'The lesson was hard, not easily swallowed, for the truth was this: there were intelligent beings in the world who exploited the virtues of others, their compassion, their love, their faith in kin. Exploited, and mocked. How many Imass tribes discovered that their gods were in fact Jaghut Tyrants? Hidden behind friendly masks. Tyrants, who manipulated them with the weapon of faith.

'The rebellion was inevitable, and it was devastating for the Imass. Weaker, uncertain even of what it was they sought, or what freedom would show them should they find it… But we would not relent. We could not.'

Kallor sneered. 'There were never more than but a handful of Tyrants among the Jaghut, woman.'

'A handful was too many, and aye, we found allies among the Jaghut — those for whom the activities of the Tyrants were reprehensible. But we now carried scars. Scars born of mistrust, of betrayal. We could trust only in our own kind. In the name of our generations to come, all Jaghut would have to die. None could be left, to produce more children, to permit among those children the rise of new Tyrants.'

'And how,' Korlat asked, 'does this relate to the K'Chain Che'Malle?'

'Before the Jaghut ruled this world, the K'Chain Che'Malle ruled. The first Jaghut were to the K'Chain Che'Malle as the first Imass were to the Jaghut.' She paused, her heavy gaze moving among them all. 'In each species is born the seeds of domination. Our wars with the Jaghut destroyed us, as a living people, as a vibrant, evolving culture. That was the price we paid, to ensure the freedom you now possess. Our eternal sacrifice.' She fell silent once more, then continued in a harder tone, 'So, now, I ask you — all of you, who have taken upon yourselves the task of waging war against a tyrannical, all-devouring empire, of possibly sacrificing your own lives to the benefit of peoples who know nothing of you, of lands you have never and will never set foot upon — I ask you, what is there about us, about the T'lan Imass, that still escapes your understanding? Destroy the Pannion Domin. It must be done. For me, for my T'lan Imass, awaits the task of destroying the threat hiding behind the Pannion Seer, the threat that is the K'Chain Che'Malle.'

She slowly studied their faces. 'A Matron lives. Flesh and blood. Should she find a male of her kind, a flesh and blood male … the tyranny of the Jaghut will be as nothing to that of the K'Chain Che'Malle. This, then, will be our sacrifice.'

Only the wind filled the silence following her words.

Then Caladan Brood turned to Kallor. 'And you find in this woman an abomination?'

'She lies,' he rasped in reply. 'This entire war is meaningless. Nothing more than a feint.'

'A feint?' Dujek repeated in disbelief. 'By whom?'

Kallor snapped his mouth shut, made no reply.

The Trygalle Trade Guild merchant-mage, Haradas, cleared her throat. 'There may be some truth in that. Not that the woman Silverfox is lying — I believe she speaks true, as far as she is willing to tell us. No, I meant the feint. Consider the infection of the warrens. Granted, its focus seems to emanate from the Pannion Domin, and granted, as well, that the poison's taint is that of the Warren of Chaos. Granted all of that, one must then ask: why would a K'Chain Che'Malle Matron, who is the repository of a vast wellspring of sorcery, seek to destroy the very conduits of her power? If she was present when Morn was destroyed — when the Rent was created — why would she then try to harness chaos again ? Ambitious, perhaps, but a fool? That is hard to countenance.'

Even as the import of her words sank in to Whiskeyjack, there came to him another realization. There is another enemy indeed, and from the looks on most of the faces around me — barring Dujek and, no doubt, my own — the revelation is not as surprising as it should be. True, we'd caught a hint, but we'd failed to make the connection. Brood, Korlat, Kallor — gods, even Kruppe and Artanthos! Remind me to avoid every damn one of them the next time I join a game of bones! He jerked his gaze back to Silverfox, was met with that sleepy, knowing regard.

No, that won't work again. 'Silverfox,' he growled. 'You spin a tale to sting sympathy from our hearts, yet it seems that your effort was misdirected, and so you end up undermining all you sought to achieve. If there is a deeper threat, a third hand, deftly manipulating both us and the Pannion Seer. will you and your T'lan Imass then focus your attention on that hand?'

'No.'

'Why?'

He was surprised as her steady gaze wavered, then fell away. Her voice came out in a raw whisper. 'Because, Whiskeyjack, you ask too much of us.'