Gardens of the Moon

The man's face had lost its colour. “So much for intelligence reports,” he muttered.



The agent's grin widened. “We see them before you do. Life's on a need-to-know. Remember that, Captain:” The man's smile was the only answer he gave.



They entered and closed the door behind them.



A young marine intercepted Tattersail as she made her way across the compound in what was now Empire headquarters in Pale. The boy's face had bewilderment written all over it, and he opened his mouth a few times before any words came out.



“Sorceress?”



She stopped. The thought of having Tayschrenn wait a little longer appealed to her. “What is it, soldier?”



The marine stole a glance over one shoulder, then said, “The guards, Sorceress. They've got something of a problem. They sent me to-”



“Who? Which guards? Take me to them.”



“Yes, Sorceress.”



She followed the marine around the nearest corner of the main building, where the compound wall ran close, creating a narrow passage running the building's length. At the far end knelt a figure, his bare head bowed. Beside him was a large, lumpy burlap sack, covered in brown stains. Clouds of flies swarmed around both the man and the sack.



The marine halted and turned to the sorceress. “He still hasn't moved. The guards keep getting sick when they patrol through here.”



Tattersail stared at the huddled man, a sudden welling of tears behind her eyes. Ignoring the marine, she strode into the aisle. The stench hit her like a wall. Damn, she thought, he's been here since the battle. Five days.



The sorceress came closer. Though Bellurdan knelt, his head came near to her own height. The Thelomen High Mage still wore what was left of his battle garb, the ragged strips of fur scorched and torn, the rough weave of fragments of tunic stained with blood. As she arrived to stop before him, she saw that his neck and face were covered in burn blisters, and most of his hair was gone.



“You look terrible, Bellurdan,” she said.



The giant's head slowly turned. Red-rimmed eyes focused on her face.



“Ah,” he rumbled. “Tattersail.” His exhausted smile cracked the charred flesh of one cheek. The wound gaped red and dry.



That smile almost broke her down. “You need healing, old friend.” Her gaze flicked to the burlap sack. Its surface crawled with flies. “Come on. Nightchill would bite your head off if she could see you now.” She felt trembling steal into her, but grimly pressed on. “We'll take care of her Bellurdan. You and me. But we'll need our strength to do that.”



The Thelomen shook his head slowly. “I choose this, Tattersail. The scars without are the scars within.” He drew a deep breath. “I will survive these wounds. And I alone will raise my love's barrow. But the time is not yet right.” He laid a massive hand on the sack. “Tayschrenn has given me leave to do this. Will you do the same?”



Tattersail was shocked to feel the surge of anger rising up in her. “Tayschrenn gave you leave, did he?” To her own ears her voice sound brutal, a harsh grating of sarcasm. She saw Bellurdan flinch and seem withdraw, and a part of her wanted to wail, to throw her arms around the giant and weep, but rage possessed her. “That bastard killed Nightchill! Bellurdan! The Moon's lord had neither the time nor the inclination to raise demons. Think about it! Tayschrenn had the time prepare-”



“No!” The Thelomen's voice thundered down the aisle. He surged to his feet and Tattersail stepped back. The giant looked ready to tear down the walls, a desperate fire in his eyes. His hands closed into fists. Then his glare fixed on her. He seemed to freeze. All at once his shoulder slumped, his hands opened, and his eyes dimmed. “No,” he said again, this time in a tone filled with sorrow. “Tayschrenn is our protector. As has always been, Tattersail. Remember the very beginning? The Emperor was mad, but Tayschrenn stood at his side. He shaped the Empire dream and so opposed the Emperor's nightmare. We underestimated Lord of Moon's Spawn, that is all.”



Tattersail stared up at Bellurdan's ravaged face. The memory of Hairlock's torn body returned to her. There was an echo there, but she couldn't quite catch it. “I remember the beginning,” she said softly, doing some searching of her own. The memories remained sharp, but whatever thread there was that connected then to now still eluded her. She wanted desperately to talk to Quick Ben, but she had seen nothing of the Bridgeburners since the day of the battle. They'd left her with Hairlock, and that puppet scared her more and more with every passing day. Particularly now that he'd found a grudge to hold on to-the scene with the Deck of Dragons still smarted-and he worked it by keeping her in the dark. “The Emperor had a knack for gathering the right people around him,” she continued. “But he wasn't a fool. He knew the betrayal would come from that group. What made us the right people was our power. I remember, Bellurdan.” She shook her head. “The Emperor's gone, but the power's still here.”