A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

ourselves, woman. We demand no less. Now listen. We are in need of supplies to effect the resumption of our journey. We require food, clean water and plenty of it, and if you could direct us to a clothier ...'
    'At once. Here—' She stepped up to him and drove her gauntleted fist full into his face. The man's feet flew out from under him and he struck the cobbles with a meaty smack. Out cold.
    Blend stepped up behind the other man and cracked him in the head with the pommel of her short sword. With a high-pitched grunt, he crumpled.
    Closing fast behind them was an old man in ragged servant garb. He skidded to a halt five paces away and raised his hands. 'Don't hit me!' he shrieked.
    Picker frowned. 'Now why would we do that? Are these two ... yours?'
    The manservant's expression was despondent. 'Aye,' he sighed, lowering his hands.
    'Advise them,' Picker said, 'of proper forms of address. When they awaken.'
    'Absolutely, sir.'
    'We should get moving, Corporal,' Blend said, eyes on the two unconscious men.
    'Yes. Yes, please!' the manservant begged.
    Picker shrugged. 'I see no point in dawdling. Lead on, soldier.'
     
    Paran and Quick Ben rode within a thousand paces of the Tenescowri encampment, which lay north of the road, on their right. Neither man spoke until they were well past, then the captain sighed. 'That looks to be trouble fast approaching.'
    'Oh? Why?'
    Paran shot his companion a startled glance, then returned his gaze to the road. 'The lust for vengeance against those peasants. The Capans might well swarm out through the gate and slaughter them, with the Mask Council's blessing.' And why, Wizard, do I think I see some-thing out of the comer of my eye? There, on your shoulder. Then, when I look more closely, it's gone.
    'That'd be a mistake for the Mask Council,' Quick Ben commented. 'The Grey Swords looked ready to defend their guests, if those pickets and trenches were any indication.'
    'Aye, they're anticipating becoming very unpopular, with what they're now up to.'
    'Recruiting. Then again, why not? That mercenary company paid a high price defending the city and its citizens.'
    'The memory of their heroic efforts could vanish in an eye's wink, Wizard. There's only a few hundred Grey Swords left, besides. Should a few thousand Capans charge them—'
    'I wouldn't worry, Captain. Even the Capans – no matter how enraged – would hesitate before crossing those soldiers. They're the ones who survived, after all. As I said, the Mask Council would be foolish to hold the grudge. We'll discover more at the parley, no doubt.'
    'Assuming we're invited. Quick Ben, we'd do better with a private conversation with Whiskeyjack. I personally have very little to say to most of the others who will be present. I have a report to deliver, in any case.'
    'Oh, I wasn't planning on speaking at the parley, Captain. Just listening.'
    They had left the occupied areas behind and now rode down an empty road, the rolling plain stretching out on their right, the bluffs marking the river three hundred paces distant on their left.
    'I see riders,' Quick Ben said. 'North.'
    Paran squinted, then nodded. 'It's happened.'
    'What has?'
    'The Second Gathering.'
    The wizard shot him a glance. 'The T'lan Imass? How do you know?'
    Because she's stopped reaching out to me. Tattersail, Nightchill, Bellurdan – something's happened. Something . . . unexpected. And it's left them reeling. 'I just know, Wizard. Silverfox is the lead rider.'
    'Your vision must be as a hawk's.'
    Paran said nothing. I don't need eyes. She's coming.
    'Captain, does Tattersail's soul still dominate within Silverfox?'
    'I don't know,' he admitted. 'All I will say, however, is that whatever faith we held to that we could predict Silverfox's actions should now be dispensed with.'
    'What has she become, then?'
    'A Bonecaster in truth.'
    They reined in to wait for the four riders. Kruppe's mule seemed to be competing for the lead position, the short-legged beast slipping between a frenzied trot and a canter, the round Daru wobbling and bouncing atop the saddle. Two Malazan marines rode behind Silverfox and Kruppe, looking relaxed.
    'Would that I had seen,' Quick Ben murmured, 'what her companions had seen.'
    Yet nothing went as planned. I can see that in her posture – the bridled anger, the diffidence – and, buried deep, pain. She's surprised them. Surprised, and defied. And the T'lan Imass have answered in an equally unexpected way. Even Kruppe looks off-balanced,