Our gravest threat.

Does Anomander Rake lead us away from despair — is that his only purpose, his only goal? Is his a theme of denial? If so, then, dear Mother Dark, he was right in seeking to confound our understanding, in seeking to keep us from ever realizing his singular, pathetic goal. And I–I should never have pursued these thoughts, should never have clawed my way to this conclusion.

Discovering my Lord's secret holds no reward. Curse of the Light, he has spent centuries evading my questions, discouraging my desire to come to know him, to pierce through his veil of mystery. And I have been hurt by it, I have lashed out at him more than once, and he has stood before my anger and frustration. Silent.

To choose not to share. what I had seen as arrogance, as patronizing behaviour of the worst sort — enough to leave me incensed. ah, Lord, you held to the hardest mercy.

And if despair assails us, it assails you a hundredfold.

She knew now she would not release her kin. Like Rake, she could not abandon them, and like Rake, she could voice no truth when they begged — or demanded — justification.

And so, should that moment come soon, I must needs find strength — the strength to lead — the strength to hide the truth from my kin.

Oh, Whiskeyjack, how will I be able to tell you this? Our desires were. simplistic. Foolishly romantic. The world holds no paradise for you and me, dear lover. Thus, all I can offer is that you join me, that you stay at my side. And I pray to Mother Dark, how I pray, that it will, for you, be enough.

The city's outskirts persisted along the river's edge in a straggly, ramshackle ribbon of fisher huts, smokeshacks and drying nets, storm-battered and rubbish-strewn. The settlement reached upriver to the very edge of the flats, and indeed a half-score shacks on stilts connected by raised causeways encroached upon the reedy sweep of mud itself.

Twin lines of poles on this side of the river marked out the wide underwater trench that had been excavated, leading to the edge of the flats, where broad, solid platforms had been built. River Maurik's mouth to the east was impassable to all but the most shallow-draughted craft, for its bed constantly shifted beneath the clash of tide and current, raising hidden bars of sand in the span of a few bells, then sweeping them away to create others elsewhere. Supplies brought downriver off-loaded west of the mouth — here at the flats.

The warlord, Kallor, Outrider Hurlochel and Korlat's second, Orfantal, stood on the platform, their horses tethered on the road at the platform's inland edge.

All four men faced upriver.

Korlat guided her horse onto the causeway linking the city and the platform. As she reached the slightly higher elevation of the raised road, she saw the first of the Malazan barges.

Sorcery had aided in their construction, she concluded. They were solid, sound craft, flat-bottomed and broad. Massive, untrimmed logs framed the hulls. Tarpaulins roofed at least half of each deck. She saw no fewer than twenty of them from her vantage point. Even with sorcery, building these must have been a huge undertaking. Then again, to have completed them so quickly .

Ah, is this what the Black Moranth were up to all this time? If so, then Dujek and Whiskeyjack had planned for this from the very beginning.

Great Ravens circled the flotilla, their shrieks audibly derisive.

Soldiers, Barghast and horses were visible on the lead barge. At the inland edge of the platform, Korlat reined in beside the greeting party's horses, dismounted. A Rhivi collected the reins. She nodded her thanks and strode the length of the platform to come alongside Caladan Brood.

The warlord's face revealed no expression, whilst Kallor's was twisted into an ugly sneer.

Orfantal moved to join Korlat, bowing his greeting. 'Sister,' he said in their native tongue, 'was the ride through Maurik pleasing?'

'How long have you been standing here, brother?'

'Perhaps a bell and a half.'

'Then I have no regrets.'

He smiled. 'A silent bell and a half at that. Almost long enough to drive a Tiste Andii to distraction.'

'Liar. We can stand around in silence for weeks, as you well know, brother.'

'Ah, but that is without emotion, is it not? I know for myself, I simply listen to the wind, and so am not troubled.'

She glanced at him. Without emotion? Now your lying is no jest.

'And, I dare say,' Orfantal continued, 'the tension still rises.'

'You two,' Kallor growled, 'speak a language we can understand, if you must speak at all. There's been enough dissembling here to last a lifetime.'

Orfantal faced him and said in Daru, 'Not your lifetime, surely, Kallor?'