Tattersail thought about that. «You are right,» she said. She turned and walked to the tent flap. Her hand closed on the rough canvas, then she stopped. «Hairlock, how well can you hear?»
«Well enough,» the marionette growled behind her.
«Do you hear anything, then?» A spinning coin?
«Camp sounds, is all. Why, what do you hear?»
Tattersail smiled. Without answering she pulled aside the tent flap and went outside. As she headed towards the command tent, a strange hope sang through her.
She'd never held Oponn as an ally. Calling on luck in anything was sheer idiocy. The first House she had placed, Darkness, touched her hand ice-cold, loud with the crashing waves of violence and power run amok-and yet an odd flavour there, something like salvation. The Knight could be enemy or ally, or more likely neither. Just out there, unpredictable, self-absorbed. But Oponn rode the warrior's shadow, leaving House Dark tottering on the edge, suspended in a place between night and day. More than anything else, it had been Oponn's spinning coin that had demanded her choice to hold.
Hairlock heard nothing. Wonderful.
Even now, as she approached the command tent, the faint sound continued in her head, as it would for some time, she believed. The coin spun, and spun. Oponn whirled two faces to the cosmos, but it was the Lady's bet. Spin o silver. Spin on.
CHAPTER THREE
Thelomen Tartheno Toblakai:
find the names of a people so reluctant to fade into oblivion:
Their legend rots my cynical cast and blights my eyes with bright glory »
Cross not the loyal cage embracing their unassailable heart:
: Cross not these stolid menhirs, ever loyal to the earth.»
Thelomen Tartheno Toblakai:
Still standing, these towering pillars mar the gelid scape of my mind:
Gothos» Folly (ILiv)
Gothos
The imperial trireme carved the deep-sea troughs like a relentless axe-blade, sails stretched and spars creaking under the steady wind. Captain Ganoes Paran remained in his cabin. He had long since grown tired of scanning the eastern horizon for the first sighting of land. It would come, and it would come soon.
He leaned against the sloping wall opposite his bunk, watching the lanterns sway and idly tossing his dagger into the lone table's centre pole, which was now studded with countless tiny holes.
A cool musty brush of air swept across his face and he turned to see Topper emerge from the Imperial Warren. It had been two years since he'd last seen the Claw Master. «Hood's Breath, man,» Paran said, «can't you manage to find another colour of cloth? This perverse love of green must surely be curable.»
The tall half-blood Tiste And? seemed to be wearing the same clothes as the last time Paran had seen him: green wool, green leather. Only the countless rings spearing his long fingers showed any splash of contrary colour. The Claw Master had arrived in a sour mood and Paran's opening words had not improved it. «You imagine I enjoy such journeys, Captain? Seeking out a ship on the ocean is a challenge of sorcery few could manaze.»
«Makes you a reliable messenger, then,» Paran muttered.
«I see you've made no effort to improve on courtesy, Captain-I admit I understand nothing of the Adjunct's faith in you.»
«Don't lose sleep over it, Topper. Now you've found me, what is the» The man scowled. «She's with the Bridgeburners. Outside Pale.» «The siege continues? How old is your information?»
«Less than a week, which is as long as I've been hunting you. In any case,» he continued, «the deadlock is about to be broken.»
Paran grunted. Then he frowned. «Which squad?»
«You know them all?»
«Yes,» Paran asserted.
Topper's scowl deepened, then he raised a hand and began examining his rings. «Whiskeyjack's. She's one of his recruits.»
Paran closed his eyes. It should not have surprised him. The gods are playing with me. Question is, which gods? Oh, Whiskeyjack. You once commanded an army, back when Laseen was named Surly, back when you could have listened to your companion, when you could have made a choice. You could've stopped Surly. Hell, perhaps you could have stopped me. But now you command a squad, just a squad, and she's the Empress. And me? I'm a fool who followed his dream, and now all I desire is its end. He opened his eyes and regarded Topper. «Whiskeyjack. The War of Seven Cities: through the breach at Aren, the Holy Desert Raraku, Pan'potsun, Nathilog:»
«All in the Emperor's time Paran.»
«So,» Paran said, «I'm to take command of Whiskeyjack's squad. The mission will take us to Darulhistan, to the city of cities.»
«Your recruit is showing her powers,» Topper said, grimacing. «She's corrupted the Bridgeburners, possibly even Dujek Onearm and the entire Second and Third Armies on Genabackis.»
«You can't be serious. Besides, my concern is with the recruit With her. Only her. The Adjunct agrees we've waited long enough. Now you're telling me we've waited too long? I can't believe Dujek's about to become a renegade-not Dujek. Not Whiskeyjack either.»
«You are to proceed as planned, but I have been instructed to remind you that secrecy is paramount, now more than ever. An agent of the Claw will contact you once you reach Pale. Trust no one else. Your recruit's found her weapon, and with it she means to strike at the heart of the Empire. Failure cannot be considered.» Topper's odd eyes glinted. «If you now feel unequal to the task:»
Paran studied the man standing before him. If it's as bad as you describe, why not send in a hand of Claw assassins?
The man sighed, as if he'd somehow heard Paran's silent question. «A god is using her, Captain. She won't die easily. The plan for dealing with her has required: adjustments. Expansion, in fact. Additional threats must be taken care of, but these are threads already woven. Do as you have been commanded. All risk must be removed if we are to take Darujhistan, and the Empress wants Darujhistan. She also feels it is time for Dujek Onearm to be:» he smiled, «disarmed.»
«Why?»
«He has a following. It's still held that the Emperor had old Onearm in mind as his heir.»
Paran snorted. «The Emperor planned to rule for ever, Topper. This suspicion of Laseen's is plain ridiculous and persists only because it justifies her paranoia.»
«Captain,» Topper said quietly, «greater men than you have died for less. The Empress expects obedience of her servants, and demands loyalty.»
«Any reasonable ruler would have the expectation and the demand the other way round.»
Topper's mouth thinned to a pale line. «Assume command of the squad, stay close to the recruit but otherwise do nothing to make her suspicious of you. Once in place you are to wait. Understood?»
Paran looked away, his gaze finding the porthole. Beyond was blue sky. There were too many omissions, half-truths and outright lies in this: this chaotic mess. How will I play it, when the time comes? The recruit must die. At least that much is certain. But the rest? Whiskeyjack, I remember you, you stood tall then, and in my dreams I never imagined this growing nightmare. Will I have your blood on my bands when all this is done? At the very heart of things, he realized, he no longer knew who was the ultimate betrayer in all this, if a betrayer there must be. Was the Empire the Empress? Or was it something else, a legacy, an ambition, a vision at the far end of peace and wealth for all? Or was it a beast that could not cease devouring? Darujhistan-the greatest city in the world. Would it come to the Empire in flames? Was there wisdom in opening its gates? Within the troubled borders of the Malazan Empire, people lived in such peace as their ancestors had never imagined; and if not for the Claw, for the endless wars in distant lands, there would be freedom as well. Had this been the Emperor's dream at the very beginning? Did it matter any more?