The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (39 page)

Dujek swung back to the Adjunct. “The Empire has its history, and we each are in it.”

“In this,” Tayschrenn rasped, “I must agree with the High Fist, Adjunct.”

“There’s no need to have all this official,” Tattersail said, her eyes on Lorn. “I hereby challenge you to a duel. On my behalf I shall employ all my magical skills in an effort to destroy you. You may defend with your sword, Adjunct.”

Toc took a step forward. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He’d been about to tell Tattersail that Lorn carried an Otataral sword, that the duel would be grossly unfair, that she’d die within seconds, as the sword devoured her every spell. Then he saw that the sorceress knew all that.

Dujek rounded on Tattersail. “Dammit, woman! Do you think everything
hinges on how it’s worded? Execution. Duel. None of it matters one whit! All that the Adjunct does, all that she says, is on behalf of Empress Laseen.” He spun to Lorn. “You are here as Laseen’s voice, as her will, Adjunct.”

Tayschrenn spoke softly, “The woman named Lorn, the woman who once was a child, who once had a family,” he looked upon the Adjunct with anguish in his eyes, “that woman does not exist. She ceased to exist the day she became the Adjunct.”

Lorn stared at the two men, her eyes wide.

Standing beside her, Toc watched those words battering her will, crushing the anger, shattering into dust every last vestige of identity. And from her eyes rose the icy, clinical repose of the Adjunct to the Empress. Toc felt his heart pounding hard against his chest. He’d just witnessed an execution. The woman named Lorn had risen from the turgid mists of the past, risen to right a wrong, to find justice and in that last act reclaim its life—and she had been denied. Not by the words of Dujek or Tayschrenn, but by the thing known as the Adjunct.

“Of course,” she said, removing her hand from her sword. “Please enter, Sorceress Tattersail, and dine with us.”

The flat tone of her voice told Toc that her invitation had not cost anything—and this horrified him, shook him to his very core. A quick glance showed a similar response from Tayschrenn and Dujek, though the latter veiled it.

Tattersail looked positively ill, but she nodded shakily in answer to the Adjunct’s invitation.

Toc found the decanter and a spare crystal goblet. He walked up to the sorceress. “I am Toc the Younger,” he said, smiling, “and you need a drink.” He poured the glass full and handed it to her. “Often, when we camped on the march, I’d see you lugging that traveling wardrobe of yours around. Now I finally see what was in it. Sorceress, you’re a sight for a sore eye.”

A look of gratitude entered Tattersail’s gaze. She raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t realized my traveling wardrobe garnered such attention.”

Toc grinned. “I’m afraid you’ve provided a standing joke in the Second. Anything surprising, be it an ambush or an unplanned skirmish—the enemy invariably came from your traveling wardrobe, Sorceress.”

Dujek guffawed behind him. “I’ve often wondered where that phrase came from, and damn, I heard it a lot—even from my officers.”

The atmosphere in the room relaxed somewhat; though undercurrents of tension still swirled, they seemed to be between Tattersail and High Mage Tayschrenn. The sorceress turned her gaze upon Lorn whenever the Adjunct’s attention was elsewhere, and Toc could see the compassion there, and his respect for her rose considerably. In her shoes, any look he gave Lorn would have been filled with fear. And whatever storm threatened between Tattersail and Tayschrenn seemed born of a difference in opinion coupled with suspicion; it didn’t look personal.

Then again, Toc considered, Dujek’s steady presence may have been providing the leveling influence. His father had spoken much of Dujek, of a man who never lost his touch with the powerless or the less powerful. In dealing with the
former, he always made his own failings an easy recognition; and with the latter he had an unerring eye that cut away personal ambition with the precision of a surgeon removing septic flesh, leaving in its place someone who treated trust and honesty as givens.

Studying Dujek’s easy, relaxed rapport with the others in attendance, including himself, and then with the servants who filed in bearing trays of food, it struck Toc that the man had not changed perceptibly from the one Toc the Elder had called friend. And that impressed Toc deeply, knowing as he did the pressures that burdened the High Fist.

As soon as everyone was seated and the first course presented, it was Adjunct Lorn who took command, however. Dujek relinquished it without a word or a gesture, evidently confident that the earlier incident was now over as far as the Adjunct was concerned.

Lorn addressed Tattersail in that uncanny, flat voice. “Sorceress, permit me to compliment you on besting a Hound of Shadow, and on your timely recovery. I know that Tayschrenn has questioned you regarding this incident, but I would like to hear the tale from you directly.”

Tattersail set down her goblet and regarded her plate briefly before meeting the Adjunct’s steady gaze. “As the High Mage may have explained, it’s now clear that the gods have entered the fray. Specifically, they’ve become involved with the Empire’s plans for Darujhistan—”

Toc rose quickly. “I believe,” he said, “I should excuse myself now, as what will be discussed here exceeds—”

“Be seated, Toc the Younger,” Lorn commanded. “You are the Claw representative here, and as such you are responsible for speaking on its behalf.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

Slowly, Toc sat.

“Please continue, Sorceress.”

Tattersail nodded. “Oponn is central to this gambit. The Twin Jesters’ opening move has created ripples—I’m sure the High Mage would agree with this—and thus attracted the attention of other gods.”

“Shadowthrone,” Lorn said. She looked to Tayschrenn.

The High Mage concurred. “One could expect such a thing. I, however, have sensed nothing of Shadowthrone’s attention upon us, even though I pursued that possibility vigorously after the Hound’s attack.”

Lorn exhaled slowly. “Sorceress, please go on.”

“The Hound’s presence was triggered entirely by accident,” Tattersail said, flicking a glance at Tayschrenn. “I was doing a reading from my Deck of Dragons, and came upon the card of the Hound. As with all Adepts, I found the image animate to a certain extent. When I gave it my full concentration, it felt,” she cleared her throat, “as if a portal opened, created entirely from the other side of that card—from High House Shadow itself.” She raised her hands and gazed steadily at the High Mage. “Is this possible? The Shadow Realm is new among
the Houses, its full power not yet expressed. Well, whatever happened—a portal, a rent—the Hound Gear appeared.”

“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.”