A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

trembling hand.
    Mayen spoke. 'Feather Witch, attend to Uruth's slave.'
    The young Letherii woman darted forward. Another slave appeared to help her drag the unconscious man away.
    'I saw no insult in the slave's actions,' Mayen continued. 'The wounds were indeed raw, but he held cloth against them.' She reached out and lifted the plate to reveal the bleached linen that Udinaas had used to cover his hands.
    Uruth grunted and slowly sat. 'None the less, he should have informed me. And for that oversight he must be punished.'
    'You just raped his mind,' Mayen replied. 'Is that not sufficient?'
    Silence.
    Daughters take us, the coming year should prove interesting. One year, as demanded by tradition, and then Fear and Mayen would take up residence in a house of their own.
    Uruth simply glared at the younger woman, then, to Trull's surprise, she nodded. 'Very well, Mayen. You are guest this night, and so I will abide by your wishes.'
    Through all of this Rhulad had remained standing, but now he slowly sat once more.
    Tomad said, 'Rhulad, I know of no plans to resurrect the ancient blood sacrifice to announce a war. Hannan Mosag is not careless with the lives of his warriors, even those as yet unblooded. I cannot fathom how you came to believe such a fate awaited you. Perhaps,' he added, 'this journey you are about to undertake will provide you with the opportunity to become a blooded warrior, and so stand with pride alongside your brothers. So I shall pray.'
    It was a clear overture, this wish for glory, and Rhulad displayed uncharacteristic wisdom in accepting it with a simple nod.
    Neither Feather Witch nor Udinaas returned, but the remaining slaves proved sufficient in serving the rest of the meal.
    And for all this, Trull still could not claim any understanding of Mayen, Fear's betrothed.
    A stinging slap and he opened his eyes.
    To see Feather Witch's face hovering above his own, a face filled with rage. 'You damned fool!' she hissed.
    Blinking, Udinaas looked around. They were huddled in his sleeping niche. Beyond the cloth hanging, the low sounds of eating and soft conversation.
    Udinaas smiled.
    Feather Witch scowled. 'She—'
    'I know,' he cut in. 'And she found nothing.'
    He watched her beautiful eyes widen. 'It is true, then?'
    'It must be.'
    'You are lying, Udinaas. The Wyval hid. Somehow, somewhere, it hid itself from Uruth.'
    'Why are you so certain of that, Feather Witch?'
    She sat back suddenly. 'It doesn't matter—'
    'You have had dreams, haven't you?'
    She started, then looked away. 'You are a Debtor's son. You are nothing to me.'
    'And you are everything to me, Feather Witch.'
    'Don't be an idiot, Udinaas! I might as well wed a hold rat! Now, be quiet, I need to think.'
    He slowly sat up, drawing their faces close once again. 'There is no need,' he said. 'I trust you, and so I will explain. She looked deep indeed, but the Wyval was gone. It would have been different, had Uruth sought out my shadow.'
    She blinked in sudden comprehension, then: 'That cannot be,' she said, shaking her head. 'You are Letherii. The wraiths serve only the Edur—'
    'The wraiths bend a knee because they must. They are as much slaves to the Edur as we are, Feather Witch. I have found an ally ...'
    'To what end, Udinaas?'
    He smiled again, and this time it was a much darker smile. 'Something I well understand. The repaying of debts, Feather Witch. In full.'

BOOK TWO

PROWS OF THE DAY
    We are seized in the age
of our youth
dragged over this road's stones
spent and burdened
by your desires.
And unshod hoofs clatter beneath bones
to remind us of every
fateful charge
upon the hills you have sown
with frozen seeds
in this dead earth.
Swallowing ground
and grinding bit
we climb into the sky so alone
in our fretted ways
a heaving of limbs
and the iron stars burst from your heels
baffling urgency
warning us of your savage bite.
    Destriers (Sons to Fathers)
Fisher kel Tath

CHAPTER SIX
    The Errant bends fate,
As unseen armour
Lifting to blunt the blade
On a field sudden
With battle, and the crowd
Jostles blind their eyes gouged out
By the strait of these affairs
Where dark fools dance on tiles
And chance rides a spear
With red bronze
To spit worlds like skulls
One upon the other
Until the seas pour down
To thicken metal-clad hands
So this then is the Errant
Who guides every fate
Unerring
Upon the breast of men.
    The Casting of Tiles
Ceda Ankaran Qan (1059 Burn's Sleep)
    The Tarancede tower rose from the south side of Trate's