A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

distance she recognized four of them: Quick Ben, Kalam, Whiskeyjack and that recruit, Sorry. The fifth rider was a short, wiry man, who had sapper written all over him. 'Oh?' she said, feigning lack of interest.
    'Whiskeyjack's squad,' Tayschrenn said. He turned his full gaze on the sorceress. 'The same squad you spoke with immediately following the Moon's retreat.' The High Mage smiled, then clapped Tattersail's shoulder. 'Come. I require a Reading. Let's begin.' He walked over to stand before the table. 'Oponn's strands are twisting a peculiar maze, the influence snares me again and again.' He turned his back to the wall and sat down on a crenel, then looked up. 'Tattersail,' he said soberly, 'in matters of Empire, I am the servant of the Empress.'
    Tattersail recalled their argument at the debriefing. Nothing had been resolved. 'Perhaps I should take my complaints to her, then.'
    Tayschrenn's brows rose. 'I take that as sarcastic'
    'You do?'
    The High Mage said, stiffly, 'I do, and be thankful for it, woman.'
    Tattersail pulled out her Deck and held it against her stomach, running her fingers over the top card. Cool, a feeling of great weight and darkness. She set the Deck in the table's centre, then lowered her bulk slowly into a kneeling position. Her gaze locked with Tayschrenn's. 'Shall we begin?'
    'Tell me of the Spinning Coin.'
    Tattersail's breath caught. She could not move.
    'First card,' Tayschrenn commanded.
    With an effort she expelled the air from her lungs in a hissing sigh. Damn him, she thought. An echo of laughter sounded in her head, and she realized that someone, something, had opened the way. An Ascendant was reaching through her, its presence cool and amused, almost fickle. Her eyes shut of their own accord, and she reached for the first card. She flipped it almost haphazardly to her right. Eyes still closed, she felt herself smile. 'An unaligned card: Orb. Judgement and true sight.' The second card she tossed to the left side of the field. 'Virgin, High House Death. Here scarred and blindfolded, with blood on her hands.'
    Faintly, as if from a great distance away, came the sound of horses, thundering closer, now beneath her, as if the earth had swallowed them. Then the sound rose anew, behind her. She felt herself nod. The recruit. 'The blood on her hands is not her own, the crime not its own. The cloth against her eyes is wet.'
    She slapped the third card immediately in front of her. Behind her lids an image formed. It left her cold and frightened. 'Assassin, High House Shadow. The Rope, a count of knots unending, the Patron of Assassins is in this game.' For a moment she thought she heard the howling of Hounds. She laid a hand on the fourth card and felt a thrill of recognition ripple through her, followed by something like false modesty. 'Oponn, Lady's head high, Lord's low.' She picked it up and set it down opposite Tayschrenn.
    There's your block. She smiled to herself. Chew on it awhile, High Mage. The Lady regards you with disgust. Tattersail knew he must be burning with questions, but he wouldn't speak them. There was too much power behind this opening. Had he sensed the Ascendant's presence? She wondered if it scared him.
    'The Coin,' she heard herself say, 'spins on, High Mage. Its face looks upon many, a handful perhaps, and here is their card.' She set the fifth card to Oponn's right, edges touching. 'Another unaligned card: Crown. Wisdom and justice, as it is upright. Around it a fair city's walls, lit by flames of gas, blue and green.' She pondered. 'Yes, Darujhistan, the last Free City.'
    The way closed, the Ascendant withdrawing as if bored. Tattersail's eyes opened, an unexpected warmth comforting her weary body. 'Into Oponn's maze,' she said, amused at the truth hidden in that statement. 'I can take it no further, High Mage.'
    Tayschrenn's breath gusted out and he leaned back. 'You've gone far past what I've managed, Sorceress.' His face was drawn as he looked at her. 'I'm impressed with your source, though not pleased with its message.' He frowned, planting his elbows on his knees and steepling his long-fingered hands before his face. 'This Spinning Coin, ever echoing. There's the Jester's humour in this shaping – even now I feel we are being misled. Death's Virgin, a likely deceit.'
    It was now Tattersail's turn to be impressed. The High Mage was an Adept, then. Had he, too, heard the laughter punctuating the laying of the field? She hoped not. 'You might be right,' she