Memories of Ice

by Steven Erikson

  'Uh, I'm not sure.' Her expression was troubled. 'A part of me desires to accompany you to that council. A sudden urge, in fact.' The Daru's small eyes narrowed. 'A part of you, Silverfox?'

  'Aye, inviting the question: which part? Whose soul within me now twitches with suspicion? Who senses that sparks are about to fly in this alliance of ours? Gods, even worse, it's as if I know precisely why… but I don't.'

  'Tattersail doesn't, yes? Leaving Nightchill and Bellurdan as potential candidates possessing prescient knowledge fraught with dire motivation. Uh, perhaps that can be said a simpler way—'

  'Never mind, Kruppe.'

  'You are torn, Silverfox, to put it bluntly. Consider this: will a minor delay in seeking your destiny unduly affect its outcome? Can you, in other words, spare the time to come with me to the warlord's command tent?'

  She studied him. 'You've a hunch as well, don't you?'

  'If a rift is imminent, lass, then your personage could prove essential, for you are the bridge indeed between these formidable camps.'

  'I—I don't trust Nightchill, Kruppe.'

  'Most mortals occasionally fail in trusting parts of themselves. Excepting Kruppe, of course, whose well-earned confidence is absolute. In any case, conflicting instincts are woven in our natures, excepting Kruppe, of—'

  'Yes, yes. All right. Let's go.'

  A slash of darkness opened in the canvas wall. The mild breath of Kurald Galain flowed into the command tent, dimming the lanterns. Anomander Rake strode through. The midnight rent closed silently behind him. The lanterns flared back into life.

  Brood's wide, flat face twisted. 'You are late,' he growled. 'The Malazans are already on their way.'

  Shrugging the black leather cape from his shoulders, the Lord of Moon's Spawn said, 'What of it? Or am I to adjudicate yet again?'

  Her back to one side of the tent wall, Korlat cleared her throat. 'There have been… revelations, Lord. The alliance itself is in question.'

  A dry snort came from Kallor, the last person present. 'In question? We've been lied to from the very start. A swift strike against Onearm's Host—before it's had a chance to recover from today's battles—is imperative.'

  Korlat watched her master study his allies in silence.

  After a long moment, Rake smiled. 'Dear Caladan, if by lying you are referring to the hidden hand of the Empress—the daggers poised behind the backs of Dujek Onearm and Whiskeyjack—well, it would seem that, should action be required—which I add I do not believe to be the case—our position should be one of intervention. On behalf of Dujek and Whiskeyjack, that is. Unless, of course'—his eyes flattened on Brood—'you are no longer confident of their capabilities as commanders.' He slowly withdrew his gauntlets. 'Yet Crone's report to me of today's engagement was characterized by naught but grudging praise. The Malazans were professional, perfunctory and relentless. Precisely as we would have them.'

  'It's not their fighting ability that is the problem,' Kallor rasped. 'This was to be a war of liberation—'

  'Don't be a fool,' Rake muttered. 'Is there wine or ale? Who will join me in a drink?'

  Brood grunted. 'Aye, pour me one, Rake. But let it be known, whilst Kallor has uttered foolish statements in the past, he did not do so now. Liberation. The Pannion Domin—'

  'Is just another empire,' the Lord of Moon's Spawn drawled. 'And as such, its power represents a threat. Which we are intending to obliterate. Liberation of the commonalty may well result, but it cannot be our goal. Free an adder and it will still bite you, given the chance.'

  'So we are to crush the Pannion Seer, only to have some High Fist of the Malazan Empire take his place?'

  Rake handed the warlord a cup of wine. The Tiste Andü's eyes were veiled, almost sleepy as he studied Brood. 'The Domin is an empire that sows horror and oppression among its own people,' Rake said. 'None of us here would deny that. Thus, for ethical reasons alone, there was just cause for marching upon it.'

  'Which is what we've been saying all along—'

  'I heard you the first time, Kallor. Your penchant for repetition is wearisome. I have described but one… excuse. One reason. Yet it appears that you have all allowed that reason to overwhelm all others, whilst to my mind it is the least in importance.' He sipped his wine, then continued. 'However, let us stay with it for a moment. Horror and oppression, the face of the Pannion Domin. Consider, if you will, those cities and territories on Genabackis that are now under Malazan rule. Horror? No more so than mortals must daily face in their normal lives. Oppression? Every government requires laws, and from what I can tell Malazan laws are, if anything, among the least repressive of any empire I have known.

