Memories of Ice

'You misunderstood,' Quick Ben sighed. 'That was only a question, not an invitation.'

'Poor wizard is weary, yes? So many paths of sorcery to take the place of mundane barges plagued with leaky lack of integrity. None the less, Kruppe is impressed with your prowess — such a dance of warrens rarely if ever before witnessed by humble self. And each one pristine! As if to say faugh! to the foolish one in chains! Such a bold challenge! Such a-'

'Oh, be quiet! Please!' Quick Ben stood on the river's north shore. Mud covered his leggings to mid-thigh, the price for minimizing as much as possible the distance of the paths he had fashioned for the columns of troops, the wagons, the livestock and the spare mounts. He only awaited the last few stragglers who'd yet to arrive, Whiskeyjack included. To make his exhaustion even more unpleasant, the spirit of Talamandas whined unceasing complaint from his invisible perch on the wizard's left shoulder.

Too much power had been unveiled here. Sufficient to draw notice. Careless, claimed the sticksnare in a whisper. Suicidal, in fact. The Crippled God cannot help but find us. Stupid bluster! And what of the Pannion Seer? A score of dread warrens all trembling to our passage! Proof of our singular efficacy against the infection! Will either of them simply sit back and do nothing in answer to what they have seen here?

'Silence,' Quick Ben muttered.

Kruppe's wiry brows rose. 'One rude command was sufficient, Kruppe haughtily assures miserable wizard!'

'Not you. Never mind. I was thinking aloud.'

'Curious habit for a mage, yes? Dangerous.'

'You think so? How about some more loudly uttered thoughts, Daru? The display is deliberate. The unveiling of power here is precisely intended to kick the hornet nests. Both of them! Clumsily massive, an appalling absence of subtlety. Thunder to those who had been expecting the almost soundless padding of a mouse's feet and its whispering tail. Now, why would I do that, do you wonder?'

'Kruppe does not wonder at all, except, perhaps, at your insisting on explaining such admirable tactics of misdirection to these squalling seagulls.'

Quick Ben scowled down at the round little man. 'Really? I had no idea I was that obvious. Maybe I should reconsider.'

'Nonsense, Wizard! Hold to your unassailable self-confidence — aye, some might well call it megalomania, but not Kruppe, for he too is in possession of unassailable self-confidence, such as only mortals are capable of and then rightfully but a mere handful the world over. You've singular company, Kruppe assures you!'

Quick Ben grinned. 'Singular? And what about these seagulls?'

Kruppe waved a plump hand. 'Pah! Lest one should land on your left shoulder, that is. Which would be another matter entirely, would it not?'

The wizard's dark eyes thinned suspiciously on the Daru at his side.

Kruppe blithely continued, 'In which case, poor ignorant bird would be witness to such potent plurality of cunning converse so as to reel confused if not mercifully constipated!'

Quick Ben blinked in startlement. 'What did you say?'

'Well sir, were we not suggesting the placement of corks? Be quiet. Shut up. Kruppe simply advised of an internal version with which seagull's ceaseless bleating complaint is silenced, indeed, stoppered up to the relief of one and all!'

Two hundred paces to their right another barge loaded with Brood's forces set out, the craft quickly drawing the lines down-current as it left the shore.

A pair of marines rode up to Quick Ben and Kruppe.

The wizard scowled at them. 'Where's Whiskeyjack?'

'On the way, Bridgeburner. Did the toad and his artist show up?'

'Just in time to take charge of their wagon, aye. They're on the other side.'

'Fancy work. We crossing the same way?'

'Well, I was thinking of dropping you halfway — when did you two last bathe?'

The women exchanged a glance, then one shrugged and said, 'Don't know. A month? Three? We've been busy.'

'And we'd rather not get wet, Wizard,' the other marine said. 'Our armour and the clothes under 'em might fall apart.'

'Kruppe asserts that would prove a sight never to be forgotten!'

'Bet your eyes'd fall out,' the soldier agreed. 'And if they didn't we'd have to help 'em along some.'

'At least our nails would be clean,' the other observed.

'Aai! Coarse women! Kruppe sought only to compliment!'

'You're the one needing a bath,' the marine said.

The Daru's expression displayed shock, then dismay. 'Outrageous notion. Sufficient layers of sweet scent applied over sufficient years, nay, decades, have resulted in a permanent and indeed impervious bouquet of gentlest fragrance.' He waved his plump, pale hands. 'A veritable aura about oneself to draw lovestruck butterflies-'

'Look like deerflies to me-'

'These are uncivil lands — yet do you see a single insect alight?'

'Well, there's a few drowned in your oily hair, now that you ask.'

'Precisely. Inimical foes one and all fall to the same fate.'

'Ah,' Quick Ben said, 'here comes Whiskeyjack. Finally. Thank the gods.'

Darkness swallowed the alley as dusk descended on the ruined city. A few oil lamps lit the major thoroughfares, and the occasional squad of Gidrath walked rounds carrying lanterns of their own.

Wrapped in a cloak hiding his full armour, Coll stood within an alcove and watched one such squad troop past at the alley's mouth, watched as the pool of yellow light slowly dwindled, until the night once more reclaimed the street.

He stepped out and gestured.

Murillio flicked the traces, startling the oxen into motion. The wagon creaked and rocked over the cracked, heat-blasted cobbles.

Coll strode in advance, out onto the street. It had been only partially cleared of rubble. Three gutted temples were within the range of his vision, showing no indication of having been reoccupied. No different from the four others they had found earlier that afternoon.

At the moment, the prospects were grim. It seemed the only surviving priests were those in the Thrall, and that was the last place they wanted to visit. Rumour was, political rivalries had reached a volatile state, now that the Mask Council was free of the presence of powerful allies; free, as well, of a royal presence who traditionally provided a levelling influence on their excesses. The future of Capustan was not a promising one.

Coll turned to the right — northeast — waving behind him as he made his way up the street. He heard Murillio's muted cursing as he slapped the traces down onto the backs of the two oxen. The animals were tired and hungry, the wagon behind them overburdened.

Hood take us, we might have made a terrible mistake.

He heard the flap of a bird's wings overhead, soft and momentary, and thought nothing of it.

Deep ruts had been worn into the cobbles from the passage of countless wagons, many of them of late heavily loaded down with broken stone, but their width did not match that of the Rhivi wagon — a thick-wheeled, plains vehicle built to contest high grasses and muddy sinkholes. Nor could Murillio manage to avoid the wagon's slipping into one of the ruts, for the oxen had a grooved path of their own on this side of the street. The result was a sharply canted, awkward progress, the yokes shifted into angles that were clearly uncomfortable for the oxen.

Behind him, Coll heard one low a complaint, which ended with a strange grunt and whip of the traces. He spun in time to see Murillio's body pitching from the seat, to strike the cobbles with a bone-cracking impact.

A huge figure, all in black, who seemed for the briefest moment to be winged, now stood atop the wagon.

Murillio lay in a motionless heap beside the front wheel.

Fear ripped through the Daru. 'What the-'

The figure gestured. Black sorcery bloomed from him, swept tumbling towards Coll.