Memories of Ice

shown his own true power? Brood's an ascendant — one forgets that, in careless times. His warren is Tennes — the power of the land itself, the earth that is home to the eternal sleeping goddess, Burn. Caladan Brood has the power — there in his arms and in that formidable hammer on his back — to shatter mountains. An exaggeration? A low flight over the broken peaks east of the Laederon Plateau is proof enough of his younger, more precipitous days. Grandmother Crone, you should know better! Power draws power. It has always been thus, and now have come the T'lan Imass, and once again the balance shifts.

My children spy upon the Pannion Domin — they can smell the power rising from those lands so thoroughly sanctified in blood, yet it remains faceless, as if hidden beneath layer after deceiving layer. What hides at the core of that empire of fanatics!

The horrific child knows — I'd swear on the god's bed of broken flesh to that, oh yes. And she will lead the T'lan Imass … to that very heart.

Do you grasp this, Caladan Brood? I think you do. And, even as that hoary old tyrant Kallor utters his warnings with a bloodless will. even as you are rocked by the imminent arrival of undead allies, so you are jolted even more by the fact that they will be needed. Against what have we proclaimed war? What will be left of us when we are done?

And, by the Abyss, what secret truth about Silverfox does Kallor possess?

Defying her own overwhelming self-disgust, the Mhybe forced brutal clarity into her thoughts, listening to all that Silverfox said, to each word, to what lay between each word. She hugged herself beneath the barrage of her daughter's pronouncements. The laying bare of secrets assailed her every instinct — such exposure was fraught with risks. Yet she finally understood something of the position in which Silverfox had found herself — the confessions were a call for help.

She needs allies. She knows I am not enough — spirits below, she has been shown that here. More, she knows that these two camps — enemies for so long — need to be bridged. Born in one, she reaches out to the other. All that was Tattersail and Nightchill cries out to old comrades. Will they answer?

She could discern nothing of Whiskeyjack's emotions. His thoughts might well be echoing Kallor's position. An abomination. She saw him meet Korlat's eyes and wondered at what passed between them.

Think! It is the nature of everyone here to treat every situation tactically, to push away personal feelings, to gauge, to weigh and balance. Silverfox has stepped to the fore; she has claimed a position of power to rival Brood, Anomander Rake and Kallor. Does Dujek Onearm now wonder with whom he should be dealing? Does he realize that we were all united because of him — that, for twelve years, the clans of Barghast and Rhivi, the disparate companies from a score or more cities, the Tiste Andii, the presence of Rake, Brood and Kallor, not to mention the Crimson Guard — all of us, we stood shoulder to shoulder because of the Malazan Empire? Because of the High Fist himself.

But we have a new enemy now, and much of its nature remains unknown, and it has engendered a kind of fragility among us — oh, what an understatement — that Dujek Onearm now sees.

Silverfox states that we shall have need of the T'lan Imass. Only the vicious old Emperor could have been comfortable with such creatures as allies — even Kallor recoils from what is being forced upon us. The fragile alliance now creaks and totters. You are too wise a man, High Fist, to not now possess grave doubts.

The onearmed old man was the first to speak after Silverfox's statement, and he addressed the child with slow, carefully measured words. 'The T'lan Imass with whom the Malazan Empire is familiar is the army commanded by Logros. By your words we must assume there are other armies, yet no knowledge of them has ever reached us. Why is that, child?'

'The last Gathering,' Silverfox replied, 'was hundreds of thousands of years ago, at which was invoked the Ritual of Tellann — the binding of the Tellann warren to each and every Imass. The ritual made them immortal, High Fist. The life force of an entire people was bound in the name of a holy war destined to last for millennia-'

'Against the Jaghut,' Kallor rasped. His narrow, withered face twisted into a sneer behind the already-drying blood. 'Apart from a handful of Tyrants, the Jaghut were pacifists. Their only crime was to exist-'

Silverfox rounded on the warrior. 'Do not hint at injustices, High King! I possess enough of Nightchill's memories to recall the Imperial Warren — the place you once ruled, Kallor, before the Malazans made claim to it. You laid waste an entire realm — you stripped the life from it, left nothing but ash and charred bones. An entire realm!'

The tall warrior's blood-smeared grin was ghastly. 'Ah, you are there, aren't you. But hiding, I think, twisting the truth into false memories. Hiding, you pathetic, cursed woman!' His smile hardened. 'Then you should know not to test my temper, Bonecaster. Tattersail. Nightchill. dear child. .'

The Mhybe saw her daughter pale. Between these two. the feel of a long enmity — why had I not seen that before? There are old memories here, a link between them. Between my daughter and Kallor — no, between Kallor and one of the souls within her.

After a moment, Silverfox returned her attention to Dujek. 'To answer you, Logros and the clans under his command were entrusted with the task of defending the First Throne. The other armies departed to hunt down the last Jaghut strongholds — the Jaghut had raised barriers of ice. Omtose Phellack is a warren of ice, High Fist, a place deathly cold and almost lifeless. Jaghut sorceries threatened the world. sea levels dropped, whole species died out — every mountain range was a barrier. Ice flowed in white rivers down from the slopes. Ice formed a league deep in places. As mortals, the Imass were scattered, their unity lost. They could not cross such barriers. There was starvation-'

'The war against the Jaghut had begun long before then,' Kallor snapped. 'They sought to defend themselves, and who would not?'

Silverfox simply shrugged. 'As Tellann undead, our armies could cross such barriers. The efforts at eradication proved … costly. You have heard no whispers of those armies because many have been decimated, whilst others perhaps continue the war in distant, inhospitable places.'

There was a pained expression on the High Fist's face. 'The Logros themselves left the empire and disappeared into the Jhag Odhan for a time, and when they returned they were much diminished.'

She nodded.

'Have the Logros answered your call?'

Frowning, the girl said, 'I cannot be certain of that — of any of them. They have heard. All will come if they are able, and I sense the nearness of one army — at least I think I do.'

There is so much you are not telling us, daughter. I can see it in your eyes. You fear your call for help will go unanswered if you reveal too much.

Dujek sighed and faced the warlord. 'Caladan Brood, shall we resume our discussion of strategy?'

The soldiers once again leaned over the map table, joined by a softly cackling Crone. After a moment, the Mhybe collected her daughter's hand and guided her towards the entrance. Korlat joined them as they made their way out. To the Mhybe's surprise, Whiskeyjack followed.

The cool afternoon breeze was welcome after the close confines of the command tent. Without a word, the small group walked a short distance to a clearing between the Tiste Andii and Barghast encampments. Once they halted, the commander fixed his grey eyes on Silverfox.

'I see much of Tattersail in you, lass — how much of her life, her memories, do you recall?'

'Faces,' she answered, with a tentative smile. 'And the feelings attached to them, Commander. You and I were allies for a time. We were, I think, friends …'

His nod was grave. 'Aye, we were. Do you remember Quick Ben? The rest of my squad? What of Hairlock? Tayschrenn? Do you recall Captain Paran?'

'Quick Ben,' she whispered uncertainly. 'A mage? Seven Cities … a man of secrets … yes,' she smiled again, 'Quick Ben. Hairlock — not a friend, a threat — he caused me pain. '

'He's dead, now.'

'I am relieved. Tayschrenn is a name I've heard recently — Laseen's favoured High Mage — we sparred, he and I, when I was Tattersail, and, indeed, when I was Nightchill. No sense of loyalty, no sense of trust — thoughts of him confuse me.'