Memories of Ice

by Steven Erikson

  After they'd disappeared, Blend grunted. 'What night thankfully hides…'

  'Not well enough, alas,' Picker muttered, poking at the fire with a splintered spear-shaft.

  'Well, she'll probably be gagging him right now, then ripping off his—'

  'All right all right, I take your point.'

  'Poor Hedge.'

  'Poor Hedge nothing, Blend. If it didn't get him going it wouldn't still be going on night after night.'

  'Then again, we're soldiers one and all.'

  'And what's that mean?'

  'Means we know that following orders is the best way of staying alive.'

  'So Hedge had better stand to attention if he wants to keep breathing? Is that what you're saying? I'd have thought terror'd leave it limp and dangling.'

  'Detoran used to be a master sergeant, remember. I once saw a recruit stay at attention for a bell and a half after the poor lad's heart had burst to one of her tirades. A bell and a half, Picker, standing there dead and cold—'

  'Rubbish. I was there. It was about a tenth of a bell and you know it.'

  'My point still stands, and I'd bet my whole column of back pay that Hedge's is doing the same.'

  Picker stabbed at the fire. 'Funny, that,' she murmured after a while.

  'What is?'

  'Oh, what you were saying. Not the dead recruit, but Detoran having been a master sergeant. We've all been busted about, us Bridgeburners. Almost every damned one of us, starting right up top with Whiskeyjack himself. Mallet led a healer's cadre back when we had enough healers and the Emperor was in charge. And didn't Spindle captain a company of sappers once?'

  'For three days, then one of 'em stumbled onto his own cusser—'

  'And then they all went up, yeah. We were a thousand paces up the road and my ears rang for days.'

  'That was the end of companies made up of sappers. Dassem broke 'em up after that, meaning that Spindle had no specialist corps to captain any more. So, Picker, what about it?'

  'Nothing. Just that none of us is what we once was.'

  'I've never been promoted.'

  'Well, surprise! You've made a profession of not getting noticed!'

  'Even so. And Antsy was born a sergeant—'

  'And it's stunted his growth, aye. He's never been busted down, granted, but that's because he's the worst sergeant there ever was. Keeping him one punishes all of us, starting with Antsy himself. All I was saying was, we're all of us losers.'

  'Oh, that's a welcome thought, Picker.'

  'And who said every thought has to be a nice one? Nobody.'

  'I would, only I didn't think of it.'

  'Ha. Ha.'

  The slow clump of horse hooves reached them. A moment later Captain Paran came into view, leading his horse by the reins.

  'Been a long day, Captain,' Picker said. 'We got some tea if you'd like.'

  Paran looped the reins over the saddle horn and approached. 'Last fire left among the Bridgeburners. Don't you two ever sleep?'

  'We could ask the same of you, sir,' Picker replied. 'But we all already know that sleep's for weaklings, right?'

  'Depends on how peaceful it is, I'd think.'

  'Captain's right on that,' Blend said to Picker.

  'Well,' the corporal sniffed, 'I'm peaceful enough when I sleep.'

  Blend grunted. 'That's what you think.'

  'We've had word,' Paran said, accepting the cup of steaming herbal brew from Picker, 'from the Black Moranth.'

  'They reconnoitred Setta.'

  'Aye. There's no-one there. Not breathing, anyway. The whole city's one big necropolis.'

  'So why are we still marching there?' Picker asked. 'Unless we're not…'

  'We are, Corporal.'

  'What for?'

  'We're marching to Setta because we're not marching to Lest.'

  'Well,' Blend sighed, 'I'm glad that's been cleared up.'

  Paran sipped his tea, then said, 'I have elected a second.'

  'A second, sir?' Picker asked. 'Why?'

  'Obvious reasons. In any case, I've chosen you, Picker. You're now a lieutenant. Whiskeyjack has given his blessing. In my absence you're to command the Bridgeburners—'

  'No thanks, sir.'

  'It's not up for discussion, Picker. Your lieutenancy is already inscribed in the rolls. Official, with Dujek's seal on it.'

  Blend nudged her. 'Congratulations—oh, I suppose I should have saluted.'

  'Shut up,' Picker growled. 'But you're right on one thing—don't ever bump me again, woman.'

