Topper shrugged. “If you've the need.”
“Perhaps I'd better await my audience with the Adjunct.”
The Claw smiled. “You have begun to learn, Paran. Never be too easy with the knowledge you possess. Words are like coin-it pays to hoard.”
“Until you die on a bed of gold,” Paran said.
“Hungry? I hate eating alone.”
Paran accepted a chunk of fistbread. “So, was the Adjunct truly impatient, or are you here for other reasons?”
With a smile, the Claw rose. “Alas, genteel conversation is done. Our way opens.” He faced the road.
Paran turned to see a curtain in the air tear open on the road, spilling dull yellow light. A Warren, the secret paths of sorcery. “Hood's Breath.”
He sighed, fighting off a sudden chill. Within he could see a greyish pathway, humped on either side by low mounded walls and vaulted overhead by impenetrable ochre-hued mist. The air swept past into the portal like a drawn breath, revealing the pathway to be of ash as invisible currents stirred and raised spinning dust-devils.
“You will have to get used to this,” Topper said.
Paran collected his mare's reins and slung his helm on the saddlehorn.
“Lead on,” he said.
The Claw cast him a quick appraising glance, then strode into the Warren.
Paran followed. The portalway closed behind them, in its place a continuation of the path. Itko Kan had vanished, and with it all signs of life.
The world they had entered was barren, deathly. The banked mounds lining the trail proved to be more ash. The air was gritty, tasting of metal.
"Welcome to the Imperial “Warren.” Topper said, with a hint of mockery.
“Pleasant.”
“Carved by force out of: what was here before. Has such an effort ever been achieved before? Only the gods can say.”
They began walking.
“I take it, then,” Paran said, “that no god claims this Warren. By this, you cheat the tolls, the gatekeepers, the guardians on unseen bridges, and all the others said to dwell in the Warrens in service to their immortal masters.”
Topper grunted. “You imagine the Warrens as crowded as that? Well, the beliefs of the ignorant are ever entertaining. You shall be good company on this short journey, I think.”
Paran fell silent. The horizons beyond the banked heaps of ash were close, a vague blending of ochre sky and grey-black ground. Sweat trickled under his mail hauberk. His mare snorted heavily.
“In case you were wondering,” Topper said, after a time, “the Adjunct is now in Unta. We will use this Warren to cross the distance-three hundred leagues in only a few short hours. Some think the Empire has grown too large, some even think their remote provinces are beyond the Empress Laseen's reach. As you have just learned, Paran, such beliefs are held by fools.”
The mare snorted again.
“I've shamed you into silence, then? I do apologize, Lieutenant, for mocking your ignorance.”
“It's a risk you'll have to live with,” Paran said.
The next thousand paces of silence belonged to Topper.
No shifting of light marked the passing of hours. A number of times they came upon places where the ash embankments had been disturbed, as by the passage of something large, shambling; and wide, a slithery trail led off into the gloom. In one such place they found a dark encrusted stain and the scatter of chain links like coins in the dust. Topper examined the scene closely while Paran watched.
Hardly the secure road be'd have me believe. There're strangers here and they're not friendly.
He was not surprised to find Topper increasing their pace thereafter.
A short while later they came to a stone archway. It had been recently constructed, and Paran recognized the basalt as Untan, from the Imperial quarries outside the capital. The walls of his family's estate were of the same grey-black glittering stone. At the centre of the arch, high over their heads, was carved a taloned hand holding a crystal globe: the Mala Imperial sigil.
Beyond the arch was darkness.
Paran cleared his throat. “We have arrived?”
Topper spun to him. “You answer civility with arrogance, Lieutenant. You'd do well to shed the noble hauteur.”
Smiling, Paran gestured. “Lead on, escort.”
In a whirl of cloak Topper stepped through the arch and vanished.
The mare bucked as Paran pulled her closer to the arch, head tossing.
He tried to soothe her but it was no use. Finally, he climbed into the saddle and gathered up the reins. He straightened the horse, then drove hard his spurs into her flanks. She bolted, leaped into the void.
