A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

shoulders, throats the hue of rain clouds, thick tails silver and black-tipped; while others were brown, the colour of rotted, powdered wood, faded to tan at throat and belly. Wolves, tall, gaunt, their eyes shadowed pits. Huge, long heads were turned, one and all, to Silverfox.
    She glanced over a shoulder, her heavy-lidded eyes fixing on Whiskeyjack. She smiled. 'My escort.'
    The commander, struck silent, stared at her. So like Tattersail. Yet not. Escort, she says, but I see more – and her look tells me she is aware . . . so very aware, now.
    Escort . . . and bodyguard. Silverfox may no longer require us. And, now that her need for our protection has passed, she is free to do . . . whatever she pleases. . .
    A cold wind seemed to rattle through Whiskeyjack's mind. Gods, what if Kallor was right all along! What if we've all missed our chance? With a soft grunt, he shook off the unworthy thoughts. No, we have shown our faith in her, when it mattered most – when she was at her weakest. Tattersail would not forget that. . .
    So like . . . yet not. Nightchill, dismembered by betrayal. Is it Tayschrenn her remnant soul hates? Or the Malazan Empire and every son and daughter of its blood? Or the one she had been called upon to battle: Anomander Rake, and by extension Caladan Brood? The Rhivi, the Bar ghost. . . does she seek vengeance against them?
    Kruppe cleared his throat. 'And a lovely escort they are, my dear lass. Alarming to your enemies, reassuring to your loyal friends! We are charmed, for we can see that you are as well, so very deeply charmed by these silent, motionless T'lan Ay. Such well-behaved pups, Kruppe is impressed beyond words, beyond gestures, beyond suitable response entire!'
    'If only,' Korlat murmured, 'that were the case.' She faced Whiskeyjack, her expression closed and professional. 'Commander, I will take my leave now to report to our leaders—'
    'Korlat,' Silverfox interrupted, 'forgive me for not asking earlier, but when did you last look upon my mother?'
    'This morning,' the Tiste Andii replied. 'She can no longer walk, and this has been her condition for almost a week now. She weakens by the day, Silverfox. Perhaps if you were to come and see her...'
    'There is no need for that,' the fur-cloaked woman said. 'Who attends her at this moment?'
    'Councillor Coll and the Daru man, Murillio.'
    'Kruppe's most loyal friends, Kruppe assures you all. She is safe enough.'
    'Circumstances,' Silverfox said, her expression tight, 'are about to grow ... tense.'
    And what has it been till now, woman? Kallor haunts your shadow like a vulture – I'm surprised he let you get away just now . . . unless he's lurking about on the other side of the nearest hill. . .
    'Do you ask something of me, Silverfox?' Korlat enquired.
    She visibly gathered herself. 'Aye, some of your kin, to guard my mother.'
    The Tiste Andii frowned. 'It would seem, with your new guardians in such number, that you have some to spare—'
    'She would not let them approach her, I'm afraid. She has ... nightmares. I am sorry, but I must ensure my T'lan Ay are kept out of her sight, and senses. She may look frail and seem powerless, but there is that within her that is capable of driving the T'lan Ay away. Will you do as I ask?'
    'Of course, Silverfox.'
    The woman nodded, attention shifting once more back to Whiskeyjack as Korlat wheeled her mount and rode back up the slope. She studied him in silence for a moment, then looked to Kruppe. 'Well, Daru? Are you satisfied thus far?'
    'I am, dearest one.' Not Kruppe's usual tone, but spoken low, measured.
    Satisfied. With what?
    'Will she hold on, do you think?'
    Kruppe shrugged. 'We shall see, yes? Kruppe has faith.'
    'Enough for both of us?'
    The Daru smiled. 'Naturally.'
    Silverfox sighed. 'Very well. I lean heavily on you in this, you know.'
    'Kruppe's legs are as pillars of stone. Your touch is so light as to pass unnoticed by worthy self. My dear, the sound of additional riders urges upon you a decision – what will you permit to be seen by those who now approach?'
    'Nothing untoward,' the woman replied. She raised her arms again.
    The T'lan Ay returned to the dust from which they had arisen.
    With a soft grunt, Whiskeyjack strode back to his horse. There were too many mysteries roiling through the company of the two armies, secrets that seemed to hold promises of explosive revelation. Probably violent ones at that. He felt uneasy. I wish Quick Ben was here . . . Hood knows, I wish I