Gardens of the Moon

Paran released a long breath. “Can you at least explain why you went ahead and mined the city?”



“In a moment,” Whiskeyjack said, rising. “First,” he said, “who's the wounded man?”



“Not wounded any more,” Mallet said, grinning at Paran. “Just sleeping.”



Paran also rose. “In that case, I'll also explain everything. just let me go downstairs and retrieve my sword.” At the door he paused and turned to Whiskeyjack. “One more thing. Where's your recruit, Sorry?”



Kalam answered, “Missing. We know what she is, Captain. Do you?”



“Yes.” But she may not be what she once was, assuming Shadowthrone didn't lie. He thought to relate that part of his story, then dismissed the notion. He couldn't be sure, after all. Better to wait and see.



The burial chamber proved to be a small, nondescript beehive tomb, the low dome constructed of roughly dressed stones. The passageway leading to it was narrow and less than four feet high, sloping slightly downwards. The chamber's floor was of packed earth and in its centre rose a circular wall of stones, capped by a single, massive lintel stone.



Frost-crusted objects lay on this flat surface.



Tool swung to the Adjunct. “The object you seek is called a Finnest. Within it is stored the Jaghut Tyrant's powers. It is perhaps best described as a self-contained Omtose Phellack Warren. He will discovcr it is missing once fully awakened, and will unerringly hunt it down, n slowly approached Lorn blew on her numb hands, the d the lintel stone. “And while it's in my possession?” she asked.



“Your Otataral sword will deaden its aura. Not completely… The Finnest should not remain in your hands for long, Adjunct.”



She scanned the objects scattered on the stone surface. The Imass joined her. Lorn picked up a scabbarded knife, then discarded it. In this Tool could not help her. She had to rely upon her own senses, honed by the strange, unpredictable effects of the Otataral. A mirror set in an antler caught her eye. The mica surface was latticed in a web of frost, yet it seemed to glimmer with a light of its own. She reached for it, then hesitated. Beside it, almost lost among the crystalline frost, was a small, round object. It lay upon a flap of hide. Lorn frowned, then picked it up.



As its ice coating melted, she saw that it was not perfectly round. She polished the blackened surface and studied it closely.



“I believe it is an acorn,” Tool said.



Lorn nodded. “And it's the Finnest.” Her gaze fell to the capped mound of rocks. “What an odd choice.”



The Imass shrugged in a clatter of bones. “The Jaghut are odd people.”



“Tool, they weren't very war-like, were they? I mean, before your kind sought to destroy them.”



The Imass was slow to reply. “Even then,” he said at last. “The key lay in making them angry, for then they destroyed indiscriminately, including their own.”



Lorn shut her eyes briefly. She pocketed the Finnest. “Let's get out of here.”



“Yes, Adjunct. Even now the Jaghut Tyrant stirs.”



CHAPTER NINETEEN



But someone died here alas. Who drinks of this now and then and stirs the ashes of thine own pyre?



Maker of Paths, you were never so thirsty in youth:



Old Temple Sivyn Stor (b.1022)



“This isn't right, meese,” Crokus said, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “We can't just hide in here for ever.”



Apsalar said, from the window, “It's almost dark.”



Meese crouched once again to check the trap-door's lock. “We're moving you again, after the twelfth bell. Irilta's down below, getting details.”



“Who's giving these orders?” Crokus demanded. “Have you found Uncle Mammot yet?”



“Relax, lad.” Meese straightened. “No, we ain't found your uncle. And the orders come from your protectors. I won't answer any questions about who they are, Crokus, so save your breath.”



Apsalar shifted position by the window to take in Meese. “Your friend's been a long time,” she said. “Do you think something's happened?”



Meese looked away. This girl was sharp. Of course, Meese had known that the first time they'd met, and old Chert had found out the hard way.



“Not sure,” she admitted. She bent to unlock the trap-door. “You both stay put,” she ordered, glaring at Crokus. “I ain't going to be happy if you do something stupid. Understand?”



“Yes.”



The boy looked glum, his arms crossed. He watched as Meese opened the trap-door and climbed down the ladder.