A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

witness, yet ever remaining outside them. Baffled and frustrated and half disbelieving.
    Words knit the skein between and among women. And the language of gesture and expression, all merging to fashion a tapestry that, as every woman understood, could tear in but one direction, by deliberate, vicious effort. A friendship among women knew but one enemy, and that was malice.
    Thus, the more words, the tighter the weave.
    Seren Pedac had lived most of her life in the company of men, and now, on her rare visits to her home in Letheras, she was viewed by women who knew her with unease. As if her choice had made her loyalty uncertain, cause for suspicion. And she had found an unwelcome awkwardness in herself when in their company. They wove from different threads, on different frames, discordant with her own rhythms. She felt clumsy and coarse among them, trapped by her own silences.
    To which she answered with flight, away from the city, from her past. From women.
    Yet, in the briefest of moments, in a meeting of two men with their almost indifferent exchange of greetings, she was knocked a step back – almost physically – and shut out. Here, sharing this ground, this trail with its rocks and trees, yet in another world.
    Too easy to conclude, with a private sneer, that men were simple. Granted, had they been strangers, they might well be circling and sniffing each other's anuses right now. Inviting conclusions that swept aside all notions of complexity, in their place a host of comforting generalizations. But the meeting of two men who were friends destroyed such generalizations and challenged the contempt that went with them, invariably leading a woman to anger.
    And the strange, malicious desire to step between them.
    On a cobbled beach, a man looks down and sees one rock, then another and another. A woman looks down and sees ... rocks. But perhaps even this is simplistic. Man as singular and women as plural. More likely we are bits of both, some of one in the other.
    We just don't like admitting it.
    He was taller than Hull, shoulders level with the Letherii's eyes. His hair was brown and bound in finger-length braids. Eyes the colour of wet sand. Skin like smeared ash. Youthful features, long and narrow barring the broad mouth.
    Seren Pedac knew the Sengar name. It was likely she had seen this man's kin, among the delegations she had treated with in her three official visits to Hannan Mosag's tribe.
    'Hiroth warrior,' Buruk the Pale said, shouting to be heard above the wailing Nerek, 'I welcome you as guest. I am—'
    'I know who you are,' Binadas replied.
    At his words the Nerek voices trailed off, leaving only the wind moaning its way up the trail, and the constant trickling flow of melt water from the higher reaches.
    'I bring to the Hiroth,' Buruk was saying, 'ingots of iron—'
    'And would test,' Hull Beddict interrupted, 'the thickness of the ice.'
    'The season has turned,' Binadas replied to Hull. 'The ice is riven with cracks. There has been an illegal harvest of tusked seals. Hannan Mosag will have given answer.'
    Seren Pedac swung to the merchant. Studied Buruk the Pale's face. Alcohol, white nectar and the bitter wind had lifted the blood vessels to just beneath the pallid skin on his nose and cheeks. The man's eyes were bleary and shot with red. He conveyed no reaction at the Edur's words. 'Regrettable. It is unfortunate that, among my merchant brethren, there are those who choose to disregard the agreements. The lure of gold. A tide none can withstand.'
    'The same can be said of vengeance,' Binadas pointed out.
    Buruk nodded. 'Aye, all debts must be repaid.'
    Hull Beddict snorted. 'Gold and blood are not the same.'
    'Aren't they?' Buruk challenged. 'Hiroth warrior, the interests I represent would adhere now and evermore to the bound agreements. Alas, Lether is a many-headed beast. The surest control of the more voracious elements will be found in an alliance – between the Edur and those Letherii who hold to the words binding our two peoples.'
    Binadas turned away. 'Save your speeches for the Warlock King,' he said. 'I will escort you to the village. That is all that need be understood between us.'
    Shrugging, Buruk the Pale walked back to his wagon. 'On your feet, Nerek! The trail is downhill from here on, isn't it just!'
    Seren watched the merchant climb into the covered back, vanishing from sight, as the Nerek began scurrying about. A glance showed Hull and Binadas facing each other once more. The