A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

explicitly, the Short-Tails would not surrender or merge their magical talents with their mothers'. The result was a civil war, and the sorceries unleashed were apocalyptic. To gauge something of the desperation among the Matrons, one need only travel south on this continent, to a place called Morn.'
    'The Rent,' Korlat murmured, nodding.
    Kallor's smile was wintry. 'She sought to harness the power of a gate itself, but not simply a common warren's gate. Oh no, she elected to open the portal that led to the Realm of Chaos. Such hubris, to think she could control – could assert order – upon such a thing.' He paused, as if reconsidering his own words, then laughed. 'Oh, a bitter lesson or two in that tale, don't you think?'
    Caladan Brood grunted. 'Let's bring this back to the present, shall we? In the valley below, undead K'ell Hunters. The question to address is: what are they doing here?'
    'They are being used.'
    Everyone's eyes fixed on Silverfox, who stood before her horse, reins in hand.
    'I like not the sound of that,' Dujek growled.
    'Used,' Silverfox repeated, 'by the Pannion Seer.'
    'Impossible,' Kallor snapped. 'Only a K'Chain Che'Malle Matron could command a Ke'll Hunter – even when undead .'
    'Then it would appear,' Korlat said, 'that we have more than one enemy.'
    'The Pannion Seer has an ally?' Dujek leaned on his saddle and spat. 'There's not been even so much as a hint—'
    'None the less,' Silverfox cut in. 'Proof lies before us, in the valley below.'
    'A Matron cannot breed more of her kind without the seed of living males,' Kallor said. 'Therefore, with each K'ell Hunter destroyed, there is one less for us to deal with.'
    Brood turned at that, eyes thinning to slits. 'Easily swallowed, this revelation.'
    Kallor shrugged.
    'There is also before us,' the warlord continued, 'another truth. Regarding the destruction of the K'ell Hunters, someone is doing it for us, it seems.'
    Silence; then, slowly, attention focused on Silverfox.
    She smiled. 'I did say, some time ago, that you would all need help.'
    Kallor snarled. 'T'lan Imass! So tell us, bitch, why would they concern themselves with K'Chain Che'Malle? Are not the Jaghut their avowed enemies? Why task your undead followers with a new one? Why have you and the T'lan Imass joined this war, woman? '
    'We have joined nothing,' she replied, her eyes heavy-lidded, standing as Tattersail would stand, hands clasped and resting on the folds of her belly, her body solid yet curvaceous beneath her deerhide tunic.
    Ah, I know that look. Sleight of hand. Careful, now . . .
    'Do you deny, then,' Brood began slowly, his expression clouded, uncertain, 'that your T'lan Imass were responsible for destroying these K'ell Hunters?'
    'Have none of you ever wondered,' Silverfox said, looking at each of them, 'why the T'lan Imass warred with the Jaghut?'
    'Perhaps an explanation,' Dujek said, 'will assist us in understanding.'
    Silverfox gave a sharp nod. 'When the first Imass emerged, they were forced to live in the shadow of the Jaghut. Tolerated, ignored, but only in small, manageable numbers. Pushed to the poorest of lands. Then Tyrants arose among the Jaghut, who found pleasure in enslaving them, in forcing upon them a nightmarish existence – that successive generations were born into and so knew of no other life, knew nothing of freedom itself.
    'The lesson was hard, not easily swallowed, for the truth was this: there were intelligent beings in the world who exploited the virtues of others, their compassion, their love, their faith in kin. Exploited, and mocked. How many Imass tribes discovered that their gods were in fact Jaghut Tyrants? Hidden behind friendly masks. Tyrants, who manipulated them with the weapon of faith.
    'The rebellion was inevitable, and it was devastating for the Imass. Weaker, uncertain even of what it was they sought, or what freedom would show them should they find it... But we would not relent. We could not.'
    Kallor sneered. 'There were never more than but a handful of Tyrants among the Jaghut, woman.'
    'A handful was too many, and aye, we found allies among the Jaghut – those for whom the activities of the Tyrants were reprehensible. But we now carried scars. Scars born of mistrust, of betrayal. We could trust only in our own kind. In the name of our generations to come, all Jaghut would have to die. None could be left, to produce more children, to permit among those children the rise of new Tyrants.'
    'And how,' Korlat asked,