Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1)

Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1) Page 126

Perhaps this puppet had survived from Cese times. Crone thought about that. Unlikely.

Magic bloomed on the plain below, then faded. A small magical form scampered from the spot, weaving as it ran. Here, thought Crone, lie the answers to my questions. Destroy my younglings, will you? Would you so easily disdain Crone?

She crooked her wings and dropped. The air whistled around her. She raised a penumbra of protective magic that encapsulated her just as the small figure ceased its march and looked up. Faintly, Crone heard a manic laugh rise up to meet her, then the puppet gestured.

The power that engulfed Crone was Iowri;cse, far beyond anything she anticipated. Her defences held but she found herself buffeted, as if fists punched her from every direction. She cried out in pain, spinning as she fell. It took all her strength and will to; MM out her battered wings and catch a rising current of air. She voiced an outraged, alarmed shriek she climbed higher into the night sky. A tffice down revealed that the puppet had returned once again to its Warren, for nothing magical was visible.

“Aye.” She sighed. “What a price to pay for knowledge! Elder Warrren indeed, the eldest of them all. Who plays with Chaos? Crone knows naught. All things are gathering, %.L=.- here.” She found another stream of wind and angled south. This was something Anomander Rake must know of, never mind Caladan The "110 instructions that the Ti And? lord be kept ignorant of almost 4-i;;&~thing. Rake was good more than Brood credited him. VMMM Met, for one.” Crone laugh “And death. Good at death!”

She picked up speed, so did not notice the, — dead smudge on the plain below her, nor the woman camped in its centre. There was no me there to speak of, in any case.

Adjunct Lorn squatted by her bedroll, her eyes scanning the night sky. “Tool, was all that connected to what we witnessed two nights ago?”

The T'lan Imass shook his head. “I think — sro-t, Adjunct. If anything, concerns me more. It is sorcery, and it 1wres the barrier I have around us.”

“How?” she asked quietly.

“There is only one possibility, Adjunct. It is Eldering, a lost Warren ages past, returned to us. Whoever its wielder might be, we must assume it tracks us, with purpose.”

Lorn straightened wearily, then stretched her back, feeling her vertebrae pop. “Is its flavour Shadowthrone's?”

“No.”

“Then I will not assume it's tracking us, Tool.” She eyed her bedroll.

Tool faced the woman and watched in silence as she prepared to sleep.

“Adjunct,” he said, “this hunter appears able to penetrate my defences, and thus it may open its Warren's portal directly behind us, once we are found.”

“I've no fear of magic,” Lorn muttered. “Let me sleep.”

The T'lan Imass fell silent, but he continued staring down at the woman as the hours of night crawled on. Tool moved slightly as dawn lightened the east, then was still again.

Groaning, Lorn rolled on to her back as the sunlight reached her face.

She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly, then froze. She slowly raised her head to find the T'lan Imass standing directly above her.

And, hovering inches from her throat, was the tip of the warrior's flint sword.

“Success,” Tool said, “demands discipline, Adjunct. Last night we witnessed an expression of Elder magic, choosing as its target ravens. Ravens, Adjunct, do not fly at night. You might think the combination of my abilities with yours ensures our safety. That is no guarantee, Adjunct.” The T'lan Imass withdrew his weapon and stepped to one side.

Lorn drew a shaky breath. “A flaw,” she said, pausing to clear her throat before continuing, “which I admit to, Tool. Thank you for alerting me to my growing complacency.” She sat up. “Tell me, doesn't it strike you as odd that this supposedly empty Rhivi Plain should display so much activity?”

“Convergence,” Tool said. “Power ever draws other power. It is not a complicated thought, yet it escaped us, the Imass.” The ancient warrior swung his head to the Adjunct. “As it escapes their children. The Jaghut well understood the danger. Thus they avoided one another, abandoned each other to solitude, and left a civilization to crumble into dust. The Forkrul Assail understood as well, though they chose another path. What is odd, Adjunct, is that of these three founding peoples, it is the Imass whose legacy of ignorance survived the ages.”

Lorn stared at Tool. “Was that an attempt at humour?” she asked.

The T'lan Imass adjusted his helmet. “That depends on your mood, Adjunct.”