  'Now. The Seer is removed, a High Fist and Malazan-style governance replaces it. The result? Peace, reparation, law, order.' He scanned the others, then slowly raised a single eyebrow. 'Fifteen years ago, Genabaris was a fetid sore on the northwest coast, and Nathilog even worse. And now, under Malazan rule? Rivals to Darujhistan herself. If you truly wish the best for the common citizens of Pannion, why do you not welcome the Empress?

  'Instead, Dujek and Whiskeyjack are forced into an elaborate charade to win us as allies. They're soldiers, in case you've forgotten. Soldiers are given orders. If they don't like them, that's just too bad. If it means a false proclamation of outlawry—without letting every private in the army in on the secret and thereby eliminating the chance of it ever remaining a secret—then a good soldier grits his teeth and gets on with it.

  'The truth is simple—to me at least. Brood, you and I, we have fought the Malazans as liberators in truth. Asking no coin, no land. Our motives aren't even clear to us—imagine how they must seem to the Empress? Inexplicable. We appear to be bound to lofty ideals, to nearly outrageous notions of self-sacrifice. We are her enemy, and I don't think she even knows why.'

  'Sing me the Abyss,' Kallor sneered. 'In her Empire there would be no place for us—not one of us.'

  'Does that surprise you?' Rake asked. 'We cannot be controlled. The truth laid bare is we fight for our own freedom. No borders for Moon's Spawn. No world-spanning peace that would make warlords and generals and mercenary companies obsolete. We fight against the imposition of order and the mailed fist that must hide behind it, because we're not the ones wielding that fist.'

  'Nor would I ever wish to,' Brood growled.

  'Precisely. So why begrudge the Empress possessing the desire and its attendant responsibilities?'

  Korlat stared at her Lord. Stunned once again, thrown off-balance yet one more time. The Draconian blood within him. He does not think as we do. Is it that blood? Or something else? She had no answer, no true understanding of the man she followed. A sudden welling of pride filled her. He is the Son of Darkness. A master worth swearing fealty to—perhaps the only one. For me. For the Tiste Andü.

  Caladan Brood let out a gusting sigh. 'Pour me another, damn you.'

  'I shall set aside my disgust,' Kallor said, rising from his chair in a rustle of chain armour, 'and voice a subject only marginally related to what's been said thus far. Capustan has been cleansed. Before us, the river. South of that, three cities to march on. To do so in succession as a single army will slow us considerably. Setta, in particular, is not on our path to Coral. So, the army must divide in two, meeting again south of Lest and Setta, perhaps at Maurik, before striking for Coral. Now, the question: along what lines do we divide?'

  'A reasonable subject,' Rake murmured, 'for discussion at this pending meeting.'

  'And none other, aye,' Caladan Brood rumbled. 'Won't they be surprised?'

  They will indeed. Regret seeped through Korlat's thoughts. And more, I have done Whiskeyfack an injustice. I hope it is not too late to make reparations. It is not well for a Tiste Andü to judge in haste. My vision was clouded. Clouded? No, more like a storm. Of emotions, born of need and of love. Can you forgive me, Whiskeyjack?

  The tent flap was drawn back and the two Malazan commanders entered, trailed by the standard-bearer, Artanthos. D
ujek's face was dark. 'Sorry we were delayed,' he growled. 'I have just been informed that the Tenescowri are on the move. Straight for us.'

  Korlat sought to meet Whiskeyjack's eyes, but the man was studying the warlord as he added, 'Expect another battle, at dawn. A messy one.'

  'Leave that to me,' Anomander Rake drawled.

  The voice pulled Whiskeyjack round in surprise. 'Lord, forgive me. I didn't see you. I'm afraid I was somewhat… preoccupied.'

  Dujek asked, 'You are offering to set your Tiste Andü against the Tenescowri, Lord?'

  'Hardly,' Rake replied. 'I mean to scare them witless. In person.'

  No-one spoke for a moment, then Caladan Brood began rummaging in a trunk for more cups. 'We have another issue to discuss, High Fist,' he said.

  'So I gather.'

  The old man looked positively sick, while Whiskeyjack's colour was high.

  The warlord poured more wine, then gestured at the cups he had filled. 'Help yourselves. Kallor has noted a pending problem in the disposition of our forces.'

