Smoke from the candle swirled in the wake of the vanishing portal. Kallor drew a deep breath. Adding years and years of renewed vigour. He sat motionless … a hunter on the edge of ambush. Suitably explosive. Suitably deadly.
Whiskeyjack stepped out of the command tent, stood gazing up at the sweep of stars overhead. It had been a long time since he'd felt so weary.
He heard movement behind him, then a soft, long-fingered hand settled on his shoulder, the touch sending waves through him. 'It would be nice,' Korlat murmured, 'to hear good news for a change.'
He grunted.
'I see the worry in your eyes, Whiskeyjack. It's a long list, isn't it? Your Bridgeburners, Silverfox, her mother, and now this assault on the warrens. We are marching blind. So much rests on unknowns. Does Capustan still hold, or has the city fallen? And what of Trotts? And Paran? Quick Ben?'
'I am aware of that list, Korlat,' he rumbled.
'Sorry. I share them, that is all.'
He glanced at her. 'Forgive me, but why? This is not your war — gods below, it's not even your world! Why are you yielding to its needs?' He sighed loudly and shook his head, returning his gaze to the night sky. 'That's a question we asked often, early in the campaigns. I remember, in Blackdog Forest, stumbling over a half-dozen of your kin. A Moranth cusser had taken them out. A squad of regulars was busy looting the bodies. They were cursing — not finding anything of worth. A few knotted strips of coloured cloth, a stream-polished pebble, plain weapons — the kind you could pick up in any market in any city.' He was silent for a moment, then he continued, 'And I remember wondering — what was the story of their lives? Their dreams, their aspirations? Would their kin miss them? The Mhybe once mentioned that the Rhivi took on the task of burying the Tiste Andii fallen … well, we did the same, there in that wood. We sent the regulars packing with boots to the backside. We buried your dead, Korlat. Consigned their souls in the Malazan way …'
Her eyes were depthless as she studied him. 'Why?' she asked quietly.
Whiskeyjack frowned. 'Why did we bury them? Hood's breath! We honour our enemies — no matter who they might be. But the Tiste Andii most of all. They accepted prisoners. Treated those that were wounded. They even accepted withdrawal — not once were we pursued after hightailing it from an unwinnable scrap.'
'And did not the Bridgeburners return the favour, time and again, Commander? And indeed, before long, so did the rest of Dujek Onearm's soldiers.'
'Most campaigns get nastier the longer they drag on,' Whiskeyjack mused, 'but not that one. It got more … civilized. Unspoken protocols …'
'Much of that was undone when you took Pale.'
He nodded. 'More than you know.'
Her hand was still on his shoulder. 'Come with me back to my tent, Whiskeyjack.'
His brows rose, then he smiled and said in a dry tone, 'Not a night to be alone-'
'Don't be a fool!' she snapped. 'I did not ask for company — I asked for you. Not a faceless need that must be answered, and anyone will do. Not that. Am I understood?'
'Not entirely.'
'I wish us to become lovers, Whiskeyjack. Beginning tonight. I wish to awaken in your arms. I would know if you have feelings for me.'
He was silent for a long moment, then he said, 'I'd be a fool not to, Korlat, but I had also considered it even more foolish to attempt any advance. I assumed you were mated to another Tiste Andii — a union no doubt centuries long-'
'And what would be the point of such a union?'
He frowned, startled. 'Well, uh, companionship? Children?'
'Children arrive. Rarely, as much a product of boredom as anything else. Tiste Andii do not find companionship among their own kind. That died out long ago, Whiskeyjack. Yet even rarer is the occasion of a Tiste Andii emerging from the darkness, into the mortal world, seeking a reprieve from. from-'
He set a finger to her lips. 'No more. I am honoured to accept you, Korlat. More than you will ever realize, and I will seek to be worthy of your gift.'
She shook her head, eyes dropping. 'It is a scant gift. Seek my heart and you may be disappointed in what you find.'
The Malazan stepped back and reached for his belt-pouch. He untied it, upended the small leather sack into one cupped hand. A few coins fell out, then a small, bedraggled, multicoloured knot of cloth strips, followed by a lone dark, smooth pebble. 'I'd thought,' he said slowly, eyes on the objects in his hand, 'that one day I might have the opportunity to return what was clearly of value to those fallen Tiste Andii. All that was found in that search … I realized — even then — that I could do naught but honour them.'