'That'd be a mistake for the Mask Council,' Quick Ben commented. 'The Grey Swords looked ready to defend their guests, if those pickets and trenches were any indication.'
'Aye, they're anticipating becoming very unpopular, with what they're now up to.'
'Recruiting. Then again, why not? That mercenary company paid a high price defending the city and its citizens.'
'The memory of their heroic efforts could vanish in an eye's wink, Wizard. There's only a few hundred Grey Swords left, besides. Should a few thousand Capans charge them-'
'I wouldn't worry, Captain. Even the Capans — no matter how enraged — would hesitate before crossing those soldiers. They're the ones who survived, after all. As I said, the Mask Council would be foolish to hold the grudge. We'll discover more at the parley, no doubt.'
'Assuming we're invited. Quick Ben, we'd do better with a private conversation with Whiskeyjack. I personally have very little to say to most of the others who will be present. I have a report to deliver, in any case.'
'Oh, I wasn't planning on speaking at the parley, Captain. Just listening.'
They had left the occupied areas behind and now rode down an empty road, the rolling plain stretching out on their right, the bluffs marking the river three hundred paces distant on their left.
'I see riders,' Quick Ben said. 'North.'
Paran squinted, then nodded. 'It's happened.'
'What has?'
'The Second Gathering.'
The wizard shot him a glance. 'The T'lan Imass? How do you know?'
Because she's stopped reaching out to me. Tattersail, Nightchill, Bellurdan — something's happened. Something. unexpected. And it's left them reeling. 'I just know, Wizard. Silverfox is the lead rider.'
'Your vision must be as a hawk's.'
Paran said nothing. I don't need eyes. She's coming.
'Captain, does Tattersail's soul still dominate within Silverfox?'
'I don't know,' he admitted. 'All I will say, however, is that whatever faith we held to that we could predict Silverfox's actions should now be dispensed with.'
'What has she become, then?'
'A Bonecaster in truth.'
They reined in to wait for the four riders. Kruppe's mule seemed to be competing for the lead position, the short-legged beast slipping between a frenzied trot and a canter, the round Daru wobbling and bouncing atop the saddle. Two Malazan marines rode behind Silverfox and Kruppe, looking relaxed.
'Would that I had seen,' Quick Ben murmured, 'what her companions had seen.'
Yet nothing went as planned. I can see that in her posture — the bridled anger, the diffidence — and, buried deep, pain. She's surprised them. Surprised, and defied. And the T'lan Imass have answered in an equally unexpected way. Even Kruppe looks off-balanced, and not just by that pitching mule.
Silverfox was staring at him as she drew rein, an expression that Paran could not define. As I had sensed, she's thrown up a wall between us — gods, but she looks like Tattersail! A woman, now. No longer the child. And the illusion of years spanning our parting is complete — she's become guarded, a possessor of secrets that as a child she would not have hesitated to reveal. Hood's breath, every time we meet it seems I must readjust. everything.
Quick Ben spoke, 'Well met. Silverfox, what-'
'No.'
'Excuse me?'
'No, Wizard. I have no explanations that I am prepared to voice. No questions that I will answer. Kruppe has already tried, too many times. My temper is short — do not test it.'
Guarded, and harder. Much, much harder.
After a moment, Quick Ben shrugged. 'Be that way, then.'
'I am that way,' she snapped. 'The anger you would face is Nightchill's, and the rest of us will do nothing to restrain it. I trust I am understood.'
Quick Ben simply grinned. Cold, challenging.
'Kind sirs!' Kruppe cried. 'By chance would you be riding to our fair armies? If so, we would accompany you, delighted and relieved to return to said martial bosom. Delighted indeed, with the formidable company of yourselves. Relieved, as Kruppe has said, by the welcoming destination so closely pending. Impatient, it must be admitted, for the resumption of the journey. Incorrigibly optimistic-'
'That will do, Kruppe,' Silverfox growled.
'Ahem, of course.'
If anything truly existed between us, it is now over. She has left Tattersail behind. She is indeed a Bonecaster, now. The realization triggered a weaker pang of loss than he had expected. Perhaps we both have moved on. The pressure of what we have grown into, our hearts cannot overcome.
