Memories of Ice

She quickly glanced around. 'The bitch,' she whispered.

'Corporal?'

'Nothing. Sorry, sir. I was just resting.'

'When you're done resting, Corporal, go retrieve Antsy, Spindle and the others. Send Arard to the Thrall, with word that the real representatives of Onearm's Host will see him shortly, should he wish an audience.'

'Understood, Captain.'

'I hope so.'

She watched the two men ride off down the street, then spun around. 'Where are you, you coward?'

'Sir?' Blend queried, emerging from the shadows of the temple's entrance.

'You heard me.'

'I'd noted something inside this hovel, went to investigate-'

'Hovel? Shadowthrone's sacred abode, you mean.'

She was pleased to see Blend suddenly pale. 'Oh. I'd, uh, forgotten.'

'You panicked. Hee hee. Blend panicked. Smelled a scene about to happen and fled into the nearest building like a rabbit down a bolt-hole! Just wait until I tell the others-'

'An unseemly version,' Blend sniffed, 'malignly twisting a purely coincidental occurrence. They'll not believe you.'

'That's what you-'

'Oh oh.'

Blend vanished once again.

Startled, Picker looked round.

Two black-cloaked figures were coming down the street, making directly for the corporal.

'Dear soldier,' the taller, pointy-bearded one called out.

Her hackles rose at the imperious tone. 'What?'

A thin brow arched. 'Respect is accorded ourselves, woman. We demand no less. Now listen. We are in need of supplies to effect the resumption of our journey. We require food, clean water and plenty of it, and if you could direct us to a clothier …'

'At once. Here-' She stepped up to him and drove her gauntleted fist full into his face. The man's feet flew out from under him and he struck the cobbles with a meaty smack. Out cold.

Blend stepped up behind the other man and cracked him in the head with the pommel of her short sword. With a high-pitched grunt, he crumpled.

Closing fast behind them was an old man in ragged servant garb. He skidded to a halt five paces away and raised his hands. 'Don't hit me!' he shrieked.

Picker frowned. 'Now why would we do that? Are these two … yours?'

The manservant's expression was despondent. 'Aye,' he sighed, lowering his hands.

'Advise them,' Picker said, 'of proper forms of address. When they awaken.'

'Absolutely, sir.'

'We should get moving, Corporal,' Blend said, eyes on the two unconscious men.

'Yes. Yes, please!' the manservant begged.

Picker shrugged. 'I see no point in dawdling. Lead on, soldier.'

Paran and Quick Ben rode within a thousand paces of the Tenescowri encampment, which lay north of the road, on their right. Neither man spoke until they were well past, then the captain sighed. 'That looks to be trouble fast approaching.'

'Oh? Why?'

Paran shot his companion a startled glance, then returned his gaze to the road. 'The lust for vengeance against those peasants. The Capans might well swarm out through the gate and slaughter them, with the Mask Council's blessing.' And why, Wizard, do I think I see something out of the comer of my eye? There, on your shoulder. Then, when I look more closely, it's gone.

'That'd be a mistake for the Mask Council,' Quick Ben commented. 'The Grey Swords looked ready to defend their guests, if those pickets and trenches were any indication.'

'Aye, they're anticipating becoming very unpopular, with what they're now up to.'

'Recruiting. Then again, why not? That mercenary company paid a high price defending the city and its citizens.'

'The memory of their heroic efforts could vanish in an eye's wink, Wizard. There's only a few hundred Grey Swords left, besides. Should a few thousand Capans charge them-'

'I wouldn't worry, Captain. Even the Capans — no matter how enraged — would hesitate before crossing those soldiers. They're the ones who survived, after all. As I said, the Mask Council would be foolish to hold the grudge. We'll discover more at the parley, no doubt.'

'Assuming we're invited. Quick Ben, we'd do better with a private conversation with Whiskeyjack. I personally have very little to say to most of the others who will be present. I have a report to deliver, in any case.'

'Oh, I wasn't planning on speaking at the parley, Captain. Just listening.'

They had left the occupied areas behind and now rode down an empty road, the rolling plain stretching out on their right, the bluffs marking the river three hundred paces distant on their left.

'I see riders,' Quick Ben said. 'North.'

Paran squinted, then nodded. 'It's happened.'

'What has?'

'The Second Gathering.'

The wizard shot him a glance. 'The T'lan Imass? How do you know?'

Because she's stopped reaching out to me. Tattersail, Nightchill, Bellurdan — something's happened. Something. unexpected. And it's left them reeling. 'I just know, Wizard. Silverfox is the lead rider.'

'Your vision must be as a hawk's.'

Paran said nothing. I don't need eyes. She's coming.

'Captain, does Tattersail's soul still dominate within Silverfox?'

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'All I will say, however, is that whatever faith we held to that we could predict Silverfox's actions should now be dispensed with.'

'What has she become, then?'

'A Bonecaster in truth.'

They reined in to wait for the four riders. Kruppe's mule seemed to be competing for the lead position, the short-legged beast slipping between a frenzied trot and a canter, the round Daru wobbling and bouncing atop the saddle. Two Malazan marines rode behind Silverfox and Kruppe, looking relaxed.

'Would that I had seen,' Quick Ben murmured, 'what her companions had seen.'

Yet nothing went as planned. I can see that in her posture — the bridled anger, the diffidence — and, buried deep, pain. She's surprised them. Surprised, and defied. And the T'lan Imass have answered in an equally unexpected way. Even Kruppe looks off-balanced, and not just by that pitching mule.

Silverfox was staring at him as she drew rein, an expression that Paran could not define. As I had sensed, she's thrown up a wall between us — gods, but she looks like Tattersail! A woman, now. No longer the child. And the illusion of years spanning our parting is complete — she's become guarded, a possessor of secrets that as a child she would not have hesitated to reveal. Hood's breath, every time we meet it seems I must readjust. everything.

Quick Ben spoke, 'Well met. Silverfox, what-'

'No.'

'Excuse me?'

'No, Wizard. I have no explanations that I am prepared to voice. No questions that I will answer. Kruppe has already tried, too many times. My temper is short — do not test it.'

Guarded, and harder. Much, much harder.

After a moment, Quick Ben shrugged. 'Be that way, then.'

'I am that way,' she snapped. 'The anger you would face is Nightchill's, and the rest of us will do nothing to restrain it. I trust I am understood.'