  'That's a hard order to follow… sir.'

  Paran drained the last of his tea and straightened. 'I've only got one order for you, Lieutenant.'

  She looked up at him. 'Captain?'

  'The Bridgeburners,' Paran said, and his expression was suddenly severe. 'Keep them together, no matter what happens. Together, Lieutenant.'

  'Uh, yes, sir.'

  They watched Paran return to his horse and lead it away.

  Neither woman said much for a while thereafter, then Blend sighed. 'Let's go to bed, Picker.'

  'Aye.'

  They stamped out the remnants of the fire. Darkness closing around them, Blend stepped closer and hooked her arm around Picker's.

  'It's all down,' she murmured, 'to what the night hides…'

  To Hood it is. It's all down to what the captain was saying behind what he said. That's what I need to figure out. Something tells me it's the end of sleeping peacefully for Lieutenant Picker…

  They strode from the dying embers and were swallowed by darkness.

  Moments later, no movement was visible, the stars casting their faint silver light down on the camp of the Bridgeburners. The oft-patched tents were colourless in the dull, spectral glow. A scene that was ghostly and strangely timeless. Revealing its own kind of peace.

  Whiskeyjack entered Dujek's command tent. As expected, the High Fist was prepared for him. Hooded lantern on camp table, two tankards of ale and a block of Gadrobi goat cheese. Dujek himself sat in one of the chairs, head lowered in sleep.

  'High Fist,' Whiskeyjack said as he removed his gauntlets, eyes on the ale and cheese.

  The old commander grunted, sat straighter, blinking. 'Right.'

  'We've lost her.'

  'Too bad. You must be hungry, so I—oh, good. Keep filling your mouth and leave the talking to me, then.' He leaned forward and retrieved his tankard. 'Artanthos found Paran and delivered the orders. So, the captain will get the Bridgeburners ready—ready for what, they won't know and that's probably for the best. As for Paran himself, all right, Quick Ben convinced me. Too bad, that, though I'll be honest and say as far as I can see we'll miss the wizard more than we will that nobleborn lad—'

  Holding up one hand to stop Dujek, Whiskeyjack washed down the last of the cheese with a mouthful of ale.

  The High Fist sighed, waited.

  'Dujek—'

  'Comb the crumbs from your beard,' the High Fist growled, 'since I expect you'll want me to take you seriously.'

  'A word on Paran. With the loss of Tatter—of Silverfox, I mean, the captain's value to us can't be overestimated. No, not just us. The Empire itself. Quick Ben's been adamant on this. Paran is the Master of the Deck. Within him is the power to reshape the world, High Fist.' He paused, mulling on his own words. 'Now, maybe there's no chance of Laseen ever regaining the man's favour, but at the very least she'd be wise to avoid making the relationship worse.'

  Dujek's brows lifted. 'I'll so advise her the next time I see her.'

  'All right. Sorry. No doubt the Empress is cognizant—'

  'No doubt. As I was saying, however, it's the loss of Quick Ben that stings the most. From my own point of view, that is.'

  'Well, sir, what the wizard has in mind… uh, I agree with him that the less Brood and company know of it the better. So long as the division of forces proceeds as planned, they'll have no reason but to believe that Quick Ben marches in step with the rest of us.'

  'The wizar
d's madness—'

  'High Fist, the wizard's madness has saved our skins more than once. Not just mine and the Bridgeburners', but yours as well—'

  'I am well aware of that, Whiskeyjack. Forgive an old man his fears, please. It was Brood and Rake and the Tiste Andü—and the damned Elder Gods, as well—who were supposed to step into the Crippled God's path. They're the ones with countless warrens and frightening levels of potency—not us, not one mortal squad wizard and a young nobleborn captain who's already died once. Even if they don't mess things up, look at the enemies we'll acquire.'

  'Assuming our present allies are so short-sighted as to fail to comprehend.'

  'Whiskeyjack, we're the Malazans, remember? Nothing we do is ever supposed to reveal a hint of our long-term plans—mortal empires aren't supposed to think that far ahead. And we're damned good at following that principle, you and I. Hood take me, Laseen inverted the command structure for a reason, you know.'

  'So the right people would be there at ground level when Shadowthrone and Cotillion made their move, aye.'

