Tayschrenn gestured to her and to the other mages. Tattersail rose, as did Calot. Hairlock remained seated, eyes closed as if asleep.

Calot said to Dujek, «About that transfer.»

«Later,» the High Fist grunted. «Paperwork's a nightmare when you've only got one arm.» He surveyed his cadre and was about to add something but Calot spoke first.

«Anomandaris.»

Hairlock's eyes snapped open, found Tayschrenn with bright pleasure.

«Ahhh,» he said, into the silence following Calot's single pronouncement.

«Of course. Three more High Mages? Only three?»

Tattersail stared at Dujek's pale, still face. «The poem,» she said quietly. «I remember now. "Caladan Brood, the menhired one, winter-bearing, barrowed and sorrowless."»

Calot picked up the next lines.

«"… in a tomb bereaved of words, and in his hands that have crushed anvils-"»

Tattersail continued,» " the hammer of his song-

he lives asleep, so give silent warning to all-wake him not.

Wake him not."»

Everyone in the compartment was staring at Tattersail. now as her last words fell away. «He's awake, it seems,» she said, her mouth dry.

"'Anomandaris", the epic poem by Fisher Keltath.»

«The poem's not about Caladan Brood,» Dujek said, frowning.

«No,» she agreed. «It's mostly about his companion.»

Hairlock climbed slowly to his feet. He stepped close to Tayschrenn.

«Anomander Rake, Lord of the Tiste And? who are the souls of Starless Night. Rake, the Mane of Chaos. That's who the Moon's lord is, and you're pitting four High Mages and a single cadre against him.»

Tayschrenn's smooth face held the faintest sheen of sweat now. «The Tiste And?» he said, in an even voice, «are not like us. To you they may seem unpredictable, but they aren't. Just different. They have no cause of their own. They simply move from one human drama to the next. Do you actually think Anomander Rake will stay and fight?»

«Has Caladan Brood backed away?» Hairlock snapped.

«He is not Tiste And? Hairlock. He's human-some say with Barghast blood, but none the less he shares nothing of Elder blood, or its ways.»

Tattersail said, «You're counting on Rake betraying Pale's wizards-betraying the pact made between them.»

«The risk is not as overreaching as it may seem,» the High Mage said. «Bellurdan has done the research in Genabaris, Sorceress. Some new scrolls of Gothos» Folly were discovered in a mountain fastness beyond Blackdog Forest. Among the writings are discussions of the Tiste And? and other peoples from the Elder Age. And remember, Moon's Spawn has retreated from a direct confrontation with the Empire before.»

The waves of fear sweeping through Tattersail made her knees weak.

She sat down again, heavily enough to make the camp chair creak.

«You've condemned us to death,» she said, «if your gamble proves wrong. Not just us, High Mage, all of Onearm's Host.»

Tayschrernn swung round slowly, putting his back to Hairlock and the others. «Empress Laseen's orders,» he said, without turning. «Our colleagues come by Warren. When they arrive, I will detail the positioning. That is all.» He strode into the map room, resumed his original stance.

Dujek seemed to have aged in front of Tattersail's eyes. Swiftly she slid her glance from him, too anguished to meet the abandonment in his eyes, and the suspicion curdling beneath its surface. Coward-that's what you are, woman. A coward.

Finally the High Fist cleared his throat. «Prepare your Warrens, cadre. As usual, always an even trade.»

Give the High Mage credit, Tattersail thought. There was Tayschrenn, standing on the first hill, almost inside the Moon's shadow. They had arrayed themselves into three groups, each taking a hilltop on the plain outside Pale's walls. The cadre's was most distant, Tayschrenn's the closest. On the centre hill stood the three other High Mages. Tattersail knew them all. Nightchill, raven-haired, tall, imperious and with a cruel streak the old Emperor used to drool over. At her side her lifelong companion, Bellurdan, skull-crusher, a Thelomen giant who would test his prodigious strength against the Moon's portal, should it come to that.

And NKaronys, fire-wielder, short and round, his burning staff taller than a spear.

The 2nd and 6th Armies had formed ranks on the plain, weapons bared and awaiting the call to march on the city when the time came.

Seven thousand veterans and four thousand recruits. The Black Moranth legions lined the ridge to the west a quarter-mile distant.

No wind stirred the midday air. Biting midges roved in visible clouds through the soldiers waiting below. The sky was overcast, the cloud cover thin but absolute.

Tattersail stood on the hill's crest, sweat running down under her clothing, and watched the soldiers on the plain before facing her meagre cadre. At full strength, six mages should have been arrayed behind her, but there were only two. Off to one side Hairlock waited, wrapped in the dark grey raincloak that was his battle attire-looking smug.

Calot nudged Tattersail and jerked his head towards Hairlock. «What's he so happy about?»

«Hairlock,» Tattersail called. The man swung his head. «Were you right about the three High Mages?»

He smiled, then turned away again.

«I hate it when he's hiding something,» Calot said.

The sorceress grunted. «He's added something up, all right. What's so particular about Nightchill, Bellurdan and NKaronys? Why did Tayschrenn pick them and how did Hairlock know he'd pick them?»

«Questions, questions,» Calot sighed. «All three are old hands at this kind of stuff. Back in the days of the Emperor they each commanded a company of Adepts-when the Empire had enough mages in the ranks to form actual companies. NKaronys climbed through the ranks in the Falari Campaign, and Bellurdan and Nightchill were from before even then-came down from Fenn on the Quon mainland during the unification wars.»

«All old hands,» Tattersail mused, «as you said. None have been active lately, have they? Their last campaign was Seven Cities-»

«Where NKaronys took a beating in the Pan'potsun Wastes-»

«He was left hanging-the Emperor had just been assassinated. Everything was chaotic. The T'lan Imass refused to acknowledge the new Empress, marched themselves off into the Jhag Odhan.»

«Rumour has it they're back, at half-strength-whatever they ran into out there wasn't pleasant.»

Tattersail nodded. «Nightchill and Bellurdan were told to report to Nathilog, left sitting on their hands for the past six, seven years-»

«Until Tayschrenn sent the Thelomen off to Genabaris, to study a pile of ancient scrolls, of all things.»

«I'm frightened,» Tattersail admitted. «Very frightened. Did you see Dujek's face? He knew something-a realization, and it hit him like a dagger in the back.»

«Time to work,» Hairlock called.

Calot and Tattersail swung around.

A shiver ran through her. Moon's Spawn had been revolving steadily for the last three years. It had just stopped. Near its very top, on the side facing them, was a small ledge, and a shadowed recess had appeared. A portal. No movement showed yet. «He knows,» she whispered.

«And he isn't running,» Calot added.

Down on the first hill, High Mage Tayschrenn rose and lifted his arms out to the sides. A wave of golden flame spanned his hands, then rolled upward, growing as it raced towards Moon's Spawn. The spell crashed against the black rock, sending chunks hurtling out, then down. A rain of death descended into the city of Pale, and among the Malazan legions waiting in the plain.

«It's begun,» Calot breathed.

Silence answered Tayschrenn's first attack, save for the faint scatter of rubble on the city's tiled rooftops and the distant cries of wounded soldiers on the plain. Everyone's eyes were trained upward.