  Oh, the bastards are making fun of this. Enough. Korlat spoke, 'High Fist, to the south await three cities. Lest and Setta should be taken simultaneously, if possible, with a rejoining of our forces at Maurik, before continuing on to Coral. We would like to discuss with you how to divide the armies.'

  Whiskeyjack's eyes found hers. She offered him a half-smile. He frowned in reply.

  'I see,' Dujek said after a moment. He collected his cup and sat down on a camp chair. 'Well enough.' And, for the moment, said no more.

  Whiskeyjack cleared his throat and spoke, 'The division, at least initially, seems fairly obvious. Onearm's Host southwest to Setta—which will close our lines of communication with our Black Moranth, who remain in place in the Vision Mountains. The warlord and his forces straight south to Lest. Once we have taken Setta, we strike for the headwaters of the Maurik River, then follow the course south to Maurik itself. Possibly, you will have arrived there first, but that is not especially problematic.'

  'Agreed,' Brood said.

  'I said initially, alas,' Whiskeyjack continued. The others turned to him.

  The man shrugged. 'The White Face Barghast are joining the campaign. We also have to consider the surviving elements of Capustan's defenders—they might well desire to accompany us. Finally, there is the looming question of Silverfox, and her T'lan Imass.'

  'If we allow the bitch and her T'lan Imass into this war,' Kallor snarled, 'we will have lost all hope of guiding it.'

  Whiskeyjack studied the ancient warrior. 'Yours is a singular obsession, Kallor. It has twisted your mind—'

  'And sentiment has twisted yours, soldier. Perhaps a day will come when you and I can test our respective resolve—'

  'Enough,' Brood cut in. 'It seems, then, that this meeting must be adjourned. We can reconvene when all the relevant commanders are present.' The warlord turned to Rake. 'How fares Moon's Spawn?'

  The Tiste Andü Lord shrugged. 'We will rendezvous at Coral as planned. It might be worth noting that the Seer has been under serious assault from the south, which he answers with Omtose Phellack sorcery. My Great Ravens have caught sight of his enemy, or at least some of them. A T'lan Imass, a she-wolf and a very large dog. Thus, the old battle: Omtose Phellack, ever retreating from Tellann. There might well be other players as well—lands to the south of Outlook have been completely shrouded in mists born of dying ice. The significance of all this is that the Seer has fled Outlook, and is heading by warren to Coral.'

  There was silence as the implications of Rake's revelations slowly settled in the minds of those present.

  Whiskeyjack was the first to speak. 'A lone T'lan Imass? A Bonecaster, then, to have sufficient power to singlehandedly sunder a Jaghut's sorcery.'

  'Having heard the summons made by Silverfox,' Dujek added. 'Yes, that's likely.'

  'This T'lan Imass is a warrior,' Rake responded laconically. 'Wielding a two-handed flint sword. Bonecasters carry no weapons. Clearly, he has singular skill. The wolf is an ay, I believe, a creature thought long extinct. The hound rivals those of Shadow.'

  'And they are driving the Seer into our laps,' Brood rumbled. 'It seems that Coral will not simply be the last city we can reach this campaigning season. We'll be facing the Seer himself.'

  'Damn well ensuring that the battle will be fraught with sorcery,' Dujek muttered. 'Bloody terrific.'

  'We've plenty of time to formulate our tactics,' Brood said after a moment. 'This meeting is adjourned.'

  Thirty paces from the command tent, as darkness settled ever deeper on the camp, Silverfox slowed her steps.

  Kruppe glanced at her. 'Ah, lass, you sense the storm's passing unbroken. As do I. Shall we pay a visit to formidable personages in any case?'

  She hesitated, then shook her head. 'No, why precipitate a confrontation? I must now turn to my own… destiny. If you please, Kruppe, inform no-one of my departure. At least not for a while.'

  'The Gathering is come.'

  'It is,' she agreed. 'I sense the imminent convergence of the T'lan Imass, and would rather it occur somewhere beyond the sight of anyone else.'

  'A private matter, of course. None the less, Silverfox, would you resent company? Kruppe is wise—wise enough to keep silent when silence is called for, and yet wiser still to speak when wise words are required. Wisdom, after all, is Kruppe's blood brother.'

  She smiled down at him. 'You would witness the Second Gathering?'

