'Yes, Mother.'
Whiskeyjack watched the two Rhivi walk away. 'She revealed far too much,' he said after a moment. 'The parley was working, drawing the bindings closer… then the child spoke…'
'Yes,' Korlat murmured. 'She is in possession of secret knowledge — the knowledge of the T'lan Imass. Memories spanning millennia on this world. So much that those people witnessed … the Fall of the Crippled God, the arrival of the Tiste Andii, the last flight of the Dragons into Starvald Demelain. ' She fell silent, a veil descending over her eyes.
Whiskeyjack studied her, then said, 'I've never seen a Great Raven become so obviously … flustered.'
Korlat smiled. 'Crone believes the secret of her kind's birth is not known to us. It is the shame of their origins, you see — or so they themselves view it. Rake is indifferent to its … moral context, as we all are.'
'What is so shameful?'
'The Great Ravens are unnatural creatures. The bringing down of the alien being who would come to be called the Crippled God was a … violent event. Parts of him were torn away, falling like balls of fire to shatter entire lands. Pieces of his flesh and bone lay rotting yet clinging to a kind of life in their massive craters. From that flesh the Great Ravens were born, carrying with them fragments of the Crippled God's power. You have seen Crone and her kin — they devour sorcery, it is their true sustenance. To attack a Great Raven with magic serves only to make the creature stronger, to bolster its immunity. Crone is the First Born. Rake believes the potential within her is. appalling, and so he keeps her and ilk close.'
She paused, then faced him. 'Commander Whiskeyjack, in Darujhistan, we clashed with a mage of yours…'
'Aye. Quick Ben. He'll be here shortly, and I will have his thoughts on all this.'
'The man you mentioned earlier to the child.' She nodded. 'I admit to a certain admiration for the wizard and so look forward to meeting him.' Their gazes locked. 'And I am pleased to have met you as well. Silverfox spoke true words when she said she trusted you. And I believe I do as well.'
He shifted uncomfortably. 'There has been scant contact between us that would earn such trust, Korlat. None the less, I will endeavour to earn it.'
'The child has Tattersail within her, a woman who knew you well. Though I never met the sorceress, I find that the woman she was — emerging further with each day in Silverfox — possessed admirable qualities.'
Whiskeyjack slowly nodded. 'She was … a friend.'
'How much do you know of the events leading to this … rebirth?'
'Not enough, I am afraid,' he replied. 'We learned of Tattersail's death from Paran, who came upon her … remains. She died in the embrace of a Thelomen High Mage, Bellurdan, who had travelled out onto the plain with the corpse of his mate, Nightchill, presumably intending to bury the woman. Tattersail was already a fugitive, and it's likely Bellurdan was instructed to retrieve her. It is as Silverfox says, as far as I can tell.'
Korlat looked away and said nothing for a long time. When she finally did, her question, so simple and logical, left Whiskeyjack with a pounding heart: 'Commander, we sense Tattersail and Nightchill within the child — and she herself admits to these two — but now I wonder, where then is this Thelomen, Bellurdan?'
He could only draw a deep breath and shake his head. Gods, I don't know …
CHAPTER FOUR
Mark these three, they are all that give shape, all that lie beneath the surface of the world, these three, they are the bones of history. Sister of Cold Nights! Betrayal greets your dawn! You chose to trust the knife, even as it found your heart. Draconus, Blood of Tiam! Darkness was made to embrace your soul, and these chains that now hold you, they are of your own fashioning. K'rul, yours was the path the Sleeping Goddess chose, a thousand and more years ago, and she sleeps still, even as you awaken — the time has come, Ancient One, to once more walk among the mortals, and make of your grief, the sweetest gift.
Anomandaris
Fisher Kel Tath
Covered from head to toe in mud, Harllo and Stonny Menackis emerged from behind the carriage as it rocked its way up the slope. Grinning at the sight, Gruntle leaned against the buckboard.
'Serves us right to lay wagers with you,' Harllo muttered. 'You always win, you bastard.'
Stonny was looking down at her smeared clothing with dismay. 'Callows leathers. They'll never recover.' She fixed hard blue eyes on Gruntle. 'Damn you — you're the biggest of us all. Should have been you pushing, not sitting up there, and never mind winning any bet.'
'Hard lessons, that's me,' the man said, his grin broadening. Stonny's fine green and black attire was covered in brown slime. Her thick black hair hung down over her face, dripping milky water. 'Anyway, we're done for the day, so let's pull this thing off to the side — looks like you two could do with a swim.'
'Hood take you,' Harllo snapped, 'what do you think we was doing?'
'From the sounds, I'd say drowning. The clean water's upstream, by the way' Gruntle gathered the tresses again. The crossing had left the horses exhausted, reluctant to move, and it took some cajoling on the captain's part to get them moving again. He halted the carriage a short distance off to one side of the ford. Other merchants had camped nearby, some having just managed the crossing and others preparing to do so on their way to Darujhistan. In the past few days, the situation had, if anything, become even more chaotic. Whatever had remained of the ford's laid cobbles in the river bed had been pushed either askew or deeper into the mud.
It had taken four bells to manage the crossing, and for a time there Gruntle had wondered if they would ever succeed. He climbed down and turned his attention to the horses. Harllo and Stonny, now bickering with each other, set off upstream.
Gruntle threw an uneasy glance towards the massive carriage that had gone before them on the ford, now parked fifty paces away. It had been an unfair bet. The best kind. His two companions had been convinced that this day wouldn't see the crossing of their master Keruli's carriage. They'd been certain that the monstrous vehicle ahead of them would bog down, that it'd be days sitting there in midstream before other merchants got impatient enough to add the muscle of their own crews to moving it out of the way.
Gruntle had suspected otherwise. Bauchelain and Korbal Broach were not the kind of people to stomach inconvenience. They're damned sorcerers, anyway. Their servant, Emancipor Reese, had not even bothered to get down from the driver's bench, and simple twitches of the tresses had led the train of oxen onwards. The huge contrivance seemed to glide across the ford, not even jolting as the wheels moved over what Gruntle knew to be churned, uneven footing. Unfair bet, aye. At least I'm dry and clean.
There had been enough witnesses to the unnatural event to accord a certain privacy to the mages' present encampment, so it was with considerable curiosity that Gruntle watched a caravan guard stride towards it. He knew the man well. A Daru, Buke worked the smaller caravanserai, signing with merchants just scraping by. He preferred working alone, and Gruntle knew why.
Buke's master had tried the crossing earlier in the day. The dilapidated wagon had fallen to pieces in midstream, bits of wood and precious bundles of produce floating away as the master wallowed helplessly. Buke had managed to save the merchant, but with the loss of goods the contract had ceased to exist. After making arrangements for the master to accompany a train back to Darujhistan, Buke was, with scant gratitude for his efforts, cut loose by the merchant.