  'Not just them, Whiskeyjack.'

  'This should be made known to Quick Ben—to all of the Bridgeburners, in fact.'

  'No. In any case, don't you think your wizard's figured things out yet?'

  'If so, then why did he send Kalam after the Empress?'

  'Because Kalam needs to be convinced in person, that's why. Face to face with the Empress. Quick Ben knew that.'

  'Then I must be the only thick-witted one in this entire imperial game,' Whiskeyjack sighed.

  'Maybe the only truly honourable one, at any rate. Look, we knew the Crippled God was getting ready to make a move. We knew the gods would make a mess of things. Granted, we didn't anticipate the Elder Gods getting involved, but that's neither here nor there, is it? The point was, we knew trouble was coming. From more than one direction—but how could we have guessed that what was going on in the Pannion Domin was in any way related to the efforts of the Crippled God?

  'Even so, I don't think it was entirely chance that it was a couple of Bridgeburners who bumped into that agent of the Chained One—that sickly artisan from Darujhistan; nor that Quick Ben was there to confirm the arrival of the House of Chains. Laseen has always understood the value of tactical placement yielding results—Hood knows, she taught that to the Emperor, not the other way round. The Crippled God's pocket-warren wanders—it always has. That it wandered to the hills between Pale and Darujhistan was an opportunity the Crippled God could not pass up—if he was going to do anything, he had to act. And we caught him. Maybe not in a way we'd anticipated, but we caught him.'

  'Well enough,' Whiskeyjack muttered.

  'As for Paran, there's a certain logic there, as well. Tayschrenn was grooming Tattersail to the role of Mistress of the Deck, after all. And when that went wrong, well, there was a residual effect—straight to the man closest to her at the time. Not physically, but certainly spiritually. In all this, Whiskeyjack—if we look on things in retrospect—the only truly thick-witted player was Bellurdan Skullcrusher. We'll never know what happened between him and Tattersail on that plain, but by the Abyss it ranks as one of the worst foul-ups in imperial history. That the role of Master of the Deck fell to a Malazan and not to some Gadrobi herder who'd happened to be nearby, well, Oponn's luck played into our hands there, and that's about all we can say of that, I think.'

  'Now I'm the one who's worried,' Whiskeyjack said. 'We've been too clever by far, leaving me wondering who's manipulating whom. We're playing shadowgames with the Lord of Shadow, rattling the chains of the Crippled God, and now buying Brood more time without him even knowing it, whilst at the same time defying the T'lan Imass, or at least intending to…'

  'Opportunity, Whiskeyjack. Hesitation is fatal. When you find yourself in the middle of a wide, raging river, there's only one direction to swim in. It's up to us to keep Laseen's head above water—and through her, the Malazan Empire. If Brood swings his hammer in Burn's name—we drown, all of us. Law, order, peace—civilization, all gone.'

  'So, to keep Brood from doing that, we sacrifice ourselves by challenging the Crippled God. Us, one damned weary army already decimated by one of Laseen's panics.'

  'Best forgive her her panics, Whiskeyjack. Shows she's mortal, after all.'

  'Virtually wiping out the Bridgeburners at Pale—'

  'Was an accident and while you didn't know it at the time, you know it now. Tayschrenn ordered them to remain in the tunnels because he thought it was the safest place. The safest.'

  'Seemed more like someone wanted us to be a collateral fatality,' Whiskeyjack said. No, not us. Me. Damn you, Dujek, you lead me to suspect you knew more of that than I'd hoped. Beru fend, I hope I'm wrong… 'And with what happened at Darujhistan—'

  'What happened at Darujhistan was a mess. Miscommunication on all sides. It was too soon after the Siege of Pale—too soon for all of us.'

  'So I wasn't the only one rattled, then.'

  'At Pale? No. Hood take us, we all were. That battle didn't go as planned. Tayschrenn really believed he could take down Moon's Spawn—and force Rake into the open. And had he not been left virtually on his own in the attack, things might well have turned out differently. From what I learned later, Tayschrenn didn't know at the time who Nightchill really was, but he knew she was closing in on Rake's sword. Her and Bellurdan, who she was using to do her research for her. It looked like a play for power, a private one, and Laseen wasn't prepared to permit that. And even then, Tayschrenn only hit her when she took out A'Karonys—the very High Mage who came to Tayschrenn with his suspicions about her. When I said Bellurdan killing Tattersail was the worst foul-up in Malazan history, that day at Pale runs a close second.'

