Gardens of the Moon

  Toc suspected that the peace between the two men would not last. Since the dinner, he had stayed away from anything official, choosing to eat with his comrades rather than dine with the officers as was now his privilege as ranking Claw. The less noticed he made himself the better, as far as he was concerned.

  He entered Vimkaros Inn and paused. Before him was a roofless courtyard with paths winding among a rich garden. Clearly, the inn had survived the siege unscathed. A wide central path led directly to a broad counter behind which stood a corpulent old man eating grapes. A few guests walked the side paths, moving among the plants and conversing in low tones.

  The message had insisted he come dressed in local garb. Thus, Toc drew little attention as he strode to the counter.

  The old man paused in his snacking and bowed with his head. 'At your service, sir,' he said, wiping his hands.

  'I believe a table has been reserved in my name,' Toc said. 'I am Render Kan.'

  The old man studied a wax tablet before him, then looked up with a smile. 'Of course. Follow me.'

  A minute later Toc sat at a table on a balcony overlooking the garden court. His only company was a decanter of chilled Saltoan wine, which arrived when he did, and he now sipped from a goblet, his lone eye surveying the people in the garden below.

  A servant arrived and bowed before him. 'Kind sir,' the man said, 'I am to deliver the following message. A gentleman will soon join you who has been out of his depth yet not aware of it. He is, now.'

  Toc frowned. 'That's the message?'

  'It is.'

  'His own words?'

  'And yours, sir.' The servant bowed again and departed.

  Toe's frown deepened, then he sat forward, his every muscle tensing. He turned to the balcony's entrance in time to see Captain Paran stride through. He was dressed in the manner of the local gentry, unarmed, and looking quite fit. Toc rose, grinning.

  'Not unduly shocked, I hope,' Paran said, as he arrived. They sat down and the captain poured himself some wine. 'Did the message prepare you?'

  'Barely,' Toc replied. 'I'm not sure how to receive you, Captain. Is this according to the Adjunct's instructions?'

  'She believes me dead,' Paran said, his brow wrinkling. 'And I was, for a time. Tell me, Toc the Younger, am I speaking to a Claw, or to a soldier of the Second?'

  Toe's eye narrowed. 'That's a tough question.'

  'Is it?' Paran asked, his gaze intense and unwavering.

  Toc hesitated, then grinned again. 'Hood's Breath, no, it damn well isn't! All right, Captain, welcome to the defunct Second, then.'

  Paran laughed, clearly relieved.

  'Now what's all this about you being dead but not dead, Captain?'

  Paran's humour vanished. He took a mouthful of wine and swallowed, looking away. 'An attempted assassination,' he explained, grimacing. 'I should have died, if not for Mallet and Tattersail.'

  'What? Whiskeyjack's healer and the sorceress?'

  Paran nodded. 'I've been recovering until recently in Tattersail's quarters. Whiskeyjack's instructions were to keep my existence secret for the time being. Toc,' he leaned forward, 'what do you know of the Adjunct's plans?'

  Toc examined the garden below. Tattersail had known – she'd managed to keep it from everyone at the dinner. Remarkable. 'Now,' he said quietly, 'you ask questions of a Claw.'

  'I do.'

  'Where's Tattersail?' Toc swung his gaze to the captain and held the man's eyes.

  The captain jerked his head. 'Very well. She travels overland – to Darujhistan. She knows a T'lan Imass accompanies the Adjunct, and she believes Lorn's plan includes killing Whiskeyjack and his squad. I do not agree. My role in the mission was to keep an eye on one member of the sergeant's squad, and that person was to be the only one to die. She gave me the command after three years of service to her – it's a reward, and I can't believe she would take it from me. There, that is what I know. Can you help me, Toc?'

  'The Adjunct's mission,' Toc said, after releasing a long breath, 'as far as I'm aware of it, involves far more than just killing Sorry. The T'lan Imass is with her for something else. Captain,' Toe's expression was grim, 'the days of the Bridgeburners are numbered. Whiskeyjack's name is damn near sacred among Dujek's men. This is something of which I couldn't convince the Adjunct – in fact she seems to think the opposite – but if the sergeant and the Bridgeburners are eliminated, this army won't be pulled back in line, it will mutiny. And the Malazan Empire will be up against High Fist Dujek with not a single commander who can match him. The Genabackan Campaign will disintegrate, and civil war may well sweep into the heart of the Empire.'

