everyone else. As for Whiskeyjack and his squad, he's all yours, Adjunct.'
'With luck,' Lorn said, then frowned as the High Mage winced. 'What's the matter?'
He rose. 'I peruse my Deck of Dragons nightly,' he said. 'And I'm certain that Oponn has entered the world of mortal affairs. Tattersail's own reading did much to confirm my suspicions.'
Lorn looked at him sharply. 'She's an Adept?'
'Far more adept than I,' Tayschrenn admitted.
Lorn thought. 'What can you tell me of Oponn's involvement?'
'Darujhistan,' Tayschrenn replied.
Lorn closed her eyes. 'I was afraid you'd say that. We need Darujhistan – desperately. Its wealth, coming into our hands, would break this continent's back.'
'I know, Adjunct. But the matter is even worse than you realize. I also believe that, somehow, Whiskeyjack and Tattersail are in league with one another.'
'Any word of what happened to Captain Paran?'
'None. Someone is hiding him, or his body. I'm inclined to believe he's dead, Adjunct, but his soul has yet to pass through Hood's Gate and only a mage could prevent that.'
'Tattersail?'
The High Mage shrugged. 'Possibly. I would know more of this captain's role in all this.'
Lorn hesitated, then said, 'He was engaged in a long, arduous search.'
Tayschrenn growled, 'Perhaps he found whatever he was seeking.'
Lorn eyed him. 'Perhaps. Tell me, how good is Tattersail?'
'Good enough to be a High Mage,' Tayschrenn said. 'Good enough to survive a Hound's attack and to drive it away, though I would not think such a thing possible. Even I would have difficulty managing that.'
'Maybe she had help,' Lorn murmured.
'I hadn't thought of that.'
"Think on it now,' Lorn said. 'But before you do, the Empress requests that you continue your efforts, though not against Dujek. You're needed here as a conduit in case my mission goes wrong in Darujhistan. Do not involve yourself with managing the occupation of Pale. Further, you are to provide Dujek with details on Oponn's appearance. If a god has entered the fray, he has a right to know and to plan accordingly.'
'How can one plan anything with Oponn in the game?'
'Leave that to Dujek.' She studied his face. 'Do you have difficulty with any of these instructions?'
Tayschrenn smiled. 'In truth, Adjunct, I'm greatly relieved.'
Lorn nodded. 'Good. Now, I need a mundane healer and quarters.'
'Of course.' Tayschrenn strode to the doors, then paused and turned. 'Adjunct, I am glad you're here.'
'Thank you, High Mage.' After he left, Lorn sank into her chair and her mind travelled back nine years, to the sights and sounds experienced by a child, to a night, one particular night in the Mouse, when every nightmare a young girl's imagination could hold became real. She remembered blood, blood everywhere, and the empty faces of her mother, her father and older brother – faces numbed by the realization that they'd been spared, that the blood wasn't their own. As the memories stalked once again through her mind, a name rode the winds, rustling in the air as if clawing through dead branches. Lorn's lips parted, and she whispered, 'Tattersail.'
The sorceress had found the strength to leave her bed. She now stood at the window, leaning with one hand against the frame for support, and looked down on a street crowded with military wagons. The systematic plunder that quartermasters called 'resupply' was well under way. The eviction of nobility and gentry from their familial estates for the stationing of the officer corps, of which she was one, had ended days ago, while the repairing of the outer walls, the refitting of sundered gates, and the clearing of 'Moon rain' continued apace.
She was glad she'd missed the river of corpses that must have filled the city streets during the initial phase of clean-up – wagon after wagon groaning beneath the weight of crushed bodies, white flesh seared by fire and slashed by sword, rat-gnawed and raven-pecked – men, women, and children. It was a scene she had witnessed before, and she had no wish ever to see it again.
Now, shock and terror had seeped down and out of sight. Scenes of normality reappeared as farmers and merchants emerged from hiding to meet the needs of occupiers and occupied alike. Malazan healers had swept the city, rooting out the birthing of plague and treating common ailments among all those they touched. No citizen would have been turned from their path. And sentiments began the long, perfectly planned swing.
Soon, Tattersail knew, there'd be the culling of the nobility, a scourge that would raise to the gallows the greediest, least-liked nobles. And the executions would be