Gardens of the Moon

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 herself 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 spare 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.”