Whiskeyjack's head snapped around and Fiddler stiffened.
Dujek nodded. “You heard me. And as for the rest of the Bridgeburners, well, rest easy that I'll take care of them.” The High Fist glanced eastward, baring his teeth in a humourless grin. “They're pushing me. But there's no way in hell they're going to leave me with no room to manoeuvre. I've got ten thousand soldiers I owe a lot to-”
“Excuse me, sir,” Fiddler cut in, “there's ten thousand soldiers saying they're the ones owing. You say the word and-”
“Quiet,” Dujek warned.
“Yes, sir.”
Whiskeyjack remained silent, his thoughts a whirling maelstrom.
Desertion. That word rang in his head like a dirge. And Fiddler's assertion was, he felt, a true one. If High Fist Dujek decided it was time to make a move, the last place Whiskeyjack wanted to be was on the run hundreds of leagues away from the centre of things. He was too close to Dujek and, though they strove to hide it, the history between them ever churned beneath the surface. There'd been a time when Dujek had called him “sir', and though Whiskeyjack held no grudges he knew that Dujek still had trouble accepting the change of fortunes. If the time came, Whiskeyjack intended to be at Onearm's side.
“High Fist,” he said at last, aware that both men had been waiting for him to speak, “there's still a few Bridgeburners left. Fewer hands on the sword. But the sword's still sharp. It's not our style to make life easy for those who oppose us-whoever they happen to be. To just quietly walk away:” The sergeant sighed. “Well, that'd suit them, wouldn't it? While there's a hand on the sword, a single hand, the Bridgeburners won't back down. It settles on honour, I guess.”
“I hear you,” Dujek said. Then he grunted. “Well, here they come.”
Whiskeyjack looked up, followed the High Fist's gaze into the eastern sky.
Quick Ben cocked his head, then hissed through his teeth. “The Hounds have caught his trail,” he said.
Kalam cursed vehemently, surging to his feet.
Sitting on the bed, Tattersail frowned bleary-eyed at the bearish man as he paced, his footsteps on the floorboards barely raising a creak.
Big as he was, Kalam seemed to glide, giving the scene an almost surreal feel, with the wizard cross-legged and hovering a few inches off the wooden floor in the room's centre.
Tattersail realized she was exhausted. Too much was happening, and it was happening all at once. She shook herself mentally and returned her attention to Quick Ben.
The wizard was linked to Hairlock, and the marionette had been on someone's-something's-trail, which led down into the Warren of Shadow. Hairlock had reached the very gates of the Shadow Realm, and then he had gone beyond.
For a time Quick Ben had lost contact with the puppet, and those long minutes of silence had left everyone's nerves in tatters. When Hairlock's presence returned to the wizard he no longer moved alone.
“He's coming out,” Quick Ben announced. “Shifting Warrens. With Oponn's luck he'll lose the Hounds.”
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.”