A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

of battle than Toc had ever seen on a single person before. Despite this, there was a comfort, there in his face – a gentleman's face, no more than twenty years of age, the features pronounced, heavy-boned, framed in long black hair devoid of any fetishes or braids. His eyes were a soft brown as he looked up at Toc.
    Toc had never met this man before. 'Hello. Is there something you wish?' he asked, impatient to be away.
    The man shook his head. 'I only sought to look upon you, to see that you were well.'
    He believes me to be Anaster. A friend of old, perhaps – not one of his lieutenants, though – I would have remembered this one. Well, I'll not disappoint him. 'Thank you. I am.'
    'This pleases me.' The man smiled, reached up and laid a hand on Toc's leg. 'I will go, now, brother. Know that I hold you in my memory.' Still smiling, he turned and strode away, passing through the midst of curious Grey Swords, heading north towards the forest.
    Toc stared after him. Something . . . something about that walk . . .
    'Mortal Sword—'
    The Shield Anvil was approaching.
    Toc gathered the reins. 'Not now,' he called out. 'Later.' He swung his horse round. 'All right, you wretched hag, let's see how you gallop, shall we?' He drove his heels into the beast's flanks.
     
    His sister awaited him at the edge of the forest. 'You are done?' she asked him.
    'I am.'
    They continued on, under the trees. 'I have missed you, brother.'
    'And I you.'
    'You have no sword ...'
    'Indeed, I have not. Do you think I will need one?'
    She leaned close to him. 'Now more than before, I would think.'
    'Perhaps you are right. We must needs find a quarry.'
    'The Barghast Range. A flint the colour of blood – I will invest it, of course, to prevent its shattering.'
    'As you did once before, sister.'
    'Long ago.'
    'Aye, so very long ago.'
     
    Under the impassive gaze of the two brothers, Lady Envy relinquished the sorcery that kept Mok from returning to consciousness. She watched as the Third slowly regained awareness, the eyes within the mask dulled with pain. 'There, now,' she murmured. 'You have suffered of late, haven't you?'
    Mok struggled to sit upright, his gaze hardening upon finding his brothers.
    Lady Envy straightened and glanced over at Senu and Thurule with an appraising eye. After a moment, she sighed. 'Indeed, they are a sight. They suffered in your absence, Third. Then again,' she noted brightly, 'you've not fared much better! I must inform you, Mok, that your mask has cracked.'
    The Seguleh reached up, probed tentatively, finding then following the hairline fissure running two-thirds of the length on the left side.
    Lady Envy continued, 'In fact, I reluctantly admit, none of our fa?ades has survived ... unfractured. If you can imagine it, Anomander Rake – the Seventh – has unceremoniously banished us from the city.'
    Mok climbed unsteadily to his feet, looked around.
    'Yes,' Lady Envy said, 'we find ourselves in the very same forest we spent days trudging through. Your punitive exercise is concluded, perhaps satisfactorily, perhaps not. The Pannion Domin is no more, alas. Time's come, my three grim servants, to begin the journey home.'
    Mok examined his weapons, then faced her. 'No. We shall demand an audience with the Seventh—'
    'Oh, you foolish man! He'll not see you! Worse, you'll have to carve your way through a few hundred Tiste Andii to get to him – and no, they won't cross blades with you. They will simply annihilate you with sorcery. They're a perfunctory people, the Children of Mother Dark. Now, I have decided to escort the three of you home. Isn't that generous of me?'
    Mok regarded her, the silence stretching.
    Lady Envy offered him a sweet smile.
     
    On their long journey north, the White Face Barghast broke up into clans, then family bands, ranging far and wide as was their wont. Hetan walked with Cafal, lagging behind their father and his closest followers and angling some distance eastward.
    The sun was warm on their heads and shoulders, the air fresh with the gentle surf brushing the shore two hundred paces to their right.
    It was midday when she and her brother spotted the two travellers ahead. Close kin, Hetan judged as they drew nearer. Neither one particularly tall, but robust, both black-haired, walking very slowly side by side closer to the coastline.
    They looked to be Barghast, but of a tribe or clan unknown to either Hetan or Cafal. A short while later they came alongside the two