“I'm being used,” Paran stated flatly.
She raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't bother you?”
Paran shrugged and turned away. “It's nothing new,” he muttered.
“I see,” she said quietly. “So Whiskeyjack was right, then. You're not just some new captain, you're something a lot more.”
“That's my concern,” Paran snapped, still avoiding her gaze. Then he faced her, his expression dark. “And what's your role in all this? You took care of me. Why? Serving your god, are you?”
Tattersail barked a laugh. “Not likely. Nor did I do much for you in any case. Oponn took care of that.”
Paran stiffened. “Oponn?” The Twins, sister and brother, the Twins of Chance. He who pushes, she who pulls. Have they been in my dreams? Voices, mention of my: sword. He was still for a moment, then he strode over to the dresser. On it lay his sheathed sword. He laid a hand on the grip. “I purchased this sword three years ago, though its first use came just a few nights past-against the dog.”
“You recall that?”
Something in Tattersail's voice brought him around. In her eyes he now saw fear. She made no attempt to hide it. He nodded. “Yet I named the weapon the day I bought it.”
“The name?”
Paran's grin was ghastly. “Chance.”
“The pattern has been long in the weaving,” Tattersail said, closing her eyes and sighing. “Though I suspect even Oponn could not have imagined your blade tasting its first blood on a Hound of Shadow.”
Paran closed his eyes, then he sighed. “The dog was a Hound.”
She looked at him and nodded. “You've met Hairlock?”
“I have.”
“Beware him,” Tattersail said. “It was his unleashing of a Warren of Chaos that left me fevered. If Warrens are indeed structured, then Hairlock's is diametrically opposed to mine. He's mad, Captain, and he vowed to kill you.”
Paran strapped on his sword. “What's his role in all of this?”
“I'm not sure,” Tattersail said.
That sounded like a lie, but Paran let it pass. “He was coming in nightly to check on your progress,” he said. “But I haven't seen him the past two nights.”
“How many days have I been out?”
“Six, I think. I'm no more certain of time's passage than you are, I'm afraid.” He strode to the door. “All I know is, I can't just hide here for ever.”
“Wait!”
Paran smiled. “Very well.” He faced her again. “Tell me why shouldn't I leave?”
The sorceress hesitated, then spoke. “I still need you here,” she said.
“Why?”
“It's not me that Hairlock's afraid of,” she answered, seeming to find the words difficult. “It's you-your sword-that's kept me alive. He saw what you managed to do to the Hound.”
“Damn,” he hissed. Though essentially still a stranger to him, she'd reached through to him with her admission. He tried to fight the compassion welling up inside him. He told himself that his mission overrode all other concerns, that he'd repaid his debt to her, if ever there was one, that she hadn't given him all the reasons he suspected existed for his staying hidden, meaning she didn't trust him-he told himself all these things, but none of it was enough.
“If you go,” she said, “Hairlock will kill me.”
“What of the wards about you?” he demanded, almost desperately. “Hairlock said you've wards about you.”
Tattersail's smile was drawn. “You think he'd just come right out and tell you how dangerous you really are? Wards?” She laughed. “I've barely the strength to sit straight. If I attempted to open my Warren in this state the power would consume me, burn me to ashes. Hairlock wants you kept in the dark-about everything. The puppet lied.”
Even this rang like a half-truth in Paran's ears. But there was enough there that made sense, that gave reason to Hairlock's hatred of him, and the puppet's obvious fear. The greater deceit would come from Hairlock, not Tattersail, or so he believed, though there was little to support that belief-only: at least Tattersail was human. He sighed. “Sooner or later,” he said, unclipping his sword belt and returning it to the dresser, “You and I will have to cut past all this misleading game-playing. Oponn or no, we've a common enemy.”
Tattersail sighed. “Thank you. Captain Paran?”