  The blood had drained from Paran's face. 'I believe you,' he said. 'Very well, you've taken my doubts and made of them convictions. And they leave me with but one choice.'

  'And that is?'

  Paran turned the empty goblet in his hands. 'Darujhistan,' he said. 'With luck I'll catch Tattersail, and together we'll attempt to contact Whiskeyjack before the Adjunct does.' He glanced at Toc. 'Evidently the Adjunct can no longer sense my whereabouts. Tattersail forbade me to accompany her, arguing that Lorn would be able to detect me, but she also let slip that my "death" had severed the bonds between me and the Adjunct. I should have made the connection sooner, but she ... distracted me.'

  Into Toc's mind returned the memory of how she'd looked that evening, and he nodded knowingly. 'I'm sure she did.'

  Paran sighed. 'Yes, well. In any case, I need at least three horses, and supplies. The Adjunct is proceeding on some kind of timetable. I know that much. So she's not travelling with much haste. I should catch up with Tattersail in a day or two, then together we can drive hard to the edge of the Tahlyn Mountains, skirt them and slip past the Adjunct.'

  Toc had leaned back during Paran's elaboration of his plan, a half-smile on his lips. 'You'll need Wickan horses, Captain, since what you've described requires mounts superior to those the Adjunct's riding. Now, how do you plan to get past the city gates dressed as a local but leading Empire horses?'

  Paran blinked.

  Toc grinned. 'I've got your answer, Captain.' He spread his hands. 'I'll go with you. Leave the horses and supplies to me, and I guarantee we'll get out of the city unnoticed.'

  'But—'

  'Those are my conditions, Captain.'

  Paran coughed. 'Very well. And now that I think on it, the company would be welcome.'

  'Good,' Toc grunted. He reached for the decanter. 'Let's drink on the damn thing, then.'

  The way was becoming more and more difficult, and Tattersail felt her first tremor of fear. She travelled a Warren of High Thyr and not even Tayschrenn possessed the ability to assail it, yet under attack it was. Not directly. The power that opposed her was pervasive, and it deadened her sorcery.

  The Warren had become narrow, choked with obstacles. At times it shuddered around her, the dark walls to either side writhing as if under tremendous pressure. And within the tunnel she struggled to shape, the air stank of something she had difficulty identifying. There was a tinge of sour brimstone and a mustiness that reminded her of unearthed tombs. It seemed to drain the power from her with every breath she took.

  She realized that she could not continue. She would have to enter the physical world and find rest. Once again she cursed her own carelessness. She had forgotten her Deck of Dragons. With them she would have known what to expect. She entertained once again the suspicion that an outside force had acted upon her, severing her from the Deck. The first distraction had come from Captain Paran, and while it had been pleasant, she reminded herself that Paran belonged to Oponn. After that, she'd experienced an unaccountable urgency to be on her way, so much so that she'd left everything behind.

  Bereft of her Warren, she would find herself alone on the Rhivi Plain, without food, without even a bedroll. The mindless need for haste she'd experienced ran contrary to her every instinct. She was growing certain that it had been imposed upon her, that somehow she'd let her defences down, left hersel
f exposed to such manipulations. And that returned her thoughts to Captain Paran, to the servant of Oponn's will.

  Finally, she could go no further. She began to withdraw her strained power, collapsing the Warren layer by layer about her. The ground beneath her boots became solid, cloaked in spar yellow grass, and the air around her shifted into the dull lavender of dusk. A wind brushed her face smelling of soil. The horizon steadied itself on all sides – far off to her right the sun still bathed the Talhyn Mountains, the peaks glittering like gold – and immediately ahead rose an enormous silhouetted figure, turning to face her and voicing a surprised grunt.

  Tattersail stepped back in alarm, and the voice that emerged from the figure pushed the air from her lungs in a whooshing breath of relief, then terror.

  'Tattersail,' Bellurdan said sadly, 'Tayschrenn did not expect you'd manage to come this far. Thus, I was anticipating detecting you from a distance.' The Thelomen giant lifted his arms in an expansive, child-like shrug. At his feet was a familiar burlap sack, though the body within had shrunk since she'd last seen it.

  'How has the High Mage managed to deny my Warren?' she asked. On the heels of her terror had come weariness, almost resignation.

