A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

a delight, Toc the Younger.'
    He almost choked on his wine. If I wasn't a sword-kissed one-eyed bastard, I'd be tempted to call that a flirt.
    Tool spoke. 'Lady Envy, if you seek further knowledge of this Rent, you will not find it here.'
    Toc was pleased to see the mild shock on her face as she swung to the T'lan Imass. 'Indeed? It appears I am not alone in enjoying a certain coyness. Can you explain?'
    Anticipating the response to that, Toc the Younger grunted, then ducked as she flashed him a dark look.
    'Perhaps,' Tool predictably replied.
    Hah, I knew it.
    An edge came into her tone. 'Please do so, then.'
    'I follow an ancient trail, Lady Envy. Morn was but one stop on that trail. It now leads northward. You would find your answers among those I seek.'
    'You wish me to accompany you.'
    'I care not either way,' Tool said in his uninflected rasp. 'Should you choose to stay here, however, I must warn you. Meddling with the Rent has its risks – even for one such as you.'
    She crossed her arms. 'You think I lack suitable caution?'
    'Even now you have reached an impasse, and your frustration mounts. I add one more incentive, Lady Envy. Your old travelling companions are converging on the very same destination – the Pannion Domin. Both Anomander Rake and Caladan Brood prepare to wage war against the Domin. A grave decision – does that not make you curious?'
    'You are no simple T'lan Imass,' she accused.
    Tool made no reply to that.
    'He has you at a disadvantage, it seems,' Toc said, barely restraining his amusement.
    'I find impertinence disgustingly unattractive,' she snapped. 'Whatever happened to your affable equanimity, Toc the Younger?'
    He wondered at his sudden impulse to fling himself down at her feet, begging forgiveness. Shrugging the absurd notion off, he said, 'Badly stung, I think.'
    Her expression softened to something doe-like.
    The irrational desire returned. Toc scratched his scar, looked away.
    'I did not intend to sting you—'
    Right, and the Queen of Dreams has chicken feet.
    '—and I sincerely apologize.' She faced Tool again. 'Very well, we shall all of us undertake a journey. How exciting!' She gestured to her Seguleh servants. 'Begin preparations at once!'
    Tool said to Toc, 'I shall collect materials for your bow and arrows now. We can complete them on the way.'
    The scout nodded, then added, 'I wouldn't mind watching you make them, Tool. Could be useful knowledge ...'
    The T'lan Imass seemed to consider, then tilted his head. 'We found it so.'
    They all turned at a loud grunt from where Senu lay against the wall. He had regained consciousness, to find the ay standing over him, the beast licking with obvious pleasure the painted patterns on his mask.
    'The medium,' Tool explained in his usual deadpan tone, 'appears to be a mixture of charcoal, saliva and human blood.'
    'Now that,' Toc muttered, 'is what I call a rude awakening.'
    Lady Envy brushed close to him as she moved towards the doorway, and cast him a glance as she passed. 'Oh, I am looking forward to this outing!'
    The anything but casual contact slipped a nest of serpents into Toc's gut. Despite his thudding heart, the Malazan was not sure if he should be pleased, or terrified.

CHAPTER TWO
    Onearm's Host bled from countless wounds. An endless campaign, successive defeats followed by even costlier victories. But of all the wounds borne by the army of Dujek Onearm, those to its soul were the gravest. . .
    Silverfox
Outrider Hurlochel
     
    Nestled amidst the rocks and tumbled boulders of the hillside, Corporal Picker watched the old man make his laborious way up the trail. His shadow slipped over Blend's position, yet the man who cast it knew nothing of the soldier's proximity. Blend rose in silence behind him, dust sloughing down, and made a series of hand gestures intended for Picker.
    The old man continued on unawares. When he was but a half-dozen paces away, Picker straightened, the grey cloak left by the morning's dust-storm cascading away as she levelled her crossbow. 'Far enough, traveller,' she growled. His surprise sent the old man stumbling back a step. A stone turned underfoot and he pitched to the ground, crying out yet managing to twist to avoid landing atop the leather pack strapped to his back. He skidded another pace down the trail, and found himself almost at Blend's feet.
    Picker smiled, stepped forward. 'That'll do,' she said. 'You don't look dangerous, old fella, but just in case, there's five other