Whiskeyjack looked down at the ground for a moment. 'I thank you, Lord,' he breathed, then made his way out.
Gods below, I have made a friend this night. When did I last stumble on such a gift? I cannot remember. Hood's breath, I cannot.
Standing at the tent entrance, Anomander Rake watched the old man limp away down the track.
A soft patter of taloned feet approached from behind. 'Master,' Crone muttered, 'was that wise?'
'What do you mean?' he asked distractedly.
'There is a price for making friends among such short-lived mortals — as you well can attest from your own typically tragic memories.'
'Careful, hag.'
'Do you deny the truth of my words, Lord?'
'One can find precious value in brevity.'
The Great Raven cocked her head. 'Honest observation? Dangerous admonition? Twisted and all too unhappy wisdom? I doubt you'll elaborate. You won't, will you? You'll leave me wondering, pecking endlessly in fretful obsession! You pig!'
'Do you smell carrion on the wind, my dear? I swear I do. Why not go find it. Now. This instant. And once you have filled your belly, find Kallor and bring him to me.'
With a snarl the Great Raven leapt outside, wings spreading explosively, heaving the huge bird skyward.
'Korlat,' Rake murmured. 'Attend me, please.' He swung back to the tent's interior. Moments later Korlat arrived. Rake remained facing the back wall.
'Lord?'
'I shall depart for a short time. I feel the need for Silannah's comfort.'
'She will welcome your return, Lord.'
'A few days' absence, no more than that.'
'Understood.'
Rake faced her. 'Extend your protection to Silverfox.'
'I am pleased by the instruction.'
'Unseen watchers on Kallor as well. Should he err, call upon me instantly, but do not hesitate in commanding the full force of the Tiste Andii down upon him. At the very least, I can be witness to the gathering of his pieces.'
'The full force, Lord? We have not done so in a long, long time. Do you believe it will be necessary in destroying Kallor?'
'I cannot be sure, Korlat. Why risk otherwise?'
'Very well. I shall begin the preparation for our warrens' joining.'
'I see that it troubles you none the less.'
'There are eleven hundred Tiste Andii, Lord.'
'I am aware of that, Korlat.'
'At the Chaining, there were but forty of us, yet we destroyed the Crippled God's entire realm — granted, a nascent realm. None the less, Lord. Eleven hundred … we risk devastating this entire continent.'
Rake's eyes grew veiled. 'I would advise some restraint in the unleashing, Korlat, should it prove necessary to collectively release Kurald Galain. Brood would not be pleased. I suspect that Kallor will do nothing precipitous, in any case. These are all but precautions.'
'Understood.'
He turned back to the tent's interior. 'That will be all, Korlat.'
The Mhybe dreamed. Once more — after so long — she found herself wandering the tundra, the lichen and moss crunching underfoot as a dry wind swept over her, smelling of dead ice. She walked without aches, heard no rattle deep in her chest as she breathed the crisp air. She had returned, she realized, to the place of her daughter's birth.
Tellann's warren, a place not where, but when. The time of youth. For the world. For me.
She lifted her arms, saw their amber smoothness, the tendons and roped veins of her hands almost undiscernible beneath plump flesh.
I am young. I am as I should be.
Not a gift. No, this was torture. She knew she was dreaming; she knew what she would find when she awakened.
A small herd of some ancient, long-extinct beast rolled soft thunder through the hard earth beneath her moccasined feet, running parallel to the path she had chosen along a ridge, their humped backs appearing every now and then above the crest — a blurred flow of burnt umber. Something within her stirred, a quiet exultation to answer the majesty of those creatures.
Kin to the bhederin, only larger, with horns spreading out to the sides, massive, regal.
Glancing down, she paused in her steps. Footprints crossed her path. Hide-wrapped feet had punched through the brittle lichen. Eight, nine individuals.
Flesh and blood Imass? The Bonecaster Pran Chole and his companions? Who walks my dreamscape this time!
Her eyes blinked open to musty darkness. Dull pain wrapped her thinned bones. Gnarled hands drew the furs close to her chin against the chill. She felt her eyes fill with water, blinked up at the swimming, sloped ceiling of the hide tent, and released a slow, agonized breath.
'Spirits of the Rhivi,' she whispered, 'take me now, I beg you. An end to this life, please. Jaghan, Iruth, Mendalan, S'ren Tahl, Pahryd, Neprool, Manek, Ibindur — I name you all, take me, spirits of the Rhivi …'
The rattle of her breath, the stubborn beat of her heart … the spirits were deaf to her prayer. With a soft whimper, the Mhybe sat up, reached for her clothes.
She tottered out into misty light. The Rhivi camp was awakening around her. Off to one side she heard the low of the bhederin, felt the restless rumble through the ground, then the shouts of the tribe's youths returning from a night spent guarding the herd. Figures were emerging from the nearby tents, voices softly singing in ritual greeting of the dawn.
Iruth met inal barku sen netral. ah'rhitan! Iruth met inal.
The Mhybe did not sing. There was no joy within her for another day of life.
'Dear lass, I have just the thing for you.'
She turned at the voice. The Daru Kruppe was waddling down the path towards her, clutching a small wooden box in his pudgy hands.
She managed a wry smile. 'Forgive me if I hesitate at your gifts. Past experience …'
'Kruppe sees beyond the wrinkled veil, my dear. In all things. Thus, his midnight mistress is Faith — a loyal aide whose loving touch Kruppe deeply appreciates. Mercantile interests,' he continued, arriving to stand before her, his eyes on the box, 'yield happy, if unexpected gifts. Within this modest container awaits a treasure, which I offer to you, dear.'
'I have no use for treasures, Kruppe, though I thank you.'
'A history worth recounting, Kruppe assures you. In extending the tunnel network leading to and from the famed caverns of gaseous bounty beneath fair Darujhistan, hewn chambers were found here and there, the walls revealing each blow of countless antler picks, and upon said rippling surfaces glorious scenes from the distant past were found. Painted in spit and charcoal and haematite and blood and snot and Hood knows what else, but there was more. More indeed. Pedestals, carved in the fashion of rude altars, and upon these altars — these!'
He flipped back the lid of the box.
At first, the Mhybe thought she was looking upon a collection of flint blades, resting on strangely wrought bangles seemingly of the same fractious material. Then her eyes narrowed.
'Aye,' Kruppe whispered. 'Fashioned as if they were indeed flint. But no, they are copper. Cold-hammered, the ore gouged raw from veins in rock, flattened beneath pounding stones. Layer upon layer. Shaped, worked, to mirror a heritage.' His small eyes lifted, met the Mhybe's. 'Kruppe sees the pain of your twisted bones, my dear, and he grieves. These copper objects are not tools, but ornaments, to be worn about the body — you will find the blades have clasps suitable for a hide thong. You will find wristlets and anklets, arm-torcs and … uh, necklets. There is efficacy in such items … to ease your aches. Copper, the first gift of the gods.'
Bemused at her own sentimentality, the Mhybe wiped the tears from her lined cheeks. 'I thank you, friend Kruppe. Our tribe retains the knowledge of copper's healing qualities. Alas, they are not proof against old age …'