  'He could not do that,' Bellurdan answered. 'He simply anticipated that you would attempt to travel to Darujhistan, and as your Thyr Warren cannot function over water, he concluded you would take this path.'

  'Then what happened with my Warren?'

  Bellurdan grunted distastefully. 'The T'lan Imass who accompanies the Adjunct has created around them a dead space. Our sorcery is devoured by the warrior's Eldering powers. The effect is cumulative. If you were to open your Warren entirely, you would be consumed utterly, Tattersail.' The Thelomen stepped forward. 'The High Mage has instructed me to arrest you and return you to him.'

  'And if I resist?'

  Bellurdan answered, in a tone filled with sorrow, 'Then I am to kill you.'

  'I see.' Tattersail thought for a time. Her world seemed to have closed in now, her every memory irrelevant and discarded. Her heart pounded like a thundering drum in her chest. All that remained of her past, and her only true sense of her life, was regret – an unspecified, yet overwhelming regret. She looked up at the Thelomen, compassion brimming in her eyes. 'So where are this T'lan and the Adjunct, then?'

  'Perhaps eight hours to the east. The Imass is not even aware of us. The time for conversation is ended, Tattersail. Will you accompany me?'

  Her mouth dry, she said, 'I did not think you one to betray a long-standing friend.'

  Bellurdan spread his hands wider and said, in a pained voice, 'I will never betray you, Tattersail. The High Mage commands both of us. How can there be betrayal?'

  'Not that,' Tattersail replied quickly. 'I once asked if I could speak with you at length. Remember? You said yes, Bellurdan. Yet now you tell me conversation is ended. I had not imagined your word to be so worthless.'

  In the dying light it was impossible to see the Thelomen's face, but the anguish in his tone was plain. 'I am sorry, Tattersail. You are correct. I gave you my word that we would speak again. Can we not do this while we return to Pale?'

  'No,' Tattersail snapped. 'I wish it now.'

  Bellurdan bowed his head. 'Very well.'

  Tattersail forced the tension from her shoulders and neck. 'I have some questions,' she said. 'First, Tayschrenn sent you to Genabaris for a time, didn't he? You were searching through some scrolls for him?'

  'Yes.'

  'May I ask what were those scrolls?'

  'Is it of vital significance now, Tattersail?'

  'It is. The truth will help me in deciding whether to go with you, or die here.'

  Bellurdan hesitated only a moment. 'Very well. Among the archives collected from the city's mages – all of whom were executed, as you know – were found some copied fragments of Gothos' Folly, an ancient Jaghut tome—'

  'I know of it,' Tattersail interjected. 'Go on.'

  'As a Thelomen, I possess Jaghut blood, though of course Gothos would deny it. The High Mage entrusted the examination of these writings to me. I was to seek out information concerning the burial of a Jaghut Tyrant, a burial that was in fact a prison.'

  'Wait,' Tattersail said, shaking her head. 'The Jaghut had no government. What do you mean by a Tyrant?'

  'One whose blood was poisoned by the ambition to rule over others. This Jaghut Tyrant enslaved the land around it – all living things – for close to three thousand years. The Imass of the time sought to destroy it, and failed. It was left to other Jaghut to attend to the sundering and imprisoning of the Tyrant – for such a creature was as abominable to them as it was to Imass.'

  Tattersail's heart now hammered in her chest. 'Bellurdan.' She had to fight to push the words from her. 'Where was this Tyrant buried?'

  'I concluded that the barrow lies south of here, in the Gadrobi Hills directly east of Darujhistan.'

  'Oh, Queen of Dreams. Bellurdan, do you know what you've done?'

  'I have done as I was commanded by our High Mage.'

  'And that's why the T'lan Imass is with the Adjunct.'

  'I don't understand what you are saying, Tattersail.'

  'Dammit, you brainless ox!' she rasped. 'They plan to free the Tyrant! Lorn's sword – her Otataral sword—'

  'No,' Bellurdan rumbled. 'They would not do such a thing. Rather, they seek to prevent someone else releasing it. Yes, that is more likely. It is the truth of things. Now, Tattersail, our conversation is done.'

  'I can't go back,' the sorceress said. 'I must go on. Please, don't stop me.'

  'We are to return to Pale,' Bellurdan said stubbornly. 'Your concern has been satisfied. Permit me to take you back so that I may continue seeking the proper burial place for Nightchill.'

