Memories of Ice

'This is no priest sitting before you, Warlord!' the warrior rasped. 'It is an Elder God! K'rul himself.'

'I had gathered as much,' Brood sighed.

For a half-dozen heartbeats no-one spoke, and Itkovian could almost hear the grating, jarring shift of power. An Elder God was among them. Seated, expression benign, at this table.

'A limited manifestation,' Keruli said, then, 'to be more precise.'

'It had better be,' Gruntle interjected, his feline eyes fixed squarely on him, 'given Harllo's fate.'

Sorrow flitted across the Elder God's smooth, round features. 'Profoundly so, at the time, I am afraid. I did all that I could, Gruntle. I regret that it proved insufficient.'

'So do I.'

'Well!' Rath'Shadowthrone snapped. 'You can hardly sit on the Mask Council, then, can you?'

The Malazan named Whiskeyjack burst out laughing, the sound startling everyone at the table.

Stonny twisted in her seat to the High Priest of Shadow. 'Does your god truly know how small your brain really is? What is the issue? Elder Gods don't know the secret handshake? His mask is too realistic?'

'He's immortal, you slut!'

'Kind of guarantees seniority,' Gruntle commented. 'Eventually…'

'Do not make light of this, eater of rats!'

'And if you dare throw that word again at Stonny, I will kill you,' the Daru said. 'As for making light, it is hard not to. We're all trying to swallow the implications of all this. An Elder God has stepped into the fray … against what we'd thought to be a mortal empire — by the Abyss, what have we got ourselves into? But you, your first and solitary thought is fixated on membership in your paltry, over-inflated council. Shadowthrone must be cringing right now.'

'He's likely used to it,' Stonny grated, sneering at the High Priest, 'when it comes to this bag of slime.'

Rath'Shadowthrone gaped at her.

'Let's get back to the task before us,' Brood said. 'Your words are accepted, K'rul. The Pannion Domin concerns all of us. As gods and priests, no doubt you can find your own roles in countering whatever threats are manifesting against the pantheon and the warrens — though we both know that the source of those threats is not directly associated with the Pannion Seer. My point is, we are here to discuss the organization of the forces that will now march with us south of the river, into the heart of the Domin. Mundane considerations, but essential none the less.'

'Accepted,' K'rul replied. 'Provisionally,' he added.

'Why provisionally?'

'I anticipate a few masks coming off in these proceedings, Warlord.'

Humbrall Taur cleared his throat. 'The course is simple enough,' he growled. 'Cafal.'

His son nodded. 'A division of forces, lords. One to Setta, the other to Lest. Convergence at Maurik, then onward to Coral. The White Face Barghast shall march with Onearm's Host, for it was by their efforts that we are here and my father likes this man's sense of humour' — he gestured towards Whiskeyjack, whose brows rose — 'as do our gods. It is further advisable that the Grey Swords, now recruiting from the Tenescowri, be in the other army, for the White Faces will not abide said recruits.'

The company's new Shield Anvil spoke. 'Agreeable, assuming Caladan Brood and his disparate forces can stomach our presence.'

'Can you truly find anything worthwhile in such creatures?' Brood asked her.

'We are all worthwhile, sir, once we assume the burden of forgiveness and the effort of absolution.' She looked over then and met Itkovian's eyes.

And this is my lesson? he wondered. Then why am I both proud and pained by her words? No, not her words, precisely. Her faith. A faith that, to my sorrow, I have lost. This is envy you feel, sir. Discard it.

'We shall manage, then,' Caladan Brood said after a moment.

Dujek Onearm sighed and reached for his cup of wine. 'So resolved. Easier than you'd imagined, Brood, wouldn't you say?'

The warlord bared his teeth in a satisfied, if hard, grin. 'Aye. We're all riding the same track. Good.'

'Time to proceed, then,' Rath'Burn said, eyes on Caladan Brood, 'to other issues. You are the one who was gifted the hammer, the focus of Burn's power. To you was entrusted the task of awakening her at the time of her greatest need-'

The warlord's grin grew feral. 'And so destroy every civilization on this world, aye. No doubt you judge her need as sufficiently pressing, High Priestess.'

'And you dare not?' she snapped, leaning forward with both hands on the table. 'You have deceived her!'

'No. I have constrained her.'

His reply left her momentarily speechless.

'There's a rug-seller's shop,' Gruntle said, 'in Darujhistan. To cross its floor is to scale layer upon layer of woven artistry. Thus are the lessons of mortals laid down before the gods. Pity that they keep stumbling so — you'd think they'd have learned by now.'

Rath'Burn wheeled on him. 'Silence! You know nothing of this! If Brood does not act, Burn will die! And when she dies, so too does all life on this world! That is the choice, you fool! Topple a handful of corrupt civilizations or absolute annihilation — what would you choose?'

'Well, since you're asking-'

'I withdraw the question, for you are clearly as insane as the warlord here. Caladan Brood, you must yield the hammer. To me. Here and now. In the name of Burn, the Sleeping Goddess, I demand it.'

The warlord rose, unslung the weapon. 'Here, then.' He held it out in his right hand.

Rath'Burn's eyes blinked, then she shot upright, strode round the table.

She grasped the hammer's copper-wrapped handle in both hands.

Brood released it.

The weapon plunged earthward. The snaps of the woman's wrist bones cut through the air. Then she screamed, even as the hill trembled to the impact of the hammer's massive head. Cups bounced on the table, splashed red wine across its surface. Rath'Burn had fallen to her knees, no longer holding the weapon, her broken arms cradled on her lap.

'Artanthos,' Dujek said, his eyes on Brood — who looked down on the woman with a dispassionate regard — 'find us a healer. A good one.'

The soldier standing behind the High Fist headed off.

The warlord addressed the High Priestess. 'The difference between you and your goddess, woman, is faith. A simple thing, after all. You see only two options open to me. Indeed, so did the Sleeping Goddess, at first. She gave to me the weapon, and gave to me the freedom to choose. It has taken a long while for me to understand what else she gave to me. I have withheld acting, withheld making that choice, and thought myself a coward. Perhaps I still am, yet a small measure of wisdom has finally lodged itself in my head-'

'Burn's faith,' K'rul said. 'That you would find a third choice.'

'Aye. Her faith.'

Artanthos reappeared with another Malazan, but Brood held out a hand to halt them. 'No, I will heal her myself. She was not to know, after all'

'Too generous,' K'rul murmured. 'She abandoned her goddess long ago, Warlord.'

'No journey is too long,' Brood replied, lowering himself to kneel before Rath'Burn.

Itkovian had last seen High Denul unveiled by Destriant Karnadas, and that fraught with the infection poisoning the warrens. What he saw now was … clean, unaffected, and appallingly powerful.

K'rul rose suddenly, looked around.

Rath'Burn gasped.

The Elder God's odd actions drew Itkovian's attention, and he followed K'rul's gaze. To see that another group had arrived on the hilltop, standing at a distance to the right of the tarp. Captain Paran was the only one among the four newcomers that Itkovian recognized, and he was not the man at whom the Elder God was looking.

A dark-skinned, tall and lean man, faintly smiling, was watching the proceedings from the back of the group,