«As you wish.» Onos T'oolan sank into the ground like so much dust.
The Adjunct cursed. Then she saw him waiting a hundred yards ahead of her, back-lit by the rising sun. The crimson sky seemed to have cast a red flame about the warrior. The effect jangled her nerves, as if she looked upon a scene that touched her deepest, oldest memories-memories that went beyond her own life. The T'lan Imass stood unmoving until she reached him, then fell into step beside her.
Lorn tightened her knees about the horse's shoulders and closed the reins until the mare settled down. «Do you have to be so literal-minded, Tool?» she asked.
The desiccated warrior seemed to consider, then nodded. «I accept that name. All of my history is dead. Existence begins anew, and with it shall be a new name. It is suitable.»
«Why were you selected to accompany me?» the Adjunct asked.
«In the lands west and north of Seven Cities, I alone among my clan survived the Twenty-eighth Jaghut War.»
Lorn's eyes widened. «I thought those wars numbered twenty-seven,» she said quietly. «When your legions left us after conquering Seven Cities, and you marched into the wastelands-»
«Our Bone Casters sensed an enclave of surviving Jaghut,» Tool said. «Our commander Logros T'lan determined that we exterminate them. Thus we did.»
«Which explains your decimated numbers upon returning,» Lorn said.
«You could have explained your decision to the Empress. As it was, she was left without her most powerful army, and no knowledge of when it might return.»
«Return was not guaranteed, Adjunct,» Tool said.
Lorn stared at the tattered creature. «I see.»
«The cessation of my clan's chieftain, Kig Aven, was accompanied by all my kin. Thus alone, I am unbound to Logro. Kig Aven's Bone Caster was Kilava Onass, who has been lost since long before the Emperor reawakened us.»
Lorn's mind raced. Among the Malazan Empire, the T'lan Imass were also known as the Silent Host. She'd never known an Imass as loquacious as this Tool. Perhaps it had something to do with this «unbounding'. Within the Imass, only Commander Logros ever spoke to humans on a regular basis. As for the Bone Casters-Imass shamans-they stayed out of sight. The only one that had ever appeared was one named Olar Ethil, who stood alongside the clan chieftain Eitholos Ilm during the battle of Kartool, which had seen an exchange of sorcery that made Moon's Spawn look like a child's cantrip.
In any case, she'd already learned more of the Imass from this brief conversation with Tool than was present in the Empire Annals. The Emperor had known more, much more, but making records of such knowledge had never been his style. That he had reawakened the Imass had been a theory argued among scholars for years. And now she knew it to be true. How many other secrets would this T'lan Imass reveal in casual conversation?
«Tool,» she said, «had you ever met the Emperor personally?»
«I awakened before Galad Ketan and after Onak Shendok and, as with all the T'lan Imass, I knelt before the Emperor as he sat upon the First Throne.»
«The Emperor was alone?» Lorn asked.
«No. He was accompanied by the one named Dancer.»
«Damn,» she hissed. Dancer had died beside the Emperor. «Where is this First Throne, Tool?»
The warrior was silent for a time, then it said, «Upon the Emperor's death the Logros T'lan Imass gathered minds-a rare thing that was last done before the Diaspora-and a binding resulted. Adjunct, the answer to your question is within this binding. I cannot satisfy you. This holds for all Logros T'lan Imass and for all Kron T'lan Imass.»
«Who are the Kron?»
«They are coming,» Tool replied.
Sudden sweat sprang out on the Adjunct's brow. Logros» legions, when they first arrived on the scene, numbered around nineteen thousand. They were believed now to number fourteen thousand, and the majority of those losses had come beyond the Empire's borders, in this last Jaghut War. Were another nineteen thousand Imass about to arrive? What had the Emperor unleashed?
«Tool,» she asked slowly, almost regretting her need to persist in questioning him, «what is the significance of these Kron coming?»
«The Year of the Three Hundredth Millennium approaches,» the warrior replied.
«What happens then?»
«Adjunct, the Diaspora ends.»
The Great Raven called Crone rode the high winds above Rhivi Plain. The northern horizon was now a green-tinged curve, growing more substantial with every hour of flight. Weariness weighed down her wings, but the heaven's breath was a strong one. And more, nothing could assail her certainty that changes were coming to this world, and she drew again and again upon her vast reserves of magical power.
If ever there was a dire convergence of great forces, it was now, and in this place. The gods were descending to the mortal soil to do battle, shapings were being forged of flesh and bone, and the blood of sorcery now boiled with a madness born of inevitable momentum. Crone had never felt more alive.
