“No,” she snapped. “It isn't.” Purging her thoughts of personal feelings had never been so difficult as it was now-was this a lasting effect of Oponn's meddling? Perhaps Tool could rid her of it. “Tool,” she said, “What is significant, as you put it, is that I don't know enough about what we're doing. We are seeking a standing stone, the barrow's marker. Well, assuming it can be found, why was it not so long ago? Why could not three thousand years of hunting find this barrow?”
“We will find the standing stone,” Tool replied calmly. “It marks the barrow in truth, but the barrow is not there.”
The Adjunct scowled. More riddles. “Explain.”
The Imass was silent for a minute, then he said, “I am born of an Elder Warren, Adjunct, known as Tellann. It is more than a source of magic, it is also a time.”
“Are you suggesting that the barrow exists in a different time? Is that how you plan to reach it-by using your Tellann Warren?”
“No, there is no parallel time any different from the one we know. That time is gone, past. It is more a matter of: flavour. Adjunct, may I continue?”
Lorn's mouth thinned into a straight line.
“The Jaghut who entombed the Tyrant were born of a different Elder Warren. But the term “Elder” is relative only to the existing Warrens of this age. The Jaghut Omtose Phellack is not “Elder” when compared to Tellann. They are the same, of the same flavour. Do you understand thus far, Adjunct?”
“Patronizing bastard,” she muttered to herself. “Yes, Tool.”
The Imass nodded, his bones creaking. “The barrow has not been found before, precisely because it is Omtose Phellack. It lies within a Warren now lost to the world. Yet, I am Tellann. My Warren touches Omtose Phellack. I can reach it, Adjunct. Any T'lan-Imass could. I was chosen because I am without a Clan. I am alone in every way.”
“Why should that be important?” Lorn asked, her stomach twisting.
Tool looked at her. “Adjunct. What we seek to accomplish is the freeing of a Jaghut Tyrant. Such a being, should it escape our control, or defy our predictions, is capable of destroying this continent. It can enslave all living upon it, and it would do so if permitted. If, instead of me, Logros had selected a Bone Caster; and if the Tyrant was freed, that Bone Caster would become enslaved. A Jaghut Tyrant is dangerous alone. A Jaghut Tyrant with an Imass Bone Caster at its side is unstoppable. They would challenge the gods, and they would kill most of them. Also, I am without a Clan, thus my enslavement-should that event befall-would not enslave blood kin.”
Lorn stared at the Imass. What were the Empress and Tayschrenn thinking of? How could they hope to control this thing? “You are saying, Tool, that you're expendable.”
“Yes, Adjunct.”
And so, she realized, am I. “What,” she asked, “will stop the Tyrant? How do we control it?”
“We don't, Adjunct. That is the gamble we take.”
“And what does that mean?”
Tool shrugged, an audible lifting and dropping of bones beneath the rotted furs. “The Lord of Moon's Spawn, Adjunct. He will have no choice but to intervene.”
“He's capable of stopping the Tyrant?”
“Yes, Adjunct. He is, although it will cost him dearly, weaken him. More, he is capable of delivering the single punishment that a Jaghut Tyrant fears most.” A faint gleam of light rose in Tool's eye sockets as the Imass stared at Lorn. “Enslavement, Adjunct.”
Lorn stopped in her tracks. “You mean the Moon's lord will have the Tyrant working on his side?”
“No, Adjunct. The enslavement is by the lord's hand, but it is beyond him as well. You see, the Empress knows who the lord is, and what he possesses.”
Lorn nodded. “He's Tiste And? and a High Mage.”
A rasp of laughter came from Tool. “Adjunct, he is Anomander Rake, the Son of Darkness. Bearer of Dragnipur.”
Lorn frowned.
Tool seemed to have noticed her confusion, for the Imass elaborated.
“Dragnipur is a sword, born of the Age before Light. And Darkness, Adjunct, is the Goddess of the Tiste And?.”
A few minutes later, Lorn found her voice. “The Empress,” she said quietly, “knows how to pick her enemies.”
And then Tool hit her with another stunning revelation. “I am sure,” the Imass said, “the Tiste And? regret their coming to this world.”
“They came to this world? From where? How? Why?”
“The Tiste And? were of Kurald Galain, the Warren of Darkness. Kurald Galain stood alone, untouched. The Goddess, their mother, knew loneliness:” Tool hesitated. “There is probably little truth in this story, Adjunct.”