A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

the servants who filed in bearing trays of food, it struck Toc that the man had not changed perceptibly from the one Toc the Elder had called friend. And that impressed Toc deeply, knowing as he did the pressures that burdened the High Fist.
    As soon as everyone was seated and the first course presented, it was Adjunct Lorn who took command, however. Dujek relinquished it without a word or a gesture, evidently confident that the earlier incident was now over as far as the Adjunct was concerned.
    Lorn addressed Tattersail in that uncanny, flat voice. 'Sorceress, permit me to compliment you on besting a Hound of Shadow, and on your timely recovery. I know that Tayschrenn has questioned you regarding this incident, but I would like to hear the tale from you directly.'
    Tattersail set down her goblet and regarded her plate briefly before meeting the Adjunct's steady gaze. 'As the High Mage may have explained, it's now clear that the gods have entered the fray. Specifically, they've become involved with the Empire's plans for Darujhistan—'
    Toc rose quickly. 'I believe,' he said, 'I should excuse myself now, as what will be discussed here exceeds—'
    'Be seated, Toc the Younger,' Lorn commanded. 'You are the Claw representative here, and as such you are responsible for speaking on its behalf.'
    'I am?'
    'You are.'
    Slowly, Toc sat.
    'Please continue, Sorceress.'
    Tattersail nodded. 'Oponn is central to this gambit. The Twin Jesters' opening move has created ripples – I'm sure the High Mage would agree with this – and thus attracted the attention of other gods.'
    'Shadowthrone,' Lorn said. She looked to Tayschrenn.
    The High Mage concurred. 'One could expect such a thing. I, however, have sensed nothing of Shadowthrone's attention upon us, even though I pursued that possibility vigorously after the Hound's attack.'
    Lorn exhaled slowly. 'Sorceress, please go on.'
    'The Hound's presence was triggered entirely by accident,' Tattersail said, flicking a glance at Tayschrenn. 'I was doing a reading from my Deck of Dragons, and came upon the card of the Hound. As with all Adepts, I found the image animate to a certain extent. When I gave it my full concentration, it felt,' she cleared her throat, 'as if a portal opened, created entirely from the other side of that card – from High House Shadow itself.' She raised her hands and gazed steadily at the High Mage. 'Is this possible? The Shadow Realm is new among the Houses, its full power not yet expressed. Well, whatever happened – a portal, a rent – the Hound Gear appeared.'
    'Then why,' Tayschrenn asked, 'did it appear in the street? Why not in your room?'
    Tattersail smiled. 'I can speculate.'
    'Please do,' the Adjunct said.
    'I have wards about my room,' Tattersail said. 'The innermost of these are High Thyr.'
    Tayschrenn started at that, clearly surprised.
    'Such wards,' Tattersail continued, 'create a flux, a tide of power that surges and ebbs like a pulsing heart, one that is beating very fast. I suspect that these wards were sufficient to bounce the Hound away from my immediate area, since in its transitional state – half-way between its realm and ours – the Hound could not fully express its powers. Once it had arrived, however, it could, and it did.'
    'How did you manage to fend off a Hound of Shadow?' Tayschrenn asked.
    'Luck,' Tattersail replied, without hesitation. Her answer hung in the air, and it seemed to Toc that everyone had forgotten their meal.
    'In other words,' Lorn said slowly, 'you believe that Oponn intervened.'
    'I do.'
    'Why?'
    Tattersail barked a laugh. 'If I could work that out, Adjunct, I'd be a happy woman. As it is,' her humour fell away, 'it seems we're being used. The Empire itself has become a pawn.'
    'Is there a way out?' Dujek asked, his words a growl that startled everyone.
    Tattersail shrugged. 'If there is, it lies in Darujhistan, since that's where Oponn's gambit seems centred. Mind you, High Fist, drawing us into Darujhistan might well be what Oponn seeks to achieve.'
    Toc sat back, absently scratching his wound. There was more to it, he suspected, though he could find no discernible source for his suspicion. He scratched harder. Tattersail could be glib when she wanted to be; her story had a straightforwardness to it. The best lies were the simple ones. Still, nobody else seemed unduly suspicious. The sorceress had shifted attention from her story to its implications for future action. She had everyone thinking past her,