Yet she knows. The girl knows. He had no doubt that she was Tattersail reborn — the sorceress was there, in the cast of the child's features, in the way she stood and moved, in that sleepy, knowing gaze. The repercussions that tumbled from that truth overwhelmed Whiskeyjack — he needed time, time to think …

Tattersail reborn. damn you to Hood, Tayschrenn — in' advertent or not — what have you done?

Whiskeyjack had not known Nightchill — they'd never spoken and the breadth of his knowledge was based solely on the tales he'd heard. Mate to the Thelomen, Bellurdan, and a practitioner of High Rashan sorcery, she had been among the Emperor's chosen. Ultimately betrayed, just as the Bridgeburners had been …

There had been an edge to her, it was said, a hint of jagged bloodstained iron. And, he could see, what remained of that woman had cast a shadow over the child — the soft gleam in Tattersail's sleepy eyes had darkened, somehow, and seeing it frayed the commander's already rattled nerves.

Oh, Hood. One of those repercussions had just settled in his mind with a thunderous clang. Oh, the gods forgive us our foolish games …

Back in Pale waited Ganoes Paran. Tattersail's lover. What will he make of Silverfox? From woman to a newborn babe in an instant, then from that newborn to a ten-year-old child in six months. And six months from now? A twenty-year-old woman? Paran … lad … is it grief that is burning holes in your gut? If so, then what will its answering do to you?

As he struggled to comprehend the young girl's words, and all that he saw in her face, his thoughts turned to the Mhybe standing beside Silverfox. Sorrow flooded him. The gods were cruel indeed. The old woman would likely be dead within the year, a brutal sacrifice to the child's needs. A malign, nightmarish twist to the role of motherhood.

The girl's final words jarred the commander yet again. 'They are coming.' The T'lan Imass — Hood's breath, as if matters weren't complicated enough. Where do I place my faith in all this? Kallor — a cold, uncanny bastard himself-calls her an abomination — he would kill her if he could. That much is plain. I'll not abide harming a child. but is she a child?

Yet. Hood's breath! She's Tattersail reborn, a woman of courage and integrity. And Nightchill, a High Mage who served the Emperor. And, now, strangest, most alarming fact of all, she is the new ruler of the T'lan Imass.

Whiskeyjack blinked, the tent and its occupants coming into focus once again. Silence writhing with tumultuous thoughts. His gaze swung back to Silverfox — saw the paleness of her young, round face, noted with a pang of empathy the tremble in the child's hands — then away again. The Tiste Andii, Korlat, was watching him. Their eyes locked. Such extraordinary beauty. while Dujek is dogface ugly, further proof I chose the wrong side all those years back. She's hardly interested in me that way, no, she's trying to say something else entirely . After a long moment, he nodded. Silverfox. she's still a child, aye. A clay tablet scarcely etched. Aye, Tiste Andii, I understand you.

Those who chose to stand close to Silverfox might well be able to influence what she was to become. Korlat sought a private conversation with him, and he'd just accepted the invitation. Whiskeyjack wished he had Quick Ben at his side right now — the Seven Cities mage was sharp when it came to situations like these. The commander already felt out of his depth. Paran, you poor bastard. What do I tell you? Should I arrange a meeting between you and Silverfox? Will I be able to prevent one once you're told? Is it even any of my business?

Crone's beak gaped, but not in soundless laughter this time. Instead, unfamiliar terror raced through her. T'lan Imass! And K'rul, the Elder God! Holders of the truth of the Great Ravens, a truth no-one else knows — except for Silverfox, by the Abyss. Silverfox, who looked upon my soul and read all within it.

Careless, careless child! Would you force us to defend our-selves from you? From those whom you claim to command? We Great Ravens have never fought our own wars — would you see us unleashed by your unmindful revelations?

Should Rake learn. protestations of innocence will avail us naught. We were there at the Chaining, were we not? Yet. aye, we were there at Fall itself! The Great Ravens were born like maggots in the flesh of the Fallen One and that, oh, that will damn us! But wait! Have we not been honourable guardians of the Crippled God's magic? And were we not the ones who delivered to one and all the news of the Pannion Domin, the threat it represents?

A magic we can unleash, if forced to. Ah, child, you threaten so much with your careless words.

Her black, glittering eyes sought out and fixed on Caladan Brood. Whatever thoughts the warlord possessed remained hidden behind the flat, bestial mask that was his face.