  'There is no better witness to all things wondrous than Kruppe of Darujhistan, lass. Why, the tales that could flow effortlessly from these rather oily lips, should you ever but prod with curiosity—'

  'Forgive me if I refrain from doing so,' she replied. 'At least in the near future.'

  'Lest you become distracted, of course. It is clear, is it not, that even Kruppe's mere presence generates wisdom in bounty.'

  'Very clear. Very well. We'll have to find you a horse, since I plan to ride.'

  'A horse? Horrors! Foul beasts. Nay, I hold to my trusty mule.'

  'Tightly.'

  'To the limits of my physical abilities, aye.' He turned at a clopping sound behind them. 'Ah, speak of the demon! And look, a moonstruck horse follows like a pup on a leash, and is it any wonder, when one looks upon my handsome, proud beast?'

  Silverfox studied the saddled horse trailing the mule with narrowed eyes. 'Tell me, Kruppe, who else will be witness to the Gathering through you?'

  'Through Kruppe? Why, naught but Kruppe himself! He swears!'

  'Not the mule, surely?'

  'Lass, the mule's capacity for sleep—in no matter what the circumstances—is boundless, unaffected and indeed, admirable. I assure you, none shall witness through its eyes!'

  'Sleep, is it? No doubt, to dream. Very well, let us be on with it, Kruppe. I trust you're comfortable with a ride through the night?'

  'Not in the least, but perseverance is Kruppe's closest cousin…'

  'Walk with me.'

  Pausing as he emerged from the tent entrance, Whiskeyjack looked left, to see Anomander Rake standing in the gloom. Ah, not Korlat, then. Oh well… 'Of course, Lord.'

  The Son of Darkness led him through the tent rows, southward, out to the very edge of the encampment, then beyond. They ascended a ridge and came within sight of Catlin River. Starlight played on its swirling surface two hundred paces away.

  Moths fluttered like flecks of snow fleeing the warm wind.

  Neither man spoke for a long while.

  Finally, Anomander Rake sighed, then asked, 'How fares the leg?'

  'It aches,' Whiskeyjack answered truthfully. 'Especially after a full day in the saddle.'

  'Brood is an accomplished healer. High Denul. He would not hesitate should you ask.'

  'When there's time—'

  'There has been plenty of that, as we both know. None the less, I share something of your stubbornness, so I'll not raise the subject again. Have you been contacted by Quick Ben?'

  Whiskeyjack no
dded. 'He's in Capustan. Or should be by now.'

  'I am relieved. The assault on the warrens has made being a mage somewhat perilous. Even Kurald Galain has felt the poison's touch.'

  'I know.'

  Rake slowly turned to regard him. 'I had not expected to find in her such… renewal. A heart I'd believed closed for ever. To see it flowering so…'

  Whiskeyjack shifted uneasily. 'I may have wounded it this evening.'

  'Momentarily, perhaps. Your false outlawry is known.'

  'Thus the meeting, or so we thought.'

  'I pulled the thorn before you and the High Fist arrived.'

  The Malazan studied the Tiste Andü in the gloom. 'I wasn't sure. The suspicion could find no root, however.'

  'Because, to you, my position makes no sense.'

  'Aye.'

  Rake shrugged. 'I rarely see necessity as a burden.'

  Whiskeyjack thought about that, then nodded. 'You still need us.'

  'More than ever, perhaps. And not just your army. We need Quick Ben. We need Humbrall Taur and his White Face clans. We need your link to Silverfox and through her to the T'lan Imass. We need Captain Paran—'

  'Ganoes Paran? Why?'

  'He is the Master of the Deck of Dragons.'

  'It's no secret, then.'

  'It never was.'

  'Do you know,' Whiskeyjack asked, 'what that role signifies? A genuine question, because, frankly, I don't and wish I damn well did.'

  'The Crippled God has fashioned a new House and now seeks to join it to the Deck of Dragons. A sanction is required. A blessing, if you will. Or, conversely, a denial.'

  Whiskeyjack grunted. 'What of the House of Shadow, then? Was there a Master of the Deck around who sanctioned its joining?'

  'There was no need. The House of Shadow has always existed, more or less. Shadowthrone and Cotillion simply reawakened it.'

  'And now, you want Paran—the Master of the Deck—to deny the Crippled God's House.'

  'I believe he must. To grant the Fallen One legitimacy is to grant him power. We see what he is capable of in his present weakened state. The House of Chains is the foundation he will use to rebuild himself.'