  There was no choice left in Tattersail's mind, but there had to be a way out. The conversation had bought her time, time to recover from the ordeal of travelling by Warren. Bellurdan's words returned to her: if she accessed her Thyr Warren now she would be consumed. Incinerated by the reactive influence of the T'lan Imass. Her eyes fell on the burlap sack beside the Thelomen and saw from it a faint gleam of sorcery. A spell. My own spell. She recalled now: a gesture of compassion, a spell of... preservation. Is this my way out? Hood's Breath, is it even possible? She thought of Hairlock, the journey from the dying body to a lifeless ... vessel. Shedenul, have mercy on us ...

  The sorceress stepped back and opened her Warren. High Thyr magic blazed around her. She saw Bellurdan stagger back then steady himself. He screamed something, but she could not hear him. Then he charged at her.

  She regretted the Thelomen's fatal courage as the fire blackened the world around her, even as she opened her arms and embraced him.

  Lorn strode to Tool's side. The T'lan Imass faced west, and a tension swirled about him that she could almost see.

  'What is it?' she asked, her eyes on the white fountain of fire rising above the horizon. 'I've never seen anything like that.'

  'Nor I,' Tool replied. 'It is within the barrier I have cast around us.'

  'But that's impossible,' the Adjunct snapped.

  'Yes, impossible to last this long. Its source should have been consumed almost instantly. Yet...' The T'lan Imass fell silent.

  There was no need for Tool to finish his sentence. The pillar of fire still raged in the night sky as it had for the past hour. The stars swam in the inky darkness around it, magic swirling in a frenzy as if from a bottomless well. On the wind was a smell that left Lorn slightly nauseous. 'Do you recognize the Warren, Tool?'

  'Warrens, Adjunct. Tellann, Thyr, Denul, D'riss, Tennes, Thelomen Toblakai, Starvald Demelain ...'

  'Starvald Demelain, what in Hood's Name is that?'

  'Elder.'

  'I thought there were but three Elder Warrens, and that's not one of them.'

  'Three? No, there were many, Adjunct, all born of one. Starvald Demelain.'

  Lorn wrapped her cloak tighter about herself, eyes on the column of fir
e. 'Who could manage such a conjuring?'

  'There was one ... once. Of worshippers there are none left, so he is no more. I have no answer to your question, Adjunct.' The Imass staggered as the pillar bloomed outwards, then winked out. A distant thundering rumble reached them.

  'Gone,' Lorn whispered.

  'Destroyed,' Tool said. The warrior cocked his head. 'Strange, the source is indeed destroyed. But something has also been born. I sense it, a new presence.'

  Lorn checked her sword. 'What is it?' she demanded.

  Tool shrugged. 'New. It flees.'

  Was this cause for worry? Lorn scowled and turned to the T'lan Imass, but he had already left her side, and was now striding back to their campfire. The Adjunct glanced once more at the western horizon. There was a cloud, blotting out the stars. It looked huge. She shivered.

  It was time to sleep. The Imass would stand guard, so she need not worry about surprise visitors. The day had been long, and she'd over-rationed her water; she felt weak, an unfamiliar sensation. Her scowl deepened as she walked to the camp. Tool, standing immobile beside the flames, reminded her of his arrival two days ago. The fiery glimmer that jumped along his withered flesh-and-bone helm once again triggered some-thing primordial in her mind, and with it came a deep, unreasoning fear of darkness. She stepped close to the Imass. 'Fire is life,' she whispered, the phrase seeming to rise from the depths of instinct.

  Tool nodded. 'Life is fire,' he said. 'With such words was born the First Empire. The Empire of Imass, the Empire of Humanity.' The warrior turned to the Adjunct. 'You've done well, my child.'

  The grey pall of smoke hung unmoving over Blackdog Forest a dozen leagues north of her as Crone dipped her splayed tail and sank wearily towards the army encamped on the Rhivi Plain.

  The tents marched outward like spokes from a central fortified hub where stood a large canopy, rippling in the morning breeze. Towards this centre the Great Raven descended. Her sharp gaze marked Rhivi plainsmen moving among the aisles. Off on the eastern rim fluttered the banners of the Catlin Horse, green and silver to mark the mercenary contingent of Caladan Brood's main army. By far the greatest proportion of soldiers, however, were Tiste Andii – Anomander Rake's people, dwellers of the city within Moon's Spawn – their tall, dark-clad forms moving like shadows between the tents.