A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

love?
    When frozen between life and death, in the glacial in-between, what can exist of mortal feeling? Not even an echo. Only memories of ice, of ice and no more than that. Gods below . . . such sorrow . . .
    Figures approached the slope before Silverfox. Weaponless, robed in furs from ancient, long-extinct beasts. Kruppe's eyes focused on one in particular, a broad-shouldered Bonecaster, wearing an antlered skullcap and the stained fur of an arctic fox. With a shock the Daru realized that he knew this apparition.
    Ah, we meet again, Pran Chole. Forgive me, but my heart breaks at the sight of you – at what you have become.
    The antlered Bonecaster was the first to address Silverfox. 'We are come,' he said, 'to the Second Gathering.'
    'You have come,' Silverfox grated, 'in answer to my summons.'
    The Bonecaster slowly tilted his head. 'What you are was created long ago, guided by the hand of an Elder God. Yet, at its heart, Imass. All that follows has run in your blood from the moment of your birth. The wait, Summoner, has been long. I am Pran Chole, of Kron T'lan Imass. I stood, with K'rul, to attend your birth.'
    Silverfox's answering smile was bitter. 'Are you my father, then, Pran Chole? If so, this reunion has come far too late. For us both.'
    Despair flooded Kruppe. This was old anger, held back overlong, now turning the air gelid and brittle. A dreadful exchange to mark the first words of the Second Gathering.
    Pran Chole seemed to wilt at her words. His desiccated face dropped, as if the Bonecaster was overcome with shame.
    No, Silverfox, how could you do this?
    'Where you then went, daughter,' Pran Chole whispered, 'I could not follow.'
    'True,' she snapped. 'After all, you had a vow awaiting you. A ritual. The ritual, the one that turned your hearts to ash. All for a war. But that is what war is all about, isn't it? Leaving. Leaving home. Your loved ones – indeed, the very capacity of love itself. You chose to abandon it all. You abandoned everything ! You abandoned—' She cut her words off suddenly.
    Kruppe closed his eyes for a brief moment, so that he might in his mind complete her sentence. You abandoned . . . me.
    Pran Chole's head remained bowed. Finally, he raised it slightly. 'Summoner, what would you have us do?'
    'We will get to that soon enough.'
    Another Bonecaster stepped forward, then. The rotted fur of a large brown bear rode his shoulders and it seemed the beast itself had reared behind the shadowed eyes. 'I am Okral Lorn,' he said in a voice like distant thunder. 'All the Bonecasters of Kron T'lan Imass now stand before you. Agkor Choom. Bendal Home, Ranag Ilm, and Brold Chood. Kron, as well, who was chosen as War Leader at the First Gathering. Unlike Pran Chole, we care nothing for your anger. We played no role in your creation, in your birth. None the less, you cling to a misapprehension, Summoner. Pran Chole can in no way be considered your father. He stands here, accepting the burden of your rage, for he is what he is. If you would call anyone your father, if you so require a face upon which hatred can focus, then you must forbear, for the one you seek is not among us.'
    The blood had slowly drained from Silverfox's face, as if she'd not been prepared for such brutal condemnation flung back at her by this Bonecaster. 'N-not among you?'
    'Your souls were forged in the Warren of Tellann, yet not in the distant past – the past in which Pran Chole lived – not at first, at any rate. Summoner, the unveiled warren of which I speak belonged to the First Sword, Onos T'oolan. Now clanless, he walks alone, and that solitude has twisted his power of Tellann—'
    'Twisted? How?'
    'By what he seeks, by what lies at the heart of his desires.'
    Silverfox was shaking her head, as if striving to deny all that Okral Lorn said. 'And what does he seek?'
    The Bonecaster shrugged. 'Summoner, you will discover that soon enough, for Onos T'oolan has heard your call to the Second Gathering. He will, alas, be rather late.'
    Kruppe watched as Silverfox slowly returned her gaze to Pran Chole, whose head was bowed once more.
    In assuming the responsibility for her creation, this Bonecaster offered her a gift – a focus for her anger, a victim to stand before its unleashing. I do remember you, Pran Chole, there in my dream-world. Your face, the compassion in your eyes. Would I the courage to ask: were you Imass once, in truth, all like this?
    Another pair was emerging from the ranks. In the silence that