  'There have been more than a few lately…'

  Dujek slowly nodded, his eyes glittering in the lantern light. 'All starting, I'd say, with the T'lan Imass slaughtering the citizens of Aren. But, as even with that one, each disaster yields its truths. Laseen didn't give that order, but someone did. Someone returned to sit down in that First Throne—and that someone was supposed to be dead—and he used the T'lan Imass to wreak vengeance on Laseen, to shake her grip on the Empire. Lo, the first hint that Emperor Kellanved wasn't quite as dead as we would have liked.'

  'And still insane, aye. Dujek, I think we're heading for another disaster.'

  'I hope you're wrong. In any case, I was the one who needed his confidence boosted tonight, not you.'

  'Well, I guess that's the price of inverted commands…'

  'For all that I've been saying, a new observation comes to me, Whiskeyjack, and it's not a pleasant one.'

  'And that is?'

  'I am beginning to think we're not half as sure of what we're up to as we think we are.'

  'Who's "we"?'

  'The empire. Laseen. Tayschrenn. As for you and I, well, we're the least of the players and what little we know isn't even close to what we need to know. We stepped up to the assault on Moon's Spawn at Pale knowing virtually nothing of what was really going on. And if I hadn't cornered Tayschrenn after, we still wouldn't.'

  Whiskeyjack studied the dregs of ale in the tankard in his hands. 'Quick Ben's smart,' he murmured. 'I can't really say how much he's worked out. He can get pretty cagey at times.'

  'He's still willing, surely?'

  'Oh yes. And he's made it plain that he has acquired a powerful faith in Ganoes Paran. In this new Master of the Deck.'

  'Does that strike you as odd, then?'

  'A little. Paran has been used by a god. He's walked within the sword, Dragnipur. He has the blood of a Hound of Shadow in his veins. And none of us know what changes such things have wrought in him, or even what they portend. He's been anything but predictable, and he's almost impossible to manage—oh, he'll follow orders I give him, but I think if Laseen believes she can use him, she might be in for a surprise.'

  'You like the man, don't you?'

  'I admire him, Dujek. For his resilience, for his ability to examin
e himself with a courage that is ruthless, and, most of all, for his inherent humanity.'

  'Sufficient to warrant faith, I'd say.'

  Whiskeyjack grimaced. 'Stabbed by my own sword.'

  'Better that than someone else's.'

  'I'm thinking of retiring, Dujek. When this war is finished.'

  'I'd guessed as much, friend.'

  Whiskeyjack looked up. 'You think she'll let me?'

  'I don't think we should give her the choice.'

  'Shall I drown like Crust and Urko did? Shall I be seen to be slain then have my body vanish like Dassem did?'

  'Assuming none of those really happened—'

  'Dujek—'

  'All right, but some doubt still remains, you have to admit.'

  'I don't share it, and one day I'll track down Duiker and force the truth from him—if anyone knows, it's that cranky historian.'

  'Has Quick Ben heard from Kalam yet?'

  'He's not told me so if he has.'

  'Where's your wizard right now?'

  'I last saw him jawing with those Trygalle traders.'

  'The man should be getting some sleep, with what's coming.'

  Whiskeyjack set down the tankard and rose. 'So should we, old friend,' he said, wincing as he settled too much weight on his bad leg. 'When are the Black Moranth arriving?'

  'Two nights hence.'

  Whiskeyjack grunted, then swung towards the tent's exit. 'Good night, Dujek.'

  'And to you, Whiskeyjack. Oh, one last thing.'

  'Yes?'

  'Tayschrenn. He's been wanting to apologize to you. For what happened to the Bridgeburners.'

  'He knows where to find me, Dujek.'

  'He wants a proper moment.'

  'What's proper?'

  'I'm not sure, but it hasn't happened yet.'

  Whiskeyjack said nothing for a half-dozen heartbeats, then he reached for the tent flap. 'See you in the morning, Dujek.'