'Aye, Warlord. So we march overland, yes? No boats — that would hasten Kulpath's hand, after all. There's one more issue to clarify, however,' Whiskeyjack continued, his grey eyes swinging to the one representative — apart from the Black Moranth commander — who'd yet to speak, 'and that is, what can we expect from Anomander Rake? Korlat? Will the Tiste Andii be with us?'

The woman simply smiled.

Brood cleared his throat. 'Like you,' he said, 'we have initiated some moves of our own. As we speak, Moon's Spawn travels towards the Domin. Before it reaches the Seer's territory, it will. disappear.'

Dujek raised his brows. 'An impressive feat.'

Crone cackled.

'We know little of the sorcery behind the Seer's power,' the warlord said, 'only that it exists. Like your Black Moranth, Moon's Spawn represents tactical opportunities we'd be fools not to exploit.' Brood's grin broadened. 'Like you, High Fist, we seek to avoid predictability.' He nodded towards Korlat. 'The Tiste Andii possess formidable sorceries-'

'Not enough,' Silverfox cut in.

The Tiste Andii woman frowned down at the girl. 'That is quite an assertion, child.'

Kallor hissed. 'Trust nothing of what she says. Indeed, as Brood well knows, I consider her presence at this meeting foolish — she is no ally of ours. She will betray us all, mark my words. Betrayal, it is her oldest friend. Hear me, all of you. This creature is an abomination.'

'Oh, Kallor,' Silverfox sighed, 'must you always go on like that?'

Dujek turned to Caladan Brood. 'Warlord, I admit to some confusion over the girl's presence — who in Hood's name is she? She seems in possession of preternatural knowledge. For what seems a ten-year-old child-'

'She is far more than that,' Kallor snapped, staring at Silverfox with hard, hate-filled eyes. 'Look at the hag beside her,' the High King growled. 'She's barely seen twenty summers, High Fist, and this child was torn from her womb not six months ago. The abomination feeds on the life force of her mother — no, not mother, the unfortunate vessel that once hosted the child — you all shivered at the cannibalism of the Tenescowri, what think you of a creature that so devours the life-soul of the one who birthed it? And there is more-' He stopped, visibly bit back what he was about to say, and sat back. 'She should be killed. Now. Before her power surpasses us all.'

There was silence within the tent.

Damn you, Kallor. Is this what you want to show our newfound allies? A camp divided. And. spirits below. damn you a second time, for she never knew. She never knew.

Trembling, the Mhybe looked down at Silverfox. The girl's eyes were wide, even now filling with tears as she stared up at her mother. 'Do I?' she whispered. 'Do I feed on you?'

The Mhybe closed her eyes, wishing she could hide the truth from Silverfox once again, and for ever more. Instead, she said, 'Not your choice, daughter — it is simply part of what you are, and I accept this' — and yet rage at the foul cruelty of it — 'as must you. There is an urgency within you, Silverfox, a force ancient and undeniable — you know it as well, feel it-'

'Ancient and undeniable?' Kallor rasped. 'You don't know the half of it, woman.' He jolted forward across the table and grasped Silverfox's tunic, pulled her close. Their faces inches apart, the High King bared his teeth. 'You're in there, aren't you? I know it. I feel it. Come out, bitch-'

'Release her,' Brood commanded in a low, soft voice.

The High King's sneer broadened. He relented his grip on the girl's tunic, slowly leaned back.

Heart pounding, the Mhybe raised a trembling hand to her face. Terror had ripped through her when Kallor had grasped her daughter, an icy flood that left her limbs without strength — vanquishing with ease her maternal instinct to defend — revealing to herself, and to everyone present, her own cowardice. She felt tears of shame well in her eyes, trickle down her lined cheeks.

'Touch her again,' the warlord continued, 'and I will beat you senseless, Kallor.'

'As you like,' the ancient warrior replied.

Armour rustled as Whiskeyjack turned to Caladan Brood. The commander's face was dark, his expression harsh. 'Had you not done so, Warlord, I would have voiced my own threat.' He fixed iron eyes on the High King. 'Harm a child? I would not beat you senseless, Kallor, I would rip your heart out.'

The High King grinned. 'Indeed. I shake with fear.'

'That will do,' Whiskeyjack murmured. His gauntleted left hand lashed out in a backhanded slap, striking Kallor's face. Blood sprayed across the table as the High King's head snapped back. The force of the blow staggered him. The handle of his bastard sword was suddenly in his hands, the sword hissing — then halting, half drawn.