. With her nerves as frayed as they were, that fine vintage had tasted like water, and had had as much effect.

  Adjunct Lorn had raised in the sorceress memories she’d spent years burying. For Lorn, it had been a pivotal event. But for Tattersail, it had been just one nightmare among many. Still, it had pushed her where other crimes had not, and as a result she’d found herself attached to the 2nd Army—the Army she’d been sent to as a recruit, the closing of a circle, but in that time she had changed.

  That attachment, those twenty-odd years of service, had this night saved her life. She knew that Toc the Younger had lied for her, and the look he had given her prior to stating his evaluation had been a message she’d understood. Though he had come to the 2nd as a Claw, as a spy, not even his years of training within that secret organization could withstand the new world in which he’d found himself.

  Tattersail understood this all too clearly, for the same had happened to her. The sorceress in a cadre of mages who had entered the Mouse Quarter so long ago had cared naught for anyone but herself. Even her attempt to cut herself away from the horrors of which she’d been part had been born of a selfish desire to flee, to absolve her own conscience—but the Empire had denied her in this. An old soldier had come to her the day after the slaughter in the Mouse Quarter. Old, nameless, a veteran sent to convince the sorceress that she was still needed. She well remembered his words. “Should you ever outrun the guilt within your past, Sorceress, you will have outrun your soul. When it finds you again it will kill you.” And then, rather than deny her desperate needs absolutely, he’d sent her into a veteran army, the 5th, until the time came for her to return—to the 2nd, to a place under the command of Dujek Onearm. With that, she’d been given a second chance.

  Tattersail came to her door and paused to sense the condition of her wards. All was well. Sighing, she entered her room, then leaned against the door as it closed behind her.

  Captain Paran stepped out from the bedroom, his expression wary and somehow shy. “Not under arrest? I’m surprised.”

  “So am I,” she replied.

  “Hairlock was here,” Paran said. “He instructed me to give you a message.”

  Tattersail studied the man’s face, seeking a hint of what he was about to deliver. He avoided her gaze and remained standing near the doorway into the bedroom. “Well?” she demanded.

  Paran cleared his throat. “First, he was, uh, excited. He knew of the Adjunct’s arrival, and said she wasn’t alone.”

  “Not alone? Did he explain that?”

  Paran shrugged. “Said the dust walks around the Adjunct, the dirt shifts beneath her boots, and the wind whispers of frost and fire.” He raised his eyebrows. “Does that explain anything?
Damned if I know.”

  Tattersail strode to her dresser. She began to remove the scant jewelry she’d donned for the dinner. “I think it does,” she said slowly. “Did he say anything else?”

  “He did. He said that the Adjunct and her companion were leaving Pale soon, and that he intended to track them. Sorceress . . .”

  She saw that Paran was struggling with something, as if fighting his every instinct. Tattersail laid one arm on the dresser and waited. When he met her gaze, her breath caught. “You were about to say something,” she said, her voice low. Her heart was pounding all too fast, and she felt her body responding as if of its own accord. The look she’d seen in his eyes had been clear in its meaning.

  “I know something of the Adjunct’s mission,” he said. “I was to be her contact in Darujhistan.”

  Whatever had been building between them disintegrated as Tattersail’s eyes went hard and anger darkened her face. “She’s going to Darujhistan, is she? And you and she were to oversee the long-awaited demise of the Bridgeburners. Together, you thought you’d be able to kill Whiskeyjack, to cut down his squad from within.”

  “No!” Paran took a step forward, but when Tattersail shot out her hand, palm facing him, he froze. “Wait,” he whispered. “Before you do anything, just hear me out.”

  Her Thyr Warren surged into her hand, eager for release. “Why? Damn Oponn for letting you live!”

  “Tattersail, please!”

  She scowled. “Speak.”

  Paran stepped back and turned to a nearby chair. Hands held out at his sides, he sat down and looked up at her.

  “Keep those hands there,” Tattersail commanded. “Away from your sword.”

  “This has been the Adjunct’s personal mission, from the very start. Three years ago I was stationed in Itko Kan, Officers Corps. One day every available soldier was mustered out and marched to a section of the coast road.” Paran’s hands had begun to shake, and the muscles of his jaw stood out. “What we saw there, Tattersail, you would not believe.”

  She recalled Quick Ben and Kalam’s story. “A massacre. A company of cavalry.”

  Astonishment showed on Paran’s face. “How did you know?”

  “Go on, Captain,” she grated.

  “Adjunct Lorn arrived from the capital and took charge. She guessed that the massacre had been a . . . a diversion. We began upon a trail. It was not a clear one, not at first. Sorceress, may I lower my arms?”

  “Slowly. On the chair arms, Captain.”

  He sighed gratefully and set down his trembling forearms as she’d instructed. “Anyway, the Adjunct determined that a girl had been taken, possessed by a god.”

  “Which god?”

  Paran made a face. “Come, now, if you know of the massacre, is it hard to guess? That company was killed by Shadow Hounds. Which god? Well, Shadowthrone comes to mind,” he said sarcastically. “The Adjunct believes Shadowthrone was involved, but the god that possessed the girl was the Rope—I know of no other name for him—the Patron of Assassins, Shadowthrone’s companion.”

  Tattersail dropped her arm. She’d closed her Warren a minute earlier, since it had begun to push hard and she had feared she didn’t have the strength to resist it much longer. “You’ve found the girl,” she stated dully.

  Paran sat forward. “Yes!”

  “Her name’s Sorry.”

  “You’re aware of this,” Paran said, sinking back into the chair. “Which means that Whiskeyjack is also aware, since who else could have told you?” He looked up into her eyes with a clouded expression. “I’m now very confused.”

