A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

him?'
    'Yes.'
    'May I ask what were those scrolls?'
    'Is it of vital significance now, Tattersail?'
    'It is. The truth will help me in deciding whether to go with you, or die here.'
    Bellurdan hesitated only a moment. 'Very well. Among the archives collected from the city's mages – all of whom were executed, as you know – were found some copied fragments of Gothos' Folly, an ancient Jaghut tome—'
    'I know of it,' Tattersail interjected. 'Go on.'
    'As a Thelomen, I possess Jaghut blood, though of course Gothos would deny it. The High Mage entrusted the examination of these writings to me. I was to seek out information concerning the burial of a Jaghut Tyrant, a burial that was in fact a prison.'
    'Wait,' Tattersail said, shaking her head. 'The Jaghut had no government. What do you mean by a Tyrant?'
    'One whose blood was poisoned by the ambition to rule over others. This Jaghut Tyrant enslaved the land around it – all living things – for close to three thousand years. The Imass of the time sought to destroy it, and failed. It was left to other Jaghut to attend to the sundering and imprisoning of the Tyrant – for such a creature was as abominable to them as it was to Imass.'
    Tattersail's heart now hammered in her chest. 'Bellurdan.' She had to fight to push the words from her. 'Where was this Tyrant buried?'
    'I concluded that the barrow lies south of here, in the Gadrobi Hills directly east of Darujhistan.'
    'Oh, Queen of Dreams. Bellurdan, do you know what you've done?'
    'I have done as I was commanded by our High Mage.'
    'And that's why the T'lan Imass is with the Adjunct.'
    'I don't understand what you are saying, Tattersail.'
    'Dammit, you brainless ox!' she rasped. 'They plan to free the Tyrant! Lorn's sword – her Otataral sword—'
    'No,' Bellurdan rumbled. 'They would not do such a thing. Rather, they seek to prevent someone else releasing it. Yes, that is more likely. It is the truth of things. Now, Tattersail, our conversation is done.'
    'I can't go back,' the sorceress said. 'I must go on. Please, don't stop me.'
    'We are to return to Pale,' Bellurdan said stubbornly. 'Your concern has been satisfied. Permit me to take you back so that I may continue seeking the proper burial place for Nightchill.'
    There was no choice left in Tattersail's mind, but there had to be a way out. The conversation had bought her time, time to recover from the ordeal of travelling by Warren. Bellurdan's words returned to her: if she accessed her Thyr Warren now she would be consumed. Incinerated by the reactive influence of the T'lan Imass. Her eyes fell on the burlap sack beside the Thelomen and saw from it a faint gleam of sorcery. A spell. My own spell. She recalled now: a gesture of compassion, a spell of... preservation. Is this my way out? Hood's Breath, is it even possible? She thought of Hairlock, the journey from the dying body to a lifeless ... vessel. Shedenul, have mercy on us ...
    The sorceress stepped back and opened her Warren. High Thyr magic blazed around her. She saw Bellurdan stagger back then steady himself. He screamed something, but she could not hear him. Then he charged at her.
    She regretted the Thelomen's fatal courage as the fire blackened the world around her, even as she opened her arms and embraced him.
     
    Lorn strode to Tool's side. The T'lan Imass faced west, and a tension swirled about him that she could almost see.
    'What is it?' she asked, her eyes on the white fountain of fire rising above the horizon. 'I've never seen anything like that.'
    'Nor I,' Tool replied. 'It is within the barrier I have cast around us.'
    'But that's impossible,' the Adjunct snapped.
    'Yes, impossible to last this long. Its source should have been consumed almost instantly. Yet...' The T'lan Imass fell silent.
    There was no need for Tool to finish his sentence. The pillar of fire still raged in the night sky as it had for the past hour. The stars swam in the inky darkness around it, magic swirling in a frenzy as if from a bottomless well. On the wind was a smell that left Lorn slightly nauseous. 'Do you recognize the Warren, Tool?'
    'Warrens, Adjunct. Tellann, Thyr, Denul, D'riss, Tennes, Thelomen Toblakai, Starvald Demelain ...'
    'Starvald Demelain, what in Hood's Name is that?'
    'Elder.'
    'I thought there were but three Elder Warrens, and that's not one of them.'
    'Three? No, there were many, Adjunct, all born of one. Starvald Demelain.'
    Lorn wrapped her cloak tighter about herself, eyes on the column