Gardens of the Moon - Page 170/254

The exchange had been short, and the Coin Bearer's party looked near wiped out. In fact, only the Coin Bearer still stood, facing a tall, lithe woman wielding an Otataral blade.

Sorry recognized Adjunct Lorn. On a mission, no doubt, for her dear Empress, a mission that included a T'lan Imass, still out of sight but close. She caught their conversation. If the boy's group weren't agents for the Empire then perhaps their master in Darujhistan had sensed the presence of the Imass out here, and had sent them to investigate.

She would discover the nature of the Adjunct's mission later. Right now, however, it was time to kill the Coin Bearer. And the near proximity of the Imass made success all the more certain. Even Oponn's powers could not overcome the influence of a Tellann Warren. Murdering the boy would be easy. Sorry waited, then smiled as Adjunct Lorn withdrew, heading north.

In minutes, the Coin of Oponn would be in her hands. And this day, a god might die.

As soon as Lorn was sufficiently distant Crokus ran to the warrior.

Sorry rose slowly into a crouch, then moved forward in silence, her garotte in her hands.

The Hounds howled again, their eager cries closing in from all sides.

Hairlock crouched, indecisive. Then the puppet faced the captain. “You'll have to wait a little longer to die, Captain. I've no intention of allowing things to be rushed. No, I wish to linger over your demise.”

Chance sweaty in his hands, Paran shrugged. To his own surprise, it made little difference to him. If the Hounds arrived to find Hairlock gone, they'd probably take out their frustration on him, and that would be that. “You'll come to regret the opportunity, Hairlock. Whether this sword's magic is meant for you or not, I was looking forward to chopping you into kindling. Is your magic a match for my hatred? It would have been nice to find out.”

“Oh, sudden bravery! What do you know of hatred, Captain? When I return I'll show you precisely what hatred can achieve.” The wooden figure gestured and a dozen feet away another tear opened in the air, this one exuding a fetid stench. “Stubborn mutts,” Hairlock muttered. “Until later, Captain,” and he scurried for the rent.

In the hut, Quick Ben's grin turned savage. He jerked the dagger free with his right hand and, in a single, fluid motion, sliced the-taut strings connecting the sticks.

“Goodbye, Hairlock,” he hissed.

Paran's eyes widened as the puppet flopped on to his stomach. A moment later Hairlock let loose a shriek.

The captain's eyes narrowed. “Looks like somebody cut your strings, Hairlock,” he said.

The Hounds were close. In moments they'd be all over them.

“Your life, Captain!” Hairlock cried. “Fling me into the Warren and your life is yours, I swear it!” Paran leaned on his sword and made no reply.

“Pawn of Oponn,” Hairlock snarled, “I would spit on you if I could! Spit on your soul!”

The earth rumbled, and at once massive shapes moved around Paran, silently closing in on the immobile marionette. Paran recognized Gear, the Hound he'd wounded. He felt the sword in his hands answer that challenge with an eager tremor that reached into his arms. Gear's head swung in his direction as it passed, and Paran saw a promise in its eyes. The captain smiled. If anything draws Oponn out, it will be the fight to come.

Hairlock shrieked one last time, and then the Hounds were upon him. A large shadow passed across the hill and Paran looked up to see Great Raven swooping over them. The bird cawed hungrily. “Too bad.” Paran said to it, “I doubt its remains would be palatable.”

Three Hounds began fighting over the splintered wood-all that was left of Hairlock. The remaining four, led by Gear, now turned to Paran. The captain raised his sword and dropped into a combative crouch. “Come on, then. Through me to the god using me, just once let the to turn in the Twins” hands. Come on, Hounds, let us soak this ground with blood.”

The creatures fanned out into a half-circle, Gear in the centre.

Paran's smile broadened. Come to me, Gear. I'm tired of being used and death doesn't seem so frightening any more. Let's be done with it.

Something heavy pressed down on him, as if a hand had reached down from the sky and tried to drive him into the earth. The Hounds flinched. Paran staggered, unable to breathe, a sudden darkness closing around the edges of his vision. The ground groaned beneath him, the yellowed grasses of the plain lying flat. Then the pressure lifted and chilled air flooded back into his lungs. Sensing a presence, the captain whirled.

“Step aside,” a tall, black-skinned, white-haired man said, as he pushe past to confront the Hounds. Paran almost dropped his sword. A Tis And??