She stiffened as the ward she'd placed outside her door was tripped.
Tattersail whirled to Paran. «A visitor,» she said.
He rose, Chance in his hands.
The sorceress waved her hand over him. «You're no longer visible, Captain. Nor can anyone sense your presence. Make no sound, and wait here.» She strode into the outer room just as a soft knock sounded on the door.
She opened it to see a young marine standing in the hallway. «What is it?» she demanded.
The marine bowed. «High Fist Dujek is inquiring as to your health, Sorceress.»
«Much better,» she said. «That's kind of him. Now, if you'll-»
The marine interrupted diffidently. «If you answered as you just have, I am to convey the High Fist's request that you attend a formal supper this evening in the main building.»
Tattersail cursed silently. She shouldn't have told the truth. Now, it was too late. A «request» from her commander was not something that could be denied. «Inform the High Fist that I will be honoured to share his company over supper.» A thought struck her. «May I ask who else will be present?»
«High Mage Tayschrenn, a messenger named Toc the Younger, and Adjunct Lorn.»
«Adjunct Lorn is here?»
«Arrived this morning, Sorceress.»
Oh, Hood's Breath. «Convey my reply,» Tattersail said, struggling against a rising tide of fear. She shut the door, then heard the marine's boots hurrying down the hallway.
«What's wrong?» Paran asked, from the opposite doorway.
She faced him. «Put that sword away, Captain.» She walked over to the dresser and began rummaging through the drawers. «I'm to attend a dinner,» she said.
Paran approached. «An official gathering.»
Tattersail nodded distractedly. «With Adjunct Lorn there as well, as if Tayschrenn isn't bad enough.»
The Captain murmured, «So she's finally arrived.»
Tattersail froze. She turned to him slowly. «You've been expecting her, haven't you?»
Paran started and looked at her with frightened eyes.
She realized his mumbling hadn't been meant for her ears. «Dammit,» she hissed. «You're working for her!»
The captain's answer was clear as he spun round. She watched him vanish into the bedroom, her thoughts a storm of fury. The threads of conspiracy now thrummed in her mind. So, Quick Ben's suspicions had been accurate: a plan was afoot to kill the squad. Did that make her life at risk as well? She felt herself nearing a decision. What that decision was she wasn't sure, but there was a direction to her thoughts now, and it had the inevitable momentum of an avalanche.
The seventh bell was ringing from some distant tower as Toc the Younger passed into the Empire headquarters.
He showed his invitation to yet another grim-faced, intense guard, and was grudgingly allowed to continue on down the main hall to the dining chamber. Unease churned in Toc's stomach. He knew the Adjunct was behind the request, but she could be as unpredictable and as manipulative as the rest. Beyond the doors he now approached might as well be a pit filled with vipers, all hungrily awaiting his arrival.
Toc wondered if he'd be able to keep anything down, and knowing the condition of his facial wound, he then wondered grimly if anyone else would be able to keep anything down. Among his fellow soldiers his scars were barely noticed: rare was the soldier in Dujek's army who did not carry a scar or three. Those few friends he had seemed simply thankful that he still lived.
In the Seven Cities, superstition held that loss of an eye was also the birth of inner sight. He'd been reminded of that belief at least a dozen times in the last couple of weeks. There had been no secret gift granted him in exchange for his eye. Flashes of searing light ripped through his mind every now and then, but he suspected that was no more than a memory of the last thing his eye had seen: fire.
And now he was about to sit among the loftiest company in the Empire, barring the Empress herself. Suddenly the wound was a thing of shame. He'd sit there as testament to the horrors of war-Toc stiffened just outside the dining room door. Was that why the Adjunct had invited him? He hesitated, then shrugged and entered.
Dujek, Tayschrenn and the Adjunct turned as one to regard him. Toc the Younger bowed.
«Thank you for coming,» Adjunct Lorn said. She stood with the two men near the largest of three fireplaces, in the wall opposite the entrance «Please, join us. We're now awaiting but one more guest.»
Toc strode to them, thankful for Dujek's grin. The High Fist set his crystal goblet down on the mantel and deliberately scratched the stump of his left arm.
«Bet it's driving you half crazed,» the old man said, his grin broadening.
«I scratch with both hands,» Toc said.
Dujek barked a laugh. «Join us in a drink?»
«Thank you.» He noticed Lorn's appraisal as he accepted a goblet from Dujek. Taking the decanter from a nearby table, his glance crossed the High Mage, but Tayschrenn's attention was fixed on the roaring fire behind Lorn.
«Has your horse recovered?» the Adjunct asked.
Toc nodded as he filled his goblet. «Doing handstands the last time I looked in on her,» he said.
Lorn smiled tentatively, as if unsure whether he was mocking her. «I've explained your vital role in keeping me alive, Toc the Younger, how you loosed four arrows on the fly, and brought down four Barghast.»
He looked at her sharply. «I didn't know I had the last two shots in me,» he said. He sipped wine, resisting the urge to scratch his wound.
Dujek grunted. «Your father was also in the habit of surprising people. There's a man I miss.»
«I, too,» Toc replied, looking down.
