Memories of Ice

Paran's heart thudded loud in his chest. He had not expected this. I'm not in another realm. This is mine.

Seven paces ahead, on a raised dais, stood a throne. Carved from a single trunk of crimson wood, unplaned, broad strips of bark on its flanks, many of them split, had pulled away from the wood beneath. Shadows flowed in that bark, swam the deep grooves, spilling out to dart through the surrounding air before vanishing in the chamber's gloom.

The Throne of Shadow. Not in some hidden, long-forgotten realm. It's here, on — or rather in — my world … A small, tattered fragment of Kurald Galain.

. and the Tiste Edur have come to find it. They're searching, crossing the seas, seeking this place. How do I know this?

He stepped forward. The shadows raced over the throne in a frenzy. Another step. You want to tell me something, Throne, don't you? He strode to the dais, reached out-

The shadows poured over him.

Hound — not Hound! Blood and not blood! Master and mortal!

'Oh, be quiet! Tell me of this place.'

The wandering isle! Wanders not! Flees! Yes! The Children are corrupted, the souls of the Edur are poisoned! Storm of madness — we elude! Protect us, Hound not Hound! Save us — they come!

'The wandering isle. This is Drift Avalii, isn't it? West of Quon Tali. I thought there were supposed to be Tiste Andii on this island-'

Sworn to defend! Spawn of Anomander Rake — gone! Leaving a blood trail, leading the Edur away with the spilling out of their own lives — oh, where is Anomander Rake? They call for him, they call and call! They beg for his help!

'He's busy, I'm afraid.'

Anomander Rake, Son of Darkness! The Edur have sworn to destroy Mother Dark. You must warn him! Poisoned souls, led by the one who has been slain a hundred times, oh, 'ware this new Emperor of the Edur, this Tyrant of Pain, this Deliverer of Midnight Tides!

Paran pulled himself back with a mental wrench, staggered a step further away, then another. He was sheathed in sweat, trembling with the aftermath of such visceral terror.

Barely conscious of his own intent, he whirled — the chamber around him blurring, swallowed by darkness, then, with a grinding shift, something deeper than darkness.

'Oh, Abyss …'

A rubble-strewn plain beneath a dead sky. In the distance to his right, the groan of massive, wooden wheels, the slither and snap of chains, countless plodding footfalls. In the air, a pall of suffering that threatened to suffocate Paran where he stood.

Gritting his teeth, he swung towards the dreadful sounds, pushed himself forward.

Grainy shapes appeared ahead, coming directly for Paran. Leaning figures, stretched chains. Beyond them, a hundred or more paces distant, loomed the terrible wagon, massed with writhing bodies, clunking and shifting over stones, swallowed in a haze of mist.

Paran stumbled forward. 'Draconus!' he shouted. 'Where in Hood's name are you? Draconus!'

Faces lifted, then all but one-hooded and indistinct — lowered once more.

The captain slipped between victims of Dragnipur, closing on the one shadowed face still regarding him, stepping within reach of the mad, the numbed, the failing — not one of whom sought to impede him, or even acknowledged his presence. He moved as a ghost through the press.

'Greetings, mortal,' Draconus said. 'Walk with me, then.'

'I wanted Rake.'

'You found his sword, instead. For which I am not sorry.'

'Yes, I've spoken with Nightchill, Draconus — but don't press me on that subject. When I reach a decision, you'll be the first to know. I need to speak with Rake.'

'Aye,' the ancient warrior rumbled, 'you do. Explain to him this truth, mortal. He is too merciful, too merciful to wield Dragnipur. The situation is growing desperate.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Dragnipur needs to feed. Look around us, mortal. There are those who, at long last, fail in pulling this burden. They are carried to the wagon, then, and tossed onto it — you think this preferable? Too weak to move, they are soon buried by those like them. Buried, trapped for eternity. And the more the wagon bears, the greater its weight — the more difficult the burden for those of us still able to heave, on these chains. Do you understand? Dragnipur needs to feed. We require … fresh legs. Tell Rake — he must draw the sword. He must take souls. Powerful ones, preferably. And he must do so soon-'

'What will happen if the wagon stops, Draconus?'

The man who forged his own prison was silent for a long time. 'Project your vision, mortal, onto our trail. See for yourself, what pursues us.'

Pursues! He closed his eyes, yet the scene did not vanish — the wagon lumbered on, there in his mind, the multitudes passing by him like ghosts. Then the massive contrivance was past, its groans fading behind him. The ruts of its wheels flanked him, each one as wide as an imperial road. The earth was sodden with blood, bile and sweat, a foul mud that drew his boots down, swallowed them up to his ankles.

His gaze followed those tracks, back, to the horizon.

Where chaos raged. Filling the sky, a storm such as he had never seen before. Rapacious hunger poured from it. Frenzied anticipation.

Lost memories.

Power born from rendered souls.

Malice and desire, a presence almost self-aware, with hundreds of thousands of eyes all fixed on the wagon behind Paran.

So … so eager to feed …

He recoiled.

With a gasp, Paran found himself stumbling once more alongside Draconus. The residue of what he had witnessed clung to him, making his heart drum savagely in his chest. Another thirty steps passed before he was able to raise his head, to speak. 'Draconus,' he grated, 'you have made a very unpleasant sword.'

'Darkness has ever warred against Chaos, mortal. Ever retreated. And each time that Mother Dark relented — to the Coming of Light, to the Birth of Shadow — her power has diminished, the imbalance growing more profound. Such was the state of the realms around me in those early times. A growing imbalance. Until Chaos approached the very Gate to Kurald Galain itself. A defence needed to be fashioned. Souls were … required …'

'Wait, please. I need to think-'

'Chaos hungers for the power in those souls — for what Dragnipur has claimed. To feed on such power will make it stronger — tenfold. A hundredfold. Sufficient to breach the Gate. Look to your mortal realm, Ganoes Paran. Devastating, civilization-destroying wars, civil wars, pogroms, wounded and dying gods — you and your kind progress at a perilous pace on the path forged by Chaos. Blinded by rage, lusting for vengeance, those darkest of desires-'

'Wait-'

'Where history means nothing. Lessons are forgotten. Memories — of humanity, of all that is humane — are lost. Without balance, Ganoes Paran-'

'But you want me to shatter Dragnipur!'

'Ah, now I understand your resistance to all that I say. Mortal, I have had time to think. To recognize the grave error I have made. I had believed, Ganoes Paran, in those early times, that only in Darkness could the power that is order be manifested. I sought to help Mother Dark — for it seemed she was incapable of helping herself. She would not answer, she would not even acknowledge her children. She had withdrawn, deep into her own realm, far from all of us, so far that we could not find her.'

'Draconus-'

'Hear me, please. Before the Houses, there were Holds. Before Holds, there was wandering. Your own words, yes? But you were both right and wrong. Not wandering, but