With these unveiling of powers, heads had turned. And to one Crone flew in answer to a summons she was powerless to ignore. Lord Anomander Rake was not her only master, and for her this only made things more interesting. As for her own ambitions, she would keep them to herself. For now, knowledge was her power.
And if there was one secret more alluring than any other she might covet, it was the mystery surrounding the half human warrior called Caladan Brood. Anticipation lifted Crone's wings with renewed strength.
Steadily, Blackdog Forest spread its verdant cloak over the north.
CHAPTER TEN
Kallor said: «I walked this land when the T'lan Imass were but children. I have commanded armies a hundred thousand strong. I have spread the fire of my wrath across entire continents, and sat alone upon tall thrones.
«Do you grasp the meaning of this?»
«Yes,» said Caladan Brood, «you never learn.»
Conversations of War (Second in Command Kallor speaking with Warlord Caladan Brood), recorded by Outrider Hurlochel, 6th Army
Jimkaros inn stood just beyond eltrosan square in the opal Quarter of Pale. That much Toc knew from his wanderings through the city. But for the life of him he could not think of anyone staying there whom he knew. Yet the instructions for this mysterious meeting had been clear.
He now approached the ostentatious structure warily. He saw nothing suspicious. The square was crowded with the usual gentry and merchant shops; of Malazan guards there were few. The culling of the nobility had done much to cloak Pale's atmosphere with a shocked stillness that hung about people like invisible yokes.
The past few days Toc had kept much to himself, carousing with his fellow soldiers when the mood took him, though those times seemed rarer these days. With the Adjunct gone, and Tattersail reported missing, Dujek and Tayschrenn were involved in mutually exclusive responsibilities. The High Fist was busy restructuring Pale, and his newly formed 5th Army; while the High Mage sought Tattersail, evidently without much success.
Toc suspected that the peace between the two men would not last.
Since the dinner, he had stayed away from anything official, choosing to eat with his comrades rather than dine with the officers as was now his privilege as ranking Claw. The less noticed he made himself the better, as far as he was concerned.
He entered Vimkaros Inn and paused. Before him was a roofless courtyard with paths winding among a rich garden. Clearly, the inn had survived the siege unscathed. A wide central path led directly to a broad counter behind which stood a corpulent old man eating grapes. A few guests walked the side paths, moving among the plants and conversing in low tones.
The message had insisted he come dressed in local garb. Thus, Toc drew little attention as he strode to the counter.
The old man paused in his snacking and bowed with his head. «At your service, sir,» he said, wiping his hands.
«I believe a table has been reserved in my name,» Toc said. «I am Render Kan.»
The old man studied a wax tablet before him, then looked up with a smile. «Of course. Follow me.»
A minute later Toc sat at a table on a balcony overlooking the garden court. His only company was a decanter of chilled Saltoan wine, which arrived when he did, and he now sipped from a goblet, his lone eye surveying the people in the garden below.
A servant arrived and bowed before him. «Kind sir,» the man said, «I am to deliver the following message. A gentleman will soon join you who has been out of his depth yet not aware of it. He is, now.»
Toc frowned. «That's the message?»
«It is.»
«His own words?»
«And yours, sir.» The servant bowed again and departed.
Toc's frown deepened, then he sat forward, his every muscle tensing.
He turned to the balcony's entrance in time to see Captain Paran stride through. He was dressed in the manner of the local gentry, unarmed, and looking quite fit. Toc rose, grinning.
«Not unduly shocked, I hope,» Paran said, as he arrived. They sat down and the captain poured himself some wine. «Did the message prepare you?»
«Barely,» Toc replied. «I'm not sure how to receive you, Captain. Is this according to the Adjunct's instructions?»
«She believes me dead,» Paran said, his brow wrinkling. «And I was, for a time. Tell me, Toc the Younger, am I speaking to a Claw, or to a soldier of the Second?»
Toc's eye narrowed. «That's a tough question.»
«Is it?» Paran asked, his gaze intense and unwavering.
Toc hesitated, then grinned again. «Hood's Breath, no, it damn well isn't! All right, Captain, welcome to the defunct Second, then.»
Paran laughed, clearly relieved.
«Now what's all this about you being dead but not dead, Captain?»
Paran's humour vanished. He took a mouthful of wine and swallowed, looking away. «An attempted assassination,» he explained, grimacing. I should have died, if not for Mallet and Tattersail.»
«What? Whiskeyjack's healer and the sorceress?»
Paran nodded. «I've been recovering until recently in Tattersail's quarters. WhiskeyJack's instructions were to keep my existence secret the time being. Toc,» he leaned forward, «what do you