  “You’re not alone,” Tattersail said. “So all this—your arrival, the Adjunct’s—it was all a hunt for the girl?” She shook her head. “That’s not enough, it can’t be enough, Captain.”

  “It’s all that I’m aware of, Tattersail.”

  She studied him for a moment. “I believe you. Tell me, what are the details of the Adjunct’s mission?”

  “I don’t know,” Paran said, tossing up his hands. “Somehow, I was the one she’d be able to find, so my being with the squad would bring her to the girl.”

  “The Adjunct’s talents are many,” Tattersail mused. “Through the antithesis of sorcery, she might well possess the ability to have linked with you, especially if you’ve been in her company for the past two years.”

  “Then why isn’t she breaking down your door?”

  Tattersail’s eyes were on the jewelry scattered on the dresser. “Oponn severed the link, Captain.”

  “I dislike the thought of exchanging one set of shackles for another,” Paran grumbled.

  “There’s more to this,” Tattersail insisted, more to herself than to the captain. “Lorn has a T’lan Imass with her.”

  Paran jerked upright.

  “Hairlock’s snide hints,” she explained. “I believe the mission was twofold. Kill Sorry, yes, but also kill Whiskeyjack and his squad. The T’lan would not be involved if her plan concerned just you. Her Otataral sword is sufficient to destroy Sorry, and possibly kill the Rope as well, assuming that’s who’s possessing the girl.”

  “I would not like to believe that,” Paran said. “They are my command. My responsibility. The Adjunct would not betray me so—”

  “Wouldn’t she? Why not?”

  The captain seemed at a loss to answer her, but there was a stubborn glower in his eyes.

  Tattersail reached the decision she had sensed was coming, and it left her cold. “Hairlock left too early. The puppet was eager, too eager to pursue the Adjunct and that T’lan Imass. He must have discovered something about them, about what they’re up to.”

  “Who is Hairlock’s master?” Paran asked.

  “Quick Ben, Whiskeyjack’s mage.” She looked to him. “He’s the best I’ve seen. Not the most powerful, mind you, but smart. Still, if the T’lan Imass comes on him unawares he won’t stand a chance, and neither will the rest.” She paused, her eyes holding on the captain. “I have to leave Pale,” she said abruptly.

  Paran shot to his feet. “Not alone.”

  “Alone,” Tattersail insisted. “I have to find Whiskeyjack, and if you’re tagging along then Lorn will find him too.”

  “I refuse to believe the Adjunct presents any risk to the sergeant,” Paran said. “Tell me, can you succeed in killing Sorry? Even with Quick Ben’s help?”

  The sorceress hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to,” she said slowly.

  “What?”

  “It has to be Whiskeyjack’s decision, Captain. And I don’t think I can give any good reason for convincing you of that. I just feel it’s right.” She felt herself relying on instinct in this matter, but vowed to hold true to it.

  “Even so,” Paran said, “I can’t remain hiding here, can I? What do I eat? The bedding?”

  “I can get you out into the city,” Tattersail said. “None will recognize you. Take a room in an inn and stay out of your uniform. If all goes well I’ll be back in two weeks. You can wait that long, can’t you, Captain?”

  Paran stared. “And what happens if I just walk out of here and introduce myself to Dujek Onearm?”

  “The High Mage Tayschrenn would shred your brain with truth-seeking sorcery, Captain. You’ve Oponn’s touch, and after tonight Oponn is now an official enemy of the Empire. And when Tayschrenn’s done he’ll leave you to die, which is preferable to the madness that would grip you if he kept you alive. He’ll show that mercy, at least.” Tattersail anticipated Paran’s thoughts. “Dujek might well seek to protect you, but in this Tayschrenn outranks him. You’ve become a tool of Oponn, and for Dujek the safety of his soldiers takes precedence over his pleasure in frustrating Tayschrenn. So, in fact, he might not protect you at all. I’m sorry, Captain, but you’re truly alone if you walk.”

  “I’ll be alone when you leave, too, Sorceress.”

  “I know, but it won’t be forever.” She searched his eyes and felt compassion welling behind her own. “Paran,” she said, “it’s not all b
ad. Despite all the distrust between us, I’m feeling things for you I haven’t felt for anyone in—well, in some time.” She smiled sadly. “I don’t know what that’s worth, Captain, but I’m glad I said it anyway.”

  Paran gazed at her for a long minute, then said, “Very well, Tattersail, I’ll do as you ask. An inn? Do you have some local coin?”

  “Easily acquired.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted.” As she turned to the bedroom her gaze fell on the dresser-top one last time. Amid a small pile of underclothing she saw her Deck of Dragons. It would be foolish not to do a reading, considering the decision she’d made.

  Paran spoke close behind her. “Tattersail, how thorough is your exhaustion?”

  She felt the heat in his words triggering a smoldering fire beneath her stomach, and her gaze slid away from the Deck as she turned to face the captain. Though she voiced no reply to his question, her answer was clear. He took her hand, surprising her with such an innocent gesture. So young, she thought, and now he’s leading me into the bedroom. She would have laughed if the act hadn’t been so sweet.

  ______

  False dawn played the eastern horizon as Adjunct Lorn guided her mount and packhorse out from Pale’s East Gate. True to Dujek’s words the guards were nowhere in sight, and the gate had been left open. She hoped the few sleepy eyes that had followed her through the streets had only mild curiosity behind them. In any case, she was dressed in simple, unadorned leather armor; her face was mostly hidden in the shadow cast by the plain bronze helmet’s browguard. Even her horses were a local breed, sturdy and placid, much smaller than the Malazan warhorses with which she was most familiar, but a comforting ride none the less. It seemed unlikely that she would have attracted undue attention. More than one unemployed mercenary had left Pale since the Empire’s arrival.