The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (40 page)

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 bad. 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.

The south horizon was a jagged line of snow-capped mountains. The Tahlyn Mountains would remain on her right for some time, before the Rhivi Plain swept past them and became the Catlin Plain. Few farms broke the flatlands around her, and those that did crowded the city’s own lands. The Rhivi people were not tolerant of such encroachments, and since every trade route that led to and from Pale crossed their traditional territory, those of the city wisely refrained from angering the Rhivi.

Ahead, as she walked her horses, the dawn showed its face with a streak of crimson. The rain had passed a few days back, and the sky overhead was silver-blue and clear, a few stars dwindling as light came to the world.

The day promised to be hot. The Adjunct loosened the leather thongs between her breasts, revealing the fine mail hauberk beneath. By midday she would reach the first wellspring, where she would replenish her supply of water. She ran a hand across the surface of one of the bladders strapped to her saddle. It came away wet with condensation. She passed her hand across her lips.

The voice that spoke beside her jolted her in the saddle and her mount snorted in fear and sidestepped.

“I will walk with you,” Onos T’oolan said, “for a time.”

Lorn glared at the T’lan Imass. “I would rather you announced your arrival,” she said tightly, “from a distance.”

“As you wish.” Onos T’oolan sank into the ground like so much dust.

The Adjunct cursed. Then she saw him waiting a hundred yards ahead of her, backlit by the rising sun. The crimson sky seemed to have cast a red flame about the warrior. The effect jangled her nerves, as if she looked upon a scene that touched her deepest, oldest memories—memories that went beyond her own life. The T’lan Imass stood unmoving until she reached him, then fell into step beside her.

Lorn tightened her knees about the horse’s shoulders and closed the reins until the mare settled down. “Do you have to be so literal-minded, Tool?” she asked.

The desiccated warrior seemed to consider, then nodded. “I accept that name.
All of my history is dead. Existence begins anew, and with it shall be a new name. It is suitable.”

“Why were you selected to accompany me?” the Adjunct asked.

“In the lands west and north of Seven Cities, I alone among my clan survived the Twenty-eighth Jaghut War.”

Lorn’s eyes widened. “I thought those wars numbered twenty-seven,” she said quietly. “When your legions left us after conquering Seven Cities, and you marched into the wastelands—”

“Our Bonecasters sensed an enclave of surviving Jaghut,” Tool said. “Our commander Logros T’lan determined that we exterminate them. Thus we did.”

“Which explains your decimated numbers upon returning,” Lorn said. “You could have explained your decision to the Empress. As it was, she was left without her most powerful army, and no knowledge of when it might return.”

“Return was not guaranteed, Adjunct,” Tool said.

Lorn stared at the tattered creature. “I see.”

“The cessation of my clan’s chieftain, Kig Aven, was accompanied by all my kin. Thus alone, I am unbound to Logro. Kig Aven’s Bonecaster was Kilava Onass, who has been lost since long before the Emperor reawakened us.”

Lorn’s mind raced. Among the Malazan Empire, the T’lan Imass were also known as the Silent Host. She’d never known an Imass as loquacious as this Tool. Perhaps it had something to do with this “unbounding.” Within the Imass, only Commander Logros ever spoke to humans on a regular basis. As for the
Bonecasters
—Imass shamans—they stayed out of sight. The only one that had ever appeared was one named Olar Ethil, who stood alongside the clan chieftain Eitholos Ilm during the battle of Kartool, which had seen an exchange of sorcery that made Moon’s Spawn look like a child’s cantrip.

In any case, she’d already learned more of the Imass from this brief conversation with Tool than was present in the Empire Annals. The Emperor had known more, much more, but making records of such knowledge had never been his style. That he had reawakened the Imass had been a theory argued among scholars for years. And now she knew it to be true. How many other secrets would this T’lan Imass reveal in casual conversation?