A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

plight of the Nerek. But the answer rests with the Tiste Edur.'
    'Very well.' She stepped back and turned round. The children played on, amidst the lost shadows. She listened to Hull walk away, the soft crackle of his moccasined feet on the wood chips fading.
    Very well.
    She made her way into the village, onto the main avenue, across the bridge that led through open gates into the inner ward, where the noble-born Hiroth had their residences. Just beyond them was Hannan Mosag's long-house. Seren Pedac paused in the broad clearing just within the palisade wall. No children in sight, only slaves busy with their menial chores and a half-dozen Edur warriors sparring with a wide assortment of weapons. None spared the Acquitor any notice, at least not outwardly, though she was certain that her arrival had been surreptitiously observed and that her movements would be tracked.
    Two Letherii slaves were walking nearby, carrying between them a net-sling bulging with mussels. Seren approached.
    'I would speak with an Edur matron.'
    'She comes,' one of them replied, not glancing over.
    Seren turned.
    The Edur woman who strode towards her was flanked by attendants. She looked young, but there was in truth no way of knowing. Attractive, but that in itself was not unusual. She wore a long robe, the wool dyed midnight blue, with gold-threaded patterns adorning cuffs and brocade. Her long, straight brown hair was unbound.
    'Acquitor,' she said in Edur, 'are you lost?'
    'No, milady. I would speak with you on behalf of the Nerek.'
    Thin brows arched above the heart-shaped face. 'With me?'
    'With an Edur,' Seren replied.
    'Ah. And what is it you wish to say?'
    'Until such time that the Tiste Edur offer an official welcome to the Nerek, they starve and suffer spiritual torment. I would ask that you show them mercy.'
    'I am sure that this is but an oversight, Acquitor. Is it not true that your audience with the Warlock King occurs this very night?'
    'Yes. But that is no guarantee that we will be proclaimed guests at that time, is it?'
    'You would demand special treatment?'
    'Not for ourselves. For the Nerek.'
    The woman studied her for a time, then, 'Tell me, if you will, who or what are these Nerek?'
    A half-dozen heartbeats passed, as Seren struggled to adjust to this unexpected ignorance. Unexpected, she told herself, but not altogether surprising – she had but fallen to her own assumptions. It seemed the Letherii were not unique in their self-obsessions. Or, for that matter, their arrogance. 'Your pardon, milady—'
    'I am named Mayen.'
    'Your pardon, Mayen. The Nerek are the servants of Buruk the Pale. Similar in status to your slaves. They are of a tribe that was assimilated by Lether some time back, and now work to pay against their debt.'
    'Joining the Letherii entails debt?'
    Seren's gaze narrowed. 'Not direc— not as such, Mayen. There were ... unique circumstances.'
    'Yes, of course. Those do arise, don't they?' The Edur woman pressed a fingertip to her lips, then seemed to reach a decision. 'Take me, then, to these Nerek, Acquitor.'
    'I'm sorry? Now?'
    'Yes, the sooner their spirits are eased the better. Or have I misunderstood you?'
    'No.'
    'Presumably, the blessing of any Edur will suffice for these pitiful tribespeople of yours. Nor can I see how it will affect the Warlock King's dealings with you. Indeed, I am sure it won't.' She turned to one of her Letherii slaves. 'Feather Witch, please inform Uruth Sengar that I will be somewhat delayed, but assure her it will not be for long.'
    The young woman named Feather Witch bowed and rushed off towards a longhouse. Seren stared after her for a moment. 'Mayen, if I may ask, who gave her that name?'
    'Feather Witch? It is Letherii, is it not? Those Letherii born as slaves among us are named by their mothers. Or grandmothers, whatever the practice among your kind may be. I have not given it much thought. Why?'
    Seren shrugged. 'It is an old name, that is all. I've not heard it used in a long time, and then only in the histories.'
    'Shall we walk, Acquitor?'
    Udinaas sat on a low stool near the entrance, stripping scales from a basketful of dried fish. His hands were wet, red and cracked by the salt paste the fish had been packed in. He had watched the Acquitor's arrival, followed Mayen's detour, and now Feather Witch was approaching, a troubled expression on her face.
    'Indebted,' she snapped, 'is Uruth within?'
    'She is, but you must wait.'
    'Why?'
    'She speaks with the