A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

from the distant past, awkwardly dressed, stiff and mannered as all outdated things appear to be, had stepped out from the histories. Womb-chosen caster of the tiles, who practised her arts of divination for the service of her community, rather than for the coins in a leather pouch. Perhaps the name had lost its meaning among these slaves. Perhaps there were no old tiles to be found, no solemn nights when fates gathered into a smudged, crack-laced path, the dread mosaic of destiny set out before one and all – with a hood-eyed woman-child overseeing the frightful ritual.
    She heard the crunch of stones from near the river mouth and turned to see a male slave crouching down at the waterline. He thrust his hands into the cold, fresh water as if seeking absolution, or ice-numbing escape.
    Curious, Seren Pedac walked over.
    The glance he cast at her was guarded, diffident. Acquitor,' he said, 'these are fraught hours among the Edur. Words are best left unspoken.'
    'We are not Edur, however,' she replied, 'are we?'
    He withdrew his hands, and she saw that they were red and swollen. 'Emurlahn bleeds from the ground in these lands, Acquitor.'
    'None the less, we are Letherii.'
    His grin was wry. 'Acquitor, I am a slave.'
    'I have been thinking on that. Slavery. And freedom from debt. How do you weigh the exchange?'
    He settled back on his haunches, water dripping from his hands, and seemed to study the clear water swirling past. The rain had fallen off and mist was edging out from the forest. 'The debt remains, Acquitor. It governs every Letherii slave among the Edur, yet it is a debt that can never be repaid.'
    She stared down at him, shocked. 'But that is madness!'
    He smiled once more. 'By such things we are all measured. Why did you imagine that mere slavery would change it?'
    Seren was silent for a time, studying the man crouched at the edge of the flowing water. Not at all unhandsome, yet, now that she knew, she could see his indebtedness, the sure burden upon him, and the truth that, for him, for every child he might sire, there would be no absolving the stigma. It was brutal. It was ... Letherii. 'There is a slave,' she said, 'who is named Feather Witch.'
    He seemed to wince. 'Yes, our resident caster of the tiles.'
    'Ah. I had wondered. How many generations has that woman's family dwelt as a slave among the Edur?'
    'A score, perhaps.'
    'Yet the talent persisted? Within this world of Kurald Emurlahn? That is extraordinary.'
    'Is it?' He shrugged and rose. 'When you and your companions are guest to Hannan Mosag this night, Feather Witch will cast.'
    Sudden chill rippled through Seren Pedac. She drew a deep breath and released it slow and heavy. 'There is ... risk, doing such a thing.'
    'That is known, Acquitor.'
    'Yes, I see now that it would be.'
    'I must return to my tasks,' he said, not meeting her eyes.
    'Of course. I hope my delaying you does not yield grief.'
    He smiled yet again, but said nothing.
    She watched him walk up the strand.
    Buruk the Pale stood wrapped in his rain cape before the Nerek fire. Hull Beddict was nearby, positioned slightly behind the merchant, hooded and withdrawn.
    Seren walked to Buruk's side, studied the struggling flames from which smoke rose to hang smeared, stretched and motionless above them. The night's chill had seeped into the Acquitor's bones and the muscles of her neck had tightened in response. A headache was building behind her eyes.
    'Seren Pedac,' Buruk sighed. 'I am unwell.'
    She heard as much in his weak, shaky voice. 'You ran long and far,' she said.
    'Only to find myself standing still, here before a sickly fire. I am not so foolish as to be unaware of my crimes.'
    Hull grunted behind them. 'Would those be crimes already committed, or those to come, Buruk the Pale?'
    'The distinction is without meaning,' the merchant replied. 'Tonight,' he said, straightening himself, 'we shall be made guests of Hannan Mosag. Are you both ready?'
    'The formality,' Seren said, 'is the least of what this meeting portends, Buruk. The Warlock King intends to make his position unambiguous. We will hear a warning, which we are expected to deliver to the delegation when it arrives.'
    'Intentions are similarly without relevance, Acquitor. I am without expectations, whereas one of us three is consumed by nothing else. Rehearsed statements, dire pronouncements, all await this fell visit.' Buruk swung his head to regard Hull Beddict. 'You still think like a child, don't you? Clay figurines