Memories of Ice

Paran glanced back at the sky to the north.

Dragons, diving towards the city, waves of power lashing down to thunder in the streets, against buildings, darkness billowing.

Great Ravens, wheeling, voicing triumphant cries.

'Uh, it's not going to clear …'

The captain frowned at Quick Ben's strange statement. Clear? What's not — he snapped his head round, back to Moon's Spawn. Oh.

The base of the floating mountain was directly opposite, sliding ever closer. So close — towering, filling the sky.

'I thought Rake would at least come down in person for this,' the wizard went on. 'Instead, he's elected something … uh, less subtle.'

Like obliterating this entire keep and everyone in it. 'Quick Ben-'

'Aye, we'd better make our move.'

A huge black panther flowed from the stairwell, paused, lambent eyes taking in the scene on the rooftop, then fixing on the Seer.

Quick Ben was suddenly on his feet. 'No!' he shouted to the beast. 'Wait!'

The panther's huge head swung to the wizard, eyes blazing, lips peeling back.

'I don't think it wants to wait.'

Tail lashing, the panther drew a step closer to the cowering Seer — whose back was to them all-

'Damn!' Quick Ben hissed. 'Time's now, Talamandas!'

Who?

Moon's Spawn struck the parapet roof's wall with a grinding, grating crunch. The inexorable wall of stone ploughed forward-

The Matron screamed-

Wet, streaming basalt pinned the K'Chain Che'Malle where she lay, then seemed to gather her in. Blood sprayed, bones snapped, Moon's Spawn's apex edging across the rooftop, leaving in its wake chewed tiles and smears of blood and flesh.

The Seer shrieked, backpedalled — directly towards the panther, which suddenly coiled-

Moon's Spawn sank suddenly, dropping a man's height, punching through the roof.

Tiles dipped beneath Paran, bricks buckling on all sides — the world swayed.

Quick Ben struck. Sorcery tumbling out, hammering into the panther's flank — sending it flying, claws skittering-

'Follow me!' the wizard screamed, lunging forward.

Paran, struggling to maintain his balance, reached and grasped the wizard's rain-cape, was pulled along. So it's now — to cheat them all. Gods forgive us.

The Seer spun to them — 'What?'

'Talamandas!' Quick Ben roared as they closed with the Seer, the wizard throwing himself onto the Jaghut-

Warren opening round them-

— and away.

Portal closing — then flaring as the panther plunged through it in pursuit.

Moon's Spawn settled further, and the parapet burst apart, bricks snapping out to all sides. The two Seguleh darted back from the K'ell Hunters, leapt the low wall behind which Paran and Quick Ben had hidden, and raced for the far end of the roof. Behind them, where the Seer had crouched, a massive chunk of basalt split away from the apex in a gush of saltwater, plunged down to bury the two K'ell Hunters, down, through floor after floor, into the bowels of the keep.

Gruntle staggered, shoulder striking a wall, leaving a red stain as he slowly slid to a crouch. Before him, bent over in exhaustion or pain, kneeling, or standing, blank-faced and ashen, were eight Capan women. Three little more than children, two others with grey in their tangled, sweat-matted hair, their weapons hanging from trembling hands. All he had left.

His Lestari officer was gone, dead, what was left of his body somewhere out in the killing field beyond the wall.

Gruntle lowered his swords, leaned his head back against the dusty stone facing, and closed his eyes.

He could hear fighting to the west. The Grey Swords had ridden in that direction, searching for Dujek. The Black Moranth had returned to the sky above the westernmost third of the city, and seemed to be concentrated in one particular area, plunging in small groups down into streets as if participating in a desperate defence. The snap of sharpers echoed.

Closer at hand, directly opposite Gruntle and what was left of his legion, a cusser had struck a large tenement. The building was moments from collapsing, raging with flames. Bodies of Pannion soldiers lay amidst rubble in the street.

And, slowly tearing its way through the keep, Moon's Spawn, bleeding its darkness out into the city, the path of its destruction a chorus of demolition.

His eyes remained closed.

Boots kicked through broken masonry, then one nudged Gruntle's thigh.

'Lazy pig!'

The Mortal Sword sighed. 'Stonny-'

'This fight ain't over.'

He opened his eyes, stared up at her. 'It is. Coral's fallen — ha, no, it's falling. And isn't the victory sweet. Where have you been?'

The dusty, sweat-streaked woman shrugged, glanced down at the rapier in her hand. 'Here and there. Did what I could, which wasn't much. The Mott Irregulars are here, did you know that? How in Hood's name did they manage that? Damn if they weren't there, inside the gate, when me and the Grey Swords showed up — and we thought we were first.'

'Stonny-'

The preternatural darkness deepened suddenly.

Moon's Spawn had drawn clear of the keep in a final toppling of walls. Still canted, still raining water and chunks of black rock, it drifted closer, a few men's heights above the city's buildings, filling the sky — now almost above them.

On the high ledge, no-one remained visible. Great Ravens were swinging close to the Moon's sides, then wheeling away again with loud, echoing shrieks.

'Abyss take us,' Stonny whispered, 'that thing looks like it could fall at any moment. Just drop. Straight down — or in pieces. It's finished, Gruntle. Finished.'

He could not disagree. The edifice looked ready to break apart.

Salty rain soaked his upturned face, mist from the mountain looming directly overhead. It was, all at once, as dark as an overcast night, and if not for the reflection from the fires spotting the city, Moon's Spawn would have been virtually invisible. Gods, I wish it was.

The sound of fighting to the west fell away, strangely sudden.

They heard horse hooves pounding the cobbles. A moment later, riding into the glare of the burning buildings opposite, the Destriant of the Grey Swords.

She saw them, slowed her canter and swung her warhorse round to approach, then halt.

'We have found the High Fist, sirs. He lives, as well as at least eight hundred of his soldiers. The city is taken. I return, now, to our staging area beyond the killing field. Will you accompany me, sirs? There will be a gathering. '

Of survivors. He looked around once more. The T'lan Ay were gone. Without those undead wolves, the K'Chain Che'Malle would have killed everyone outside the city. Perhaps they, too, are gathering around that hill. And what of Itkovian! That damned fool. Does he still kneel before the T'lan Imass? Does he still live? Gruntle sighed, slowly pushed himself upright. His gaze fell once more on his few remaining followers. All this, just to get fifty paces inside the gate. 'Aye, Destriant, we'll follow.'