‘Of course they are,’ Kallor drawled, sneering down at the Great Raven. ‘What of it?’

‘What’s happened to Moon’s Spawn? We know what Rake planned – has it succeeded? I cannot reach it! I cannot reach him! Where is Moon’s Spawn?’

No-one spoke.

Crone’s head darted down. ‘You know less than I! Don’t you? All this is bravado! We are lost!’ The Great Raven wheeled to pin Korlat with her glittering, black eyes. ‘Your Lord has failed, hasn’t he? And taken three-quarters of the Tiste Andii with him! Will you be enough, Korlat? Will you—’

‘Crone,’ Brood rumbled. ‘We’d asked for word on the Malazans, not a list of your fears.’

‘The Malazans? They march! What else would they do? Endless wagons on the road, dust everywhere. Closing on Setta, which is empty but for a handful of sun-withered corpses!’

Kallor grunted. ‘They’re making a swift passage of it, then. As if in a hurry. Warlord, there is deceit here.’

Brood scowled, crossed his arms. ‘You heard the bird, Kallor. The Malazans march. Faster than we’d expected, true, but that is all.’

‘You dissemble,’ Kallor grated.

Ignoring him, Brood faced the Great Raven once more. ‘Have your kin keep an eye on them. As for what’s happening at Coral, we’ll worry about that when we reach Maurik and reunite our forces. Finally, regarding your master, Anomander Rake, have faith, Crone.’

‘Upon faith you hold to success? Madness! We must prepare for the worst!’

Korlat’s attention drifted once more. It had been doing that a lot of late. She’d forgotten what love could do, as it threaded its roots through her entire soul, as it tugged and pulled at her thoughts, obsession ripening like seductive fruit. She felt only its life, thickening within her, claiming all she was.

Fears for her Lord and her kin seemed almost inconsequential. If truly demanded, she could attempt her warren, reach him via the paths of Kurald Galain. But there was no urgency within her to do any such thing. This war would find its own path.

Her wants were held, one and all, in the eyes of a man. A mortal, of angled, edged nobility. A man past his youth, a soul layered in scars – yet he had surrendered it to her.

Almost impossible to believe.

She recalled her first sight of him up close. She had been standing with the Mhybe and Silverfox, the child’s hand in her own. He had ridden towards the place of parley at Dujek’s side. A soldier whose name she had already known – as a feared enemy, whose tactical prowess had defied Brood time and again, despite the odds against the Malazan’s poorly supplied, numerically weakened forces.

Even then, he had been as a lodestone to her eye.