The awkward silence that followed this exchange was mercifully broken by the arrival of the last guest. Toc turned with the others as the door swung open. He gazed at the woman standing in the entrance, then started. Was that Tattersail? He'd never seen her wearing anything but battle garb, and was now stunned. My, he thought wonderingly, she's not bad, if you like them big, that is. He half grinned.
Lorn's response to Tattersail's appearance had sounded much like a gasp, then she spoke. «We have met before, though I doubt you'd remember.»
Tattersail blinked. «I think I would have recalled that,» she said cautiously.
«I think not. I was but eleven years old at the time.»
«Then you must be mistaken. I'm rarely in the company of children.»
«They burned the Mouse Quarter a week after you swept through it, Tattersail.» Lorn's voice made everyone stiffen with its barely controlled rage. «Those survivors, the ones you left behind, were resettled in Mock's Hole. And in those plague-ridden caverns my mother, my father and my brother died.»
The blood drained from Tattersail's round face.
Bewildered, Toc glanced at the others. Dujek's expression was masked, but there was a storm behind his eyes as he studied Lorn. On Tayschrenn's face, as he looked upon the sorceress, there dawned a sudden light.
«It was our first command,» Tattersail said quietly.
Toc saw Lorn trembling and held his breath. But when she spoke it was controlled, the words precise. «An explanation is required.» She turned to High Fist Dujek. «They were recruits, a cadre of mages. They were in Malaz City, awaiting their new commander, when the Master of the Claw issued an edict against sorcery. They were sent into the Old City-the Mouse-to cleanse it. They were-» her voice caught «-indiscriminate.» She swung her attention back to Tattersail. «This woman was one of those mages. Sorceress, that night was my last with my family. I was given to the Claw the very next day. The news of my family's death was kept from me for years. Yet,» her words fell to a whisper, «I well remember that night-the blood, the screams.»
Tattersail seemed unable to speak. The air in the room had grown thick, stifling. Finally the sorceress prised her gaze from the Adjunct and said to Dujek, «High Fist, it was our first command. We lost control. I resigned from the officer corps the very next day and was posted with another Army.» She gathered herself. «If it is the Adjunct's wish to convene a court, I offer no defence and will accept my execution as a just penalty.»
Lorn replied, «That is acceptable.» She laid her left hand upon her sword and prepared to withdraw it.
«No,» High Fist Dujek said. «It is not acceptable.»
Lorn froze. She glared at the old man. «You seem to forget my rank.»
«No, I haven't. Adjunct, if it is your will that those within the Empire who have committed crimes in the Emperor's name must be executed, he stepped forward, «then you must include me. Indeed, I believe High Mage Tayschrenn also has his share of horror committed on the Emperor's behalf. And, finally, there is the Empress herself to consider.
Laseen, after all, commanded the Emperor's Claw-she created it, in fact. More, the Edict was hers, thankfully short-lived as it was.» He turned to Tattersail. «I was there, Tattersail. Under Whiskeyjack's command I was sent down to rein you in, which I did.»
She shook her head. «Whiskeyjack commanded?» Her eyes narrowed «This has the taste of a god's game.»
Dujek swung back to the Adjunct. «The Empire has its history, and we each are in it.»
«In this,» Tayschrenn rasped, «I must agree with the High Fist, Adjunct.
«There's no need to have all this official,» Tattersail said, her eyes on Lorn. «I hereby challenge you to a duel. On my behalf I shall employ all my magical skills in an effort to destroy you. You may defend with your sword, Adjunct.»
Toc took a step forward. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He'd been about to tell Tattersail that Lorn carried an Otataral sword that the duel would be grossly unfair, that she'd die within seconds, as the sword devoured her every spell. Then he saw that the sorceress knew all that.
Dujek rounded on Tattersail. «Dammit, woman! Do you think everything hinges on how it's worded? Execution. Duel. None of it matters one whit! All that the Adjunct does, all that she says, is on behalf of Empress Laseen.» He spun to Lorn. «You are here as Laseen's voice, as her will, Adjunct.»
Tayschrenn spoke softly, «The woman named Lorn, the woman who once was a child, who once had a family,» he looked upon the Adjunct with anguish in his eyes, «that woman does not exist. She ceased to exist the day she became the Adjunct.»
Lorn stared at the two men, her eyes wide.
Standing beside her, Toc watched those words battering her will, crushing the anger, shattering into dust every last vestige of identity. And from her eyes rose the icy, clinical repose of the Adjunct to the Empress.
Toc felt his heart pounding hard against his chest. He'd just witnessed an execution. The woman named Lorn had risen from the turgid mists of the past, risen to right A wrong, to find justice and in that last act reclaim its life-and she had been denied. Not by the words of Dujek or Tayschrenn, but by the thing known as the Adjunct.
«Of course,» she said, removing her hand from her sword. «Please enter, Sorceress Tattersail, and dine with us.»
The flat tone of her voice told Toc that her invitation had not cost anything-and this horrified him, shook him to his very core. A quick glance showed a similar response from Tayschrenn and Dujek, though the latter veiled it.
