Gardens of the Moon
He keeps his world bottled up, but the pressure's building. She wondered what would happen when everything broke loose inside him.
The two Seven Cities men waited, eyes on their sergeant. Only Fiddler continued his preoccupied pacing. The sapper's mismatched uniform still carried the stains of the tunnels. Someone else's blood had splashed thickly on the front of his tunic-as if a friend had died in his arrns. Poorly healed blisters showed under the uneven bristle of his cheeks and jaw, and his lank red hair hung haphazardly beneath his leather helmet.
A long minute passed, then the sergeant nodded sharply to himself.
His hard eyes still fixed on the tabletop, he said, “All right, Sorceress. We'll give you this. Quick Ben, tell her about Sorry.”
Tattersail's brows rose. She crossed her arms and faced the wizard.
Quick Ben looked none too pleased. He shifted uneasily and cast a hopeful glance at Kalam, but the big man looked away.
Whiskeyjack growled, “Now, Wizard.”
Quick Ben met Tattersail's steady gaze with an almost child-like expression-fear, guilt and chagrin flitted across his fine features. “You remember her?”
She barked a harsh laugh. “Not an easy one to forget. An odd: sense: about her. Dangerous.” She thought about revealing what she'd learned during her Fatid with Tayschrenn. Virgin of Death. But something held her back. No, she corrected herself, not just something-I still don't trust them. “You suspect she's in the service of someone else?”
The wizard's face was ashen. He cleared his throat. “She was recruited two years ago in Itko Kan, one of the usual sweeps across the Empire's heartland.”
Kalam's voice rumbled beside her, “Something ugly happened there at around the same time. It's been buried pretty deep, but the Adjunct became involved, and a Claw came in her wake and silenced damn near everyone in the city guard who might have talked. I made use of old sources, scrounged up some odd details.”
“Odd,” Quick Ben said, “and revealing, if you know what you're looking for.”
Tattersail smiled to herself. These two men had a way of talking in tandem. She returned her attention to the wizard, who continued.
“Seems a company of cavalry hit some hard luck. No survivors. As for what they ran into, it had something to do with-”
“Dogs,” Kalam finished without missing a beat.
The sorceress frowned at the assassin.
“Put it together,” Quick Ben said, drawing her attention once again.
“Adjunct Lorn is Laseen's personal mage-killer. Her arrival on the scene suggests sorcery was involved in the massacre. High sorcery.” The wizard's gaze narrowed on Tattersail and he waited.
She swallowed another mouthful of wine. The Fatid showed me. Dogs and sorcery. Into her mind returned the image of the Rope as she had seen it in the reading. High House Shadow, ruled by Shadowthrone and the Rope, and in their service-'The Seven Hounds of Shadow.” She looked to Whiskeyjack but the sergeant's eyes remained downcast, his expression blank as stone.
“Good,” Quick Ben snapped, somewhat impatiently. “The Hound hunted. That's our guess, but it's a good one. The Nineteenth Regiment of the Eighth Cavalry were all killed, even their horses. A league worth of coastline settlements needed repopulating.”
“Fine.” Tattersail sighed. “But what does this have to do with Sorry?”
The wizard turned away and Kalam spoke. “Hairlock's going to follow more than just one trail, Sorceress. We're pretty sure Sorry is somehow involved with House Shadow:”
“It certainly seems,” Tattersail said, “that since its arrival in the Deck and the opening of its Warren, Shadow's path crosses the Empire's far too often to be accidental. Why should the Warren between Light and Dark display such: obsession with the Malazan Empire?”
Kalam's gaze was veiled. “Odd, isn't it? After all, the Warren only appeared following the Emperor's assassination at Laseen's hand. Shadowthrone and his companion the Patron of Assassins-Cotillion were unheard of before Kellanved and Dancer's deaths. It also seems that whatever: disagreement there is between House Shadow and Empres Laseen is, uhm, personal:”
Tattersail closed her eyes. Dammit, it's that obvious, isn't it? “Quick Ben,” she said, “hasn't there always been an accessible Warren of Shadow? Rashan, the Warren of Illusions?”
“Rashan is a false Warren, Sorceress. A shadow of what it claims to represent, if you'll excuse my wording. It is itself an illusion. The gods alone know where it came from or who created it in the first place, or even why. But the true Warren of Shadow has been closed, inaccessible for millennia, until the 1154th year of Burn's Sleep, nine years ago. The earliest writings of House Shadow seemed to indicate that its throne was occupied by a Tiste Edur-”