Kiss of the hammer, and with it an explosive reshaping of the natural world. She could see despite the darkness, and the sharply defined spine of a basaltic mountain range loomed where no mountains belonged, here at the heart of the Catlin plain. And the sorcery emanating from the blood of the Sleeping Goddess — it, too, Crone recognized.
The touch of the Crippled God. Within Burn's veins, a transformation was taking place. The Fallen One was making her blood his own. And that is a taste I know well, for it was as mother's milk to me, so very long ago. To me, and to my kin.
Changes had come to the world below, and Crone revelled in changes. Her soul and that of her kin had been stirred once more to acute wakefulness. She never felt more alive.
Slipping beneath the warm thermals, she descended, bobbing on pockets of cool air — echoes of the traumatic disturbance that had churned through the atmosphere at the eruption of Brood's fury — then sliding down to land with a soft thump on the earth before the warlord's tent.
No lights showed within.
Faintly cackling, Crone hopped beneath the half-hitched entrance flap.
'Not a word,' Brood rumbled from the darkness, 'about my temper's snapped leash.'
The Great Raven cocked her head towards the cot. The warlord was seated on its edge, head in his hands. 'As you wish,' Crone murmured.
'Make your report.'
'I shall. First, from Anomander Rake. He has succeeded. Moon's Spawn has passed unseen and now … hides. My children are ranging far over the lands of the Pannion Seer. Warlord, not just their eyes have witnessed the truth of all that lies below. I myself have seen-'
'Save those details for later. Moon's Spawn is in place. Good. Did you fly to Capustan as I requested?'
'I did, grave one. And was witness to the first day and first night of battle.'
'Your assessment, Crone?'
'The city will not hold, Warlord. Through no fault of the defenders. What opposes them is too vast.'
Brood grunted. 'Perhaps we should have reconsidered Dujek's disposition of the Black Moranth-'
'Ah, they too are emplaced, precisely where Onearm wanted them to be.' Crone hesitated, turning first one eye then the other towards Caladan Brood. 'One unusual detail must be uttered now, Warlord. Will you hear it?'
'Very well.'
'The Seer wages a war to the south.'
Brood's head snapped up.
'Aye,' Crone nodded. 'My children have seen Domin armies, routed and retreating north. To Outlook itself. The Seer has unleashed formidable sorceries against the unknown enemy. Rivers of ice, walls of ice. Blistering cold, winds and storms — it has been a long time since we have witnessed said particular warren unveiled.'