A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

the march. Granted, that repugnant creature Kruppe was amusing enough, in the manner that an obese rat trying to cross a rope bridge was worth a cackle or three. A finely honed mind dwelt beneath the smeared, grotesque affectations, she well knew, and his ability at earning his seat at the head of the table and of confounding the flailing councillors of Darujhistan was most certainly an entertaining enough display of deftness ... until Crone had sensed the stirrings of magic somewhere in the camp.
    There, that large tent directly below ... I know it. The place where the Rhivi dress the Tiste Andii dead. Crooking her wings, she dropped in a tight spiral.
    She landed a few paces from the entrance. The flap was drawn shut, tightly tied, but the leather thongs and their knots were poor obstacles for Crone's sharp beak. In moments she was within, hopping silently and unseen beneath the huge table – a table she recognized with a silent chuckle – and among a few scattered folded cots in the darkness.
    Four figures leaned on the table above her, whispering and muttering. The muted clatter of wooden cards echoed through to Crone, and she cocked her head.
    'There it is again,' a gravelly-voiced woman said. 'You sure you shuffled the damned things, Spin?'
    'Will you – of course I did, Corporal. Stop asking me. Look, four times now, different laying of the fields every one, and it's simple. Obelisk dominates – the dolmen of time is the core. It's active, plain as day – the first time in decades . . .'
    'Could still be that untoward skew,' another voice interjected. 'You ain't got Fid's natural hand, Spin—'
    'Enough of that, Hedge,' the corporal snapped. 'Spindle's done enough readings to be the real thing, trust me.'
    'Didn't you just—'
    'Shut up.'
    'Besides,' Spindle muttered, 'I told you already, the new card's got a fixed influence – it's the glue holding everything together, and once you see that it all makes sense.'
    'The glue, you said,' the fourth and final voice – also a woman's – mused. 'Linked to a new ascendant, you think?'
    'Beats me, Blend,' Spindle sighed. 'I said a fixed influence, but I didn't say I knew the aspect of that influence. I don't know, and not because I'm not good enough. It's like it hasn't ... woken up yet. A passive presence, for the moment. Nothing more than that. When it does awaken ... well, things should heat up nicely, is my guess.'
    'So,' the corporal said, 'what are we looking at here, mage?'
    'Same as before. Soldier of High House Death's right-hand to Obelisk. Magi of Shadow's here – first time for that one, too – a grand deception's at work, is my guess. The Captain of High House Light holds out some hope, but it's shaded by Hood's Herald – though not directly, there's a distance there, I think. The Assassin of High House Shadow seems to have acquired a new face, I'm getting hints of it ... bloody familiar, that face.'
    The one named Hedge grunted. 'Should bring Quick Ben in on this—'
    'That's it!' Spindle hissed. 'The Assassin's face – it's Kalam!'
    'Bastard!' Hedge growled. 'I'd suspected as much – him and Fid paddling off the way they did – you know what this means, don't you...'
    'We can guess,' the corporal said, sounding unhappy. 'But the other thing's clear, Spin, isn't it?'
    'Aye. Seven Cities is about to rise – may have already. The Whirlwind ... Hood must be smiling right now. Smiling something fierce.'
    'I got some questions for Quick Ben,' Hedge muttered. 'Don't I just.'
    'You should ask him about the new card, too,' Spindle said. 'If he don't mind crawling, let him take a look.'
    'Aye...'
    A new card of the Deck of Dragons? Crone cocked her head up farther, thinking furiously. New cards were trouble, especially ones with power. The House of Shadow was proof enough of that... Her eyes – one, then, as she further cocked her head, the other – slowly focused, her mind dragged back from its abstracted realm, fixing at last on the underside of the table.
    To find a pair of human eyes, the paint glittering as if alive, staring back down at her.
     
    The Mhybe stepped out of the tent, her mind befuddled with exhaustion. Silverfox had fallen asleep in her chair, during one of Kruppe's rambling accounts describing yet another peculiarity of the Trygalle Trade Guild's Rules of Contract, and the Mhybe had decided to let the child be.
    In truth, she longed for some time away from her daughter. A pressure was building around Silverfox, an incessant