Memories of Ice

The Daru managed to right himself with a succession of grunts. 'Exercise is madness!' he exclaimed to the children who jogged up alongside. 'Witness these frightening urchins, already so musclebound as to laugh with stupid delight at Kruppe's woeful fate! The curse of vigour and strain has addled them. Dear Kruppe, forgive them as befits your admirable nature, your amiable equanimity, your effortlessly estimable ease among the company of those sadly lacking in years. Ah, you poor creatures, so short of leg yet self-deluded into expressions witlessly wise. You strut in step with this confounded mule, and so lay bare the tragic truth — your tribe is doomed, Kruppe pronounces! Doomed!'

'They understand not a word, Man of Lard!'

Kruppe twisted round to see Hetan and Cafal riding to join him. The woman was grinning.

'Not a word, Daru, and a good thing, too. Else they tear your heart from your chest at such damnations!'

'Damnations? Dear woman, Kruppe's deadly temper is to blame. His white hot rage that so endangers all around him! It is this beast, you see-'

'Not even worth eating,' Hetan noted. 'What think you, brother?'

'Too scrawny,' Cafal agreed.

'None the less, Kruppe pleads for forgiveness on behalf of his worthy self and the conversely worthless beast he rides. Forgive us, somewhat longer-legged spawn of Humbrall Taur, we beg you!'

'We've a question for you, Man of Lard.'

'You need only ask, and Kruppe shall answer. Shining with truth, his words smooth as oil to scent your unblemished skin — there, just above the left breast, perhaps? Kruppe has in his possession-'

'No doubt,' Hetan interrupted. 'And were you to carry on this war would be over before I'd the chance to ask you the question. Now shut up, Daru, and listen. Look, if you will, upon the Malazan ranks on yonder road. The tent-covered wagons, the few foot-dragging companies who walk alongside them and between them, raising skyward clouds of dust-'

'Dear lass, you are one after Kruppe's own heart! Pray, resume this non-interrogative question, at length, wax your words into the thickest candle so that I may light an unquenchable flame of love in its honour.'

'I said look, Daru. Observe! Do you find nothing odd about our allies at present?'

'At present. Past and no doubt future, too, Kruppe asserts. Malazan mysteries, yes! Peculiar people, Kruppe proclaims. Discipline in said march approaching dishevelled dissolution, dust rising to be seen for leagues yet what is seen — well, naught but dust!'

'Just my point,' Hetan growled.

'And a sharp one it is.'

'So you'd noticed, then.'

'Noticed what, my dear? The sumptuous curves of yourself? How could Kruppe not notice such wondrous, if slightly barbaric, beauty? As a prairie flower-'

'-about to kill you,' Hetan said, grinning.

'A prairie flower, Kruppe observes, such as blooms on prickly cactus …'

' 'Ware the misstep, Man of Lard.'

'Kruppe's wares are without misstep, for he wears wariness well — uh …'

'This morning,' Hetan resumed after a moment, 'I watched one company of marines strike the tents of three companies, all through the Malazan camp. One for three, again and again.'

'Aye, one can count on the Malazans!'

Hetan rode closer, reached out and closed a hand on Kruppe's cloak collar. She half dragged him from his saddle, her smile broadening. 'Man of Lard,' she hissed, 'when I bed you — soon — this mule will need a travois to carry what's left of you. Dragging everyone along in your dance of words is a fine talent, but come tonight, I will pump the breath from your lungs. I will leave you speechless for days to come. And I will do all this to prove who is the master between us. Now, another utterance from you and I won't wait until tonight — I will give these children and everyone else a show that you, Daru, will never live down. Ah, I see by your bulging eyes that you understand. Good. Now, stop clenching that mule with your knees — the beast hates it. Settle in that saddle as if it was a horse, for it believes itself to be so. It notes how everyone else rides, notes how the horses carry their charges. Its eyes never rest — have you not noticed? This is the most alert beast this world has ever seen, and don't ask me why. There, my words are done. Until tonight, Man of Lard, when I will see you melt.' She released him.

Gasping, Kruppe dropped back onto the saddle. He opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut.

Cafal grunted. 'He learns fast, sister.'

She snorted. 'You all do, brother.'

The two rode away.

Staring after them, Kruppe removed his handkerchief from a sleeve and patted the sweat from his brow. 'Dear me. Dear, dearest me. You heard, mule? It is Kruppe who is doomed. Doomed!'

Whiskeyjack studied the two women standing before him, then said, 'Permission denied.'

'She ain't here, sir,' one of the marines reiterated. 'We got no-one to watch, right?'

'You will not rejoin your company, soldiers. You stay with me. Any other issues you wanted to discuss? No? Dismissed.'

The two marines exchanged a glance, then saluted and marched off.

'Sometimes,' Artanthos said from a half-dozen paces away, 'it comes back and sinks its teeth into you, doesn't it?'

Whiskeyjack eyed the man. 'What does?'

'Dassem Ultor's style of command. Soldiers given permission to think, to question, to argue …'

'Making us the best army this world has ever seen, Standard-Bearer.'

'None the less …'

'There is no 'none the less'. It is the reason why we're the best. And when time comes for the hard orders, you'll see the discipline — you may not have seen it here and now, but it's there, under the surface, and it's solid.'

'As you say,' Artanthos replied with a shrug.

Whiskeyjack resumed leading his horse to the kraal. The sun was already pulling the last of its lurid light below the horizon. On all sides, soldiers hurried to pitch tents and prepare cook fires. They were, he could see, a weary lot. Too many doubletime shifts through the day, then the added bell's worth of marching through dusk. He realized he'd need to tail that off over at least three days then add two more bells of stationary rest before reaching Coral, to give his infantry sufficient recovery time. An exhausted army was a defeated army.

A stabler collected Whiskeyjack's horse, and the commander set off towards Dujek's tent.

A squad of marines sat on their packs in front of the entrance, helms and armour on, still wearing the scarves that had covered their faces against the day's dust. None rose at Whiskeyjack's arrival.

'Carry on,' he growled sarcastically as he strode between the soldiers and entered the tent.

Within, Dujek was on his knees. He'd thrown a map down on the carpeted floor and was studying it by lantern-light, muttering under his breath.

'So,' Whiskeyjack said as he pulled a camp chair close and settled, 'the divided army … divides yet again.'

Dujek glanced up, his bushy brows knitting into a momentary frown before he resumed his perusal of the map. 'My bodyguard outside?'

'Aye.'

'They're a miserable lot at the best of times, and this isn't exactly best.'

Whiskeyjack stretched out his legs, wincing as old pain awoke once more in the left one. 'They're all Untan, aren't they? Haven't seen them around much of late.'

'You haven't seen them around because I told them to get scarce. Calling 'em miserable was being kind. They're not of the Host and as far as they're concerned they'll never be and, damn, I agree with 'em. Anyway, they wouldn't have saluted you even if we wasn't splitting into two commands. It's a struggle them saluting even me, and I'm the one they're sworn to protect.'