The Thelomen stepped forward. “The High Mage has instructed me to arrest you and return you to him.”
“And if I resist?”
Bellurdan answered, in a tone filled with sorrow, “Then I am to kill you.”
“I see.” Tattersail thought for a time. Her world seemed to have closed in now, her every memory irrelevant and discarded. Her heart pounded like a thundering drum in her chest. All that remained of her past, and her only true sense of her life, was regret-an unspecified, yet overwhelming regret. She looked up at the Thelomen, compassion brimming in her eyes. “So where are this T'lan and the Adjunct, then?”
“Perhaps eight hours to the east. The Imass is not even aware of us. The time for conversation is ended, Tattersail. Will you accompany me?”
Her mouth dry, she said, “I did not think you one to betray a longstanding friend.”
Bellurdan spread his hands wider and said in a pained voice “I will never betray you, Tattersail. The High can there be betrayal?”
“Not that,” Tattersail replied quickly. “I once asked if I could speak with you at length. Remember? You said yes, Bellurdan. Yet now you tell me conversation is ended. I had not imagined your word to be so worthless.”
In the dying light it was impossible to see the Thelomen's face, but the anguish in his tone was plain. “I am sorry, Tattersail. You are correct. I gave you my word that we would speak again. Can we not do this while we return to Pale?”
“No,” Tattersail snapped. “I wish it now.”
Bellurdan bowed his head. “Very well.”
Tattersail forced the tension from her shoulders and neck. “I have some questions,” she said. “First, Tayschrenn sent you to Genabaris for a time, didn't he? You were searching through some scrolls for him?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask what were those scrolls?”
“Is it of vital significance now, Tattersail?”
“It is. The truth will help me in deciding whether to go with you, or die here.”
Bellurdan hesitated only a moment. “Very well. Among the archives collected from the city's mages-all of whom were executed, as you know-were found some copied fragments of Gothos” Folly, an ancient Jaghut tome-”
“I know of it,” Tattersail interjected. “Go on.”
“As a Thelomen, I possess Jaghut blood, though of course Gothos I Mage commands both of us. How I would deny it. The High Mage entrusted the examination of these writings to me. I was to seek out information concerning the burial of a Jaghut Tyrant, a burial that was in fact a prison.”
“Wait,” Tattersail said, shaking her head. “The Jaghut had no government. What do you mean by a Tyrant?”
“One whose blood was poisoned by the ambition to rule over others. This Jaghut Tyrant enslaved the land around it-all living things-for close to three thousand years. The Imass of the time sought to destroy it, and failed. It was left to other Jaghut to attend to the sundering and imprisoning of the Tyrant-for such a creature was as abominable to them as it was to Imass.”
Tattersail's heart now hammered in her chest. “Bellurdan.” She had to fight to push the words from her. “Where was this Tyrant buried?”
“I concluded that the barrow lies south of here, in the Gadrobi Hills directly east of Darujhistan.”
“Oh, Queen of Dreams. Bellurdan, do you know what you've done?”
“I have done as I was commanded by our High Mage.”
“And that's why the T'lan Imass is with the Adjunct.”
“I don't understand what you are saying, Tattersail.”
“Dammit, you brainless ox!” she rasped. “They plan to free the Tyrant! Lorn's sword-her Otataral sword-”
“No,” Bellurdan rumbled. “They would not do such a thing. Rather, they seek to prevent someone else releasing it. Yes, that is more likely. It is the truth of things. Now, Tattersail, our conversation is done.”
“I can't go back,” the sorceress said. “I must go on. Please, don't stop me.”
“We are to return to Pale,” Bellurdan said stubbornly. “Your concern has been satisfied. Permit me to take you back so that I may continue seeking the proper burial place for Nightchill.”
There was no choice left in Tattersail's mind, but there had to be a way out. The conversation had bought her time, time to recover from the ordeal of travelling by Warren. Bellurdan's words returned to her: if she accessed her Thyr Warren now she would be consumed. Incinerated by the reactive influence of the T'lan Imass. Her eyes fell on the burlap sack beside the Thelomen and saw from it a faint gleam of sorcery. A spell.
