Tattersail winced at the wizard's casual use of the Fool's name. With so many currents swirling so close beneath the surface it might well call unwelcome attention to them.

Weariness hung heavy in the room like bitter incense, redolent with sweat and tension. After his last words Quick Ben had bowed his head.

Tattersail knew his mind now travelled the Warrens, clinging to Hairlock's shoulder with an unbreakable grip.

Kalam's pacing brought him before the sorceress. He stopped and faced her. «What about Tayschrenn?» he asked gruffly, his hands twitching.

«He knows something has happened. He's hunting, but the quarry eludes him.» She smiled up at the assassin. «I feel him moving cautiously. Very cautiously. For all he knows, the quarry might be a rabbit, or a wolf.»

Kalam's expression remained grim. «Or a Hound,» he muttered, then resumed his pacing.

Tattersail stared at him. Was this what Hairlock was doing? Drawing a Hound after him? Were they all leading Tayschrerm into a deadly ambush? «I trust not,» she said, her eyes hardening on the assassin. «That would be foolish.»

Kalam ignored her, pointedly avoiding her gaze.

Tattersail rose. «Not foolish. Insane. Do you realize what could be unleashed here? Some believe the Hounds are more ancient than the Shadow Realm itself. But it's not just them-power draws power. If one Ascendant parts the fabric here and now, others will come, smelling blood. Come the dawn every mortal in this city could be dead.»

«Easy, lady,» Kalam said. «Nobody wants a Hound loosed in the city. I spoke from fear.» He still would not look at her.

The assassin's admission startled Tattersail. It was shame that kept his eyes from her. Fear was an admission of weakness. «For Hood's Sake,» she sighed, «I've been sitting on a pillow for the past two hours.»

That caught him. He stopped, faced her, then laughed.

It was a deep, smooth laugh, and it pleased her immensely.

The bedroom door opened and Mallet entered the room, his round face shiny and flushed. The healer glanced briefly at Quick Ben, then walked to Tattersail, where he crouched down in front of her. «By all rights,» he said quietly, «Captain Paran should be in an Officer's Hole with five feet of mud on his pretty face.» He nodded to Kalam, who had joined them. «The first wound was fatal, up under his heart. A professional thrust,» he added, with a meaningful look at the assassin. «The second would have done him more slowly, but no less certain.»

Kalam grimaced. «So he should be dead. He isn't. Which means?»

«Intervention,» Tattersail answered, a queasy feeling settling in her stomach. Her heavy-lidded gaze fixed on Mallet. «Your Denul skills proved sufficient?»

The healer quirked a smile. «It was easy. I had help.» He explained, «The wounds were already closing, the damage already mended. I quickened it some, but that's all. There's been a deep trauma, both body and mind. By all rights it should be weeks before he recovers physically. And that alone could be a problem.»

«What do you mean?» Tattersail asked.

Kalam strode to the table, retrieved a jug of wine and three clay cups.

He rejoined them and began pouring as Mallet said, «Healing should never be separated between the flesh and the sense of the flesh. It's hard to explain. The Denul Warrens involve every aspect of healing, since damage, when it occurs, does so on all levels. Shock is the scar that bridges the gap between the body and the mind.»

«All and well,» Kalam growled, handing the healer a cup. «What about Paran?»

Mallet took a long draught and wiped at his mouth. «Whatever force interceded cared for nothing but healing the flesh. He may well be on his feet in a day or two, but the shock needs time to heal.»

«You couldn't do it?» Tattersail asked.

He shook his head. «All such things are intertwined. Whatever interceded severed those connections. How many shocks, traumatic events, has Paran received in his lifetime? Which scar am I to trace? I may well do more damage in my ignorance.»

Tattersail thought about the young man they had dragged into her room an hour earlier. After his scream in the alley, announcing to Picker that he still lived, he had fallen into unconsciousness. All that she knew of Paran was that he was a noble's son; that he'd come from Unta, and that he was the squad's new officer on their mission in Darujhistan.

«In any case,» Mallet said, draining his cup, «Hedge is keeping an eye on him. He may come to any minute, but there's no telling what state his mind will be in.» The healer grinned at Kalam. «Hedge has taken a liking to the brat.» His grin broadened as the assassin cursed.

Tattersail raised an eyebrow.

Seeing her expression, Mallet explained, «Hedge also adopts stray dogs-and other, uh, needy creatures.» He glanced at Kalam, who had resumed pacing. «And he can get stubborn about it, too.»

The corporal growled wordlessly.

Tattersail smiled. The smile faded as her thoughts returned to Captain Paran. «He's going to be used,» she pronounced, flatly. «Like a sword.»

Mallet sobered with her words. «There's nothing of mercy in the healing, only calculation.»

Quick Ben's voice startled them all. «The attempt on his life came from Shadow.»

There was silence in the room.

Tattersail sighed. Before, it had been just a suspicion. She saw Mallet and Kalam exchange glances, and guessed at what passed between them.

Wherever Sorry was, when she returned to the fold there would be some hard questions. And Tattersail now knew-with certainty-that the girl belonged to Shadow.

«And that means,» Quick Ben resumed blithely, «that whoever interceded on Paran's behalf is now in direct opposition with the Realm of Shadow.» His head turned, dark eyes fixing on the sorceress. «We'll need to know what Paran knows, whenever he comes around. Only-»

«We won't be here,» Kalam finished.

«As if Hairlock wasn't enough,» Tattersail muttered, «now you want me nursing this captain of yours.»

Quick Ben rose, brushing the dust from his leather leggings. «Hairlock will be gone for some time. Those Hounds are stubborn. It may be a while before he can shake them. Or, if the worst comes to the worst,» the wizard grinned darkly, «he'll turn on them and give the Shadow Lord something to think about.»

Kalain said to Mallet, «Gather up Hedge. We've got to move.»

Quick Ben's last comment left Tattersail cold. She grimaced at the ashen taste in her mouth, and watched in silence as the squad prepared to leave. They had a mission ahead of them, one that would take them right into the heart of Darujhistan. That city was the next on the Empire's list, the last Free City, the continent's lone gem worthy enough to covet. The squad would infiltrate, prepare the way. They'd be entirely on their own. In a strange way, Tattersail. almost envied the isolation they were about to enter. Almost, but not quite. She feared they would all die.

The Mason's Barrow returned to her thoughts as if raised by her own fears. It was, she realized, big enough to hold them all.

With dawn a blade-thin crimson streak at their backs, the Black Moranth, crouching on the high saddles of their Quorl mounts, glittered like diamonds slick with blood. Whiskeyjack, Fiddler and the High Fist watched the dozen fliers approach. Overhead the rain had lessened, and around the nearby rooftops smudges of grey mist sank down to scuff stone and tile.

«Where's your squad, Sergeant?» Dujek asked.

Whiskeylack nodded at Fiddler, who turned and headed back to the trap-door. «They'll be here,» the sergeant answered.

The sparkling, skin-thin wings of the Quorl, four to each creature, seemed to flip for the briefest of moments, and as one the twelve Moranth descended towards the turret's rooftop. The sharp whirring sound of the wings was punctuated by the clicked commands of the Moranth riders as they called out to each other. They swept over the heads of the two men with a bare five feet to spare, and without ceremony landed behind them.