“In so far as she knows it, the sorceress speaks the truth,” he said. “Her speculations were genuine, although concerning the dynamics of magic I'm at a loss. Perhaps High Mage Tayschrenn could comment on that.”
Lorn seemed vaguely disappointed with Toc's evaluation, but she nodded anyway and said, “Accepted, then. High Mage?”
Tayschrenn released a slow breath. “Accurate,” he said. “Speculation is sound.”
Toc refilled his goblet. The first course was removed almost untouched, but as the second course arrived everyone turned their full attention to it and conversation ceased. Toc ate slowly, avoiding Tattersail's eyes, though he sensed them upon him time and again. He wondered at his own actions: deceiving the Adjunct to the Empress, the High Mage and the High Fist all in one shot struck him as rash, if not suicidal. And his reasons for doing so were not entirely rational, which made it all the more distressing.
he n.
er es.
d ad,he ce for ces in e, im er she is st full He the not. ch. The 2nd had a long, bloody history. More times than Toc could count someone had come through for someone else whatever the odds. And, more often than not, it had been the mage cadre. He'd been there on the plain outside Pale, and he'd watched with a thousand others the cadre being torn apart, hopelessly outmatched. That kind of waste didn't sit well with the 2nd. And, though he was a Claw, the faces that surrounded him, the faces that looked upon him in hope, despair, and-at times-fatal resignation, those faces had been mirrors of his own, and they defied the Claw at every turn. The years in the Claw where feeling and caring had been systematically assailed, those years failed to withstand the day-in, day-out reality that was the 2nd Army.
This night, and with his words, Toc had given something back to Tattersail, not just for her but for the cadre. It didn't matter if she understood, and he knew she must be feeling bewildered by his actions; none of that mattered. What he'd done he'd done for himself.
He sat up. Now that's odd, he thought, my wound's stopped itching.
Feeling light-headed, Tattersail wobbled every now and then as she walked down the hall towards the door to her room. She knew it wasn't the wine. With her nerves as frayed as they were, that fine vintage had tasted like water, and had had as much effect.
Adjunct Lorn had raised in the sorceress memories she'd spent years burying. For Lorn, it had been a pivotal event. But for Tattersail, it had been just one nightmare among many. Still, it had pushed her where other crimes had not, and as a result she'd found herself attached to the 2nd Army-the Army she'd been sent to as a recruit, the closing of a circle, but in that time she had changed.
That attachment, those twenty-odd years of service, had this night saved her life. She knew that Toc the Younger had lied for her, and the look he had given her prior to stating his evaluation had been a message she'd understood. Though he had come to the 2nd as a Claw, as a spy, not even his years of training within that secret organization could withstand the new world in which he'd found himself.
Tattersail understood this all too clearly, for the same had happened to her. The sorceress in a cadre of mages who had entered the Mouse Quarter so long ago had cared naught for anyone but herself. Even her attempt to cut herself away from the horrors of which she'd been part had been born of a selfish desire to flee, to absolve her own conscience-but the Empire had denied her in this. An old soldier had come to her the day after the slaughter in the Mouse Quarter. Old, nameless, a veteran sent to convince the sorceress that she was still needed. She well remembered his words. “Should you ever outrun the guilt within your past, Sorceress, you will have outrun your soul. When it finds you again it will kill you.” And then, rather than deny her desperate needs absolutely, he'd sent her into a veteran army, the 5th, until the time came for her to return-to the 2nd, to a place under the command of Dujek Onearm. With that, she'd been given a second chance.
Tattersail came to her door and paused to sense the condition of her wards. All was well. Sighing, she entered her room, then leaned against the door as it closed behind her.
Captain Paran stepped out from the bedroom, his expression wan and somehow shy. “Not under arrest? I'm surprised.”
“So am I,” she replied.
“Hairlock was here,” Paran said. “He instructed me to give you a message.”
Tattersail studied the man's face, seeking a hint of what he was about to deliver. He avoided her gaze and remained standing near the doorway into the bedroom. “Well?” she demanded.
Paran cleared his throat. “First, he was, uh, excited. He knew of Adjunct's arrival, and said she wasn't alone.”
