A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

the magery. Besides which, I have more or less renounced that role. All I seek to do now is to return to Onearm's Host.'
    'A long journey.'
    'So I gathered. The sooner I start the better, then. Tell me, how far does this glass wasteland stretch?'
    'Seven leagues. Beyond it you will find the Lamatath Plain. When you have reached it, set a course north by northeast—'
    'Where will that take me? Darujhistan? Has Dujek besieged the city?'
    'No.' The T'lan Imass swung its head round. 'She comes.'
    Toc followed Tool's gaze. Three figures had appeared from the south, approaching the edge of the ring of barrows. Of the three, only the one in the middle walked upright. She was tall, slim, wearing a flowing white telaba such as were worn by highborn women of Seven Cities. Her black hair was long and straight. Flanking her were two dogs, the one on her left as big as a hill-pony, shaggy, wolflike, the other short-haired, dun-coloured and heavily muscled.
    Since Tool and Toc stood in the open, it was impossible that they had not been seen, yet the three displayed no perturbation or change of pace as they strode nearer. At a dozen paces the wolfish dog loped forward, tail wagging as it came up to the T'lan Imass.
    Musing on the scene, Toc scratched his jaw. 'An old friend, Tool? Or does the beast want you to toss it one of your bones?'
    The undead warrior regarded him in silence.
    'Humour,' Toc said, shrugging. 'Or a poor imitation. I didn't think T'lan Imass could take offence.' Or, rather, I'm hoping that's the case. Gods, my big mouth ...
    'I was considering,' Tool replied slowly. 'This beast is an ay, and thus has little interest in bones. Ay prefer flesh, still warm if possible.'
    Toc grunted. 'I see.'
    'Humour,' Tool said after a moment.
    'Right.' Oh. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. Surprises never cease.
    The T'lan Imass reached out to rest the tips of its bony fingers on the ay's broad head. The animal went perfectly still. 'An old friend? Yes, we adopted such animals into our tribes. It was that or see them starve. We were, you see, responsible for that starvation.'
    'Responsible? As in overhunting? I'd have thought your kind was one with nature. All those spirits, all those rituals of propitiation—'
    'Toc the Younger,' Tool interrupted, 'do you mock me, or your own ignorance? Not even the lichen of the tundra is at peace. All is struggle, all is war for dominance. Those who lose, vanish.'
    'And we're no different, you're saying—'
    'We are, soldier. We possess the privilege of choice. The gift of foresight. Though often we come too late in acknowledging those responsibilities...' The T'lan Imass's head tilted as he studied the ay before him, and, it seemed, his own skeletal hand where it rested upon the beast's head.
    'Baaljagg awaits your command, dear undead warrior,' the woman said upon arriving, her voice a lilting melody. 'How sweet. Garath, go join your brother in greeting our desiccated guest.' She met Toe's gaze and smiled. 'Garath, of course, might decide your companion's worth burying – wouldn't that be fun?'
    'Momentarily,' Toc agreed. 'You speak Daru, yet wear the telaba of Seven Cities . . .'
    Her brows arched. 'Do I? Oh, such confusion! Mind you, sir, you speak Daru yet you are from that repressed woman's empire – what was her name again?'
    'Empress Laseen. The Malazan empire.' And how did you know that? I'm not in uniform ...
    She smiled. 'Indeed.'
    'I am Toc the Younger, and the T'lan Imass is named Tool'
    'How apt. My, it is hot out here, don't you think? Let us retire within the Jaghut tower. Garath, cease sniffing the T'lan Imass and awaken the servants.'
    Toc watched the burly dog trot towards the tower. The entrance, the scout now saw, was in fact via a balcony, probably the first floor – yet another indication of the depth of the crushed glass. 'That place doesn't appear very habitable,' he observed.
    'Appearances deceive,' she murmured, once again flashing him a heart-stuttering smile.
    'Have you a name?' Toc asked her as they began walking.
    'She is Lady Envy,' Tool said. 'Daughter of Draconus – he who forged the sword Dragnipur, and was slain by its present wielder, Anomander Rake, lord of Moon's Spawn, with that selfsame sword. Draconus had two daughters, it is believed, whom he named Envy and Spite—'
    'Hood's breath, you can't be serious,' Toc muttered.
    'The names no doubt amused him, as well,' the T'lan Imass continued.
    'Really,' Lady Envy sighed, 'now you've gone and