'Thus, Kruppe advises one and all,' the Daru resumed after a moment, his tone deeply satisfied, pudgy fingers lacing together to rest on his paunch, 'faith. Patience. Await what must be awaited.'
'And you call that an explanation?' Paran demanded, scowling.
'The very paradigm of explication, dear friends. Cogent, clear, if somewhat quaintly couched. Precision is a precise art. Poignancy is pre-eminent and precludes prevarication. Truths are no trivial thing, after all-'
Itkovian swung towards Whiskeyjack and Korlat and set off.
Paran called out, 'Itkovian?'
'I was reminded of that Gredfallan ale,' he replied over a shoulder. 'It has been years, yet I find the need suddenly overwhelming, sir.'
'I concur. Wait up.'
'Wait, indeed, you three! What of Kruppe's own prodigious thirst?'
'By all means,' Quick Ben replied, setting off in the wake of Itkovian and Paran, 'quaintly quench it — just do so somewhere else.'
'Oh ho! But is that not Whiskeyjack waving Kruppe hence? Generous, kindly soldier, is Whiskeyjack! A moment! Kruppe would catch up!'
The two marines sat on boulders that were part of an old tipi ring, fifteen paces from where Silverfox stood. Shadows were stretching as the day closed over the prairie.
'So,' one of them muttered, 'how long do you think?'
'I'd guess she's communing with them T'lan Imass. See the swirls of dust around her? Could be all night.'
'I'm hungry.'
'Yeah, well, I admit I've been eyeing your leather straps, darling.'
'Problem is, they've forgotten about us.'
'That's not the problem. It's maybe we ain't needed no more. She doesn't need bodyguards. Not dirt-nosed mortals like us, anyway. And we've already seen what we were supposed to see, meaning we're overdue on making a report.'
'We weren't supposed to report, love. Remember? Anyone wants news from us they come by for a conversation.'
'Right, only nobody's come by for a while now. Which was my point in the first place.'
'Doesn't mean we should up and walk away. Besides, here's somebody coming now …'
The other marine twisted in her seat. After a moment, she grunted. 'Nobody we're supposed to report to. Hood knows, I don't even recognize 'em.'
'Sure you do. One, anyway. That's the Trygalle trader-sorceress, Haradas.'
'The other's a soldier, I'd say. An Elin lass, nice sway to the hips-'
'Hard face, though.'
'Eyes fulla hurt. Could be one of them Grey Swords — saw her at the parley.'
'Yeah, well, they're coming our way.'
'So am I,' a voice spoke from a few paces to their left. The marines turned to see that Silverfox was joining them. 'This is a fell thing,' she murmured.
'Oh, what's that?' one of the marines asked her.
'A gathering of women.'
The soldier grunted. 'We ain't gonna gossip, are we?'
Silverfox smiled at the facetious tone. 'Among the Rhivi, it's the men who do all the gossiping. The women are too busy giving them things to gossip about.'
'Huh. That's a surprise. I would've thought there'd be all kind of ancient laws against adultery and such. Banishment, stoning, it's what tribes do, ain't it?'
'Not the Rhivi. Bedding the wrong husbands is great sport. For the women, that is. The men take it all too seriously, of course.'
'They take everything too seriously, if you ask me,' the marine muttered.
'Self-importance will do that,' Silverfox replied, nodding.
Haradas and her companion arrived. In their wake, still sixty paces distant, a Barghast was approaching as well.
The trader-sorceress bowed to Silverfox, then the two Malazans. 'Dusk is a magical time, is it not?'
'What would you ask?' Silverfox drawled.
'A question born of a thought, Bonecaster, that but recently came to me, hence my coming to you.'
'You've been around Kruppe too long, Haradas.'
'Perhaps. Issues of supply continue to plague these armies, as you well know. At the parley, the White Face Barghast offered to provide a fair portion of what will be required. Despite their confidence, I believe that they too will find their resources stretched before long-'
'You would enquire of Tellann,' Silverfox said.
'Ah, indeed, I would. The warren of the T'lan Imass must surely remain … uninfected, after all. Could our guild respectfully employ its path-'
