Memories of Ice

cannot be broken, not even chipped, and it will cut through wards effortlessly. No warren can defend against it. I would not wager on any blade against it when in Tool's hands. And the creature himself. He is a champion of sorts, isn't he? Among the T'lan Imass, Tool is something unique. You have no idea of the power — the strength — he possesses. Does Tool make you nervous, soldier? I've seen no sign of that.'

'Well,' Toc snapped, 'he's shrunken hide and bones, isn't he? Tool doesn't brush against me at every chance. He doesn't throw smiles at me like lances into my heart, does he? He doesn't mock that I once had a face that didn't make people turn away, does he?'

Her eyes were wide. 'I do not mock your scars,' she said quietly.

He glared over to the three motionless, masked Seguleh. Oh, Hood, I've made a mess of things here, haven't I? Are you laughing behind those face-shields, warriors? 'My apologies, Lady,' he managed. 'I regret my words-'

'Yet hold to them none the less. Very well, it seems I must accept the challenge, then.'

He looked up at her. 'Challenge?'

She smiled. 'Indeed. Clearly, you think my affection for you is not genuine. I must endeavour to prove otherwise.'

'Lady-'

'And in your efforts to push me away, you'll soon discover that I am not easily pushed.'

'To what end, Lady Envy?' All my defences broken down. for your amusement?

Her eyes flashed and Toc knew, with certainty, the truth of his thoughts. Pain stole through him like cold iron. He began unfolding the first tent.

Garath and Baaljagg arrived, bounding up to circle around Lady Envy. A moment later a swirl of dust rose from the ochre grasses a few paces from where Toc crouched. Tool appeared, carrying across his shoulders the carcass of a pronghorn antelope, which he shrugged off to thump on the ground.

Toc saw no wounds on the animal. Probably scared it to death.

'Oh, wonderful!' Lady Envy cried. 'We shall dine like nobles tonight!' She swung to her servants. 'Come, Senu, you have some butchering to do.'

Won't be the first time, either.

'And you other two, uhm, what shall we devise for you? Idle hands just won't do. Mok, you shall assemble the hide bath-tub. Set it on that hill over there. You needn't worry about water or perfumed oils — I shall take care of all that. Thurule, unpack my combs and robe, there's a good lad.'

Toc glanced over to see Tool facing him. The scout grimaced wryly.

The T'lan Imass strode over. 'We can begin our arrow-making efforts, soldier.'

'Aye, once I'm done with the tents.'

'Very well. I shall assemble the raw material we have collected. We must fashion a tool kit.'

Toc had put up enough tents in his soldiering days to allow him to maintain fair attention on Tool's preparations while he worked. The T'lan Imass knelt beside the antelope and, with no apparent effort, broke off both antlers down near the base. He then moved to one side and unslung the hide bag he carried, loosening the drawstring so that it unfolded onto the ground, revealing a half-dozen large obsidian cobbles collected on their passage across the old lava flow, and an assortment of different kinds of stones which had come from the shoreline beyond the Jaghut tower, along with bone-reeds and a brace of dead seagulls, both of which were still strapped to Toc's pack.

It was always a wonder — and something of a shock — to watch the deftness of the undead warrior's withered, almost fleshless hands, as he worked. An artist's hands. Selecting one of the obsidian cobbles, the T'lan Imass picked up one of the larger beach stones and with three swift blows detached three long, thin blades of the volcanic glass. A few more concussive strikes created a series of flakes that varied in size and thickness.

Tool set down the hammerstone and the obsidian core. Sorting through the flakes, he chose one, gripping it in his left hand, then, with his right, he reached for one of the antlers. Using the tip of the foremost tine of the antler, the T'lan Imass began punching minute flakes from the edge of the larger flake.

Beside Toc the Younger, Lady Envy sighed. 'Such extraordinary skill. Do you think, in the time before we began to work metal, we all possessed such abilities?'

The scout shrugged. 'Seems likely. According to some Malazan scholars, the discovery of iron occurred only half a thousand years ago — for the peoples of the Quon Tali continent, in any case. Before that, everyone used bronze. And before bronze we used unalloyed copper and tin. Before those, why not stone?'

'Ah, I knew you had been educated, Toc the Younger. Human scholars, alas, tend to think solely in terms of human accomplishments. Among the Elder Races, the forging of metals was quite sophisticated. Improvements on iron itself were known. My father's sword, for example.'

He grunted. 'Sorcery. Investment. It replaces technological advancement — it's often a means of supplanting the progress of mundane knowledge.'

'Why, soldier, you certainly do have particular views when it comes to sorcery. However, did I detect something of rote in your words? Which bitter scholar — some failed sorcerer no doubt — has espoused such views?'

Despite himself, Toc grinned. 'Aye, fair enough. Not a scholar, in fact, but a High Priest.'

'Ah, well, cults see any advancement — sorcerous or, indeed, mundane — as potential threats. You must dismantle your sources, Toc the Younger, lest you do nothing but ape the prejudices of others.'

'You sound just like my father.'

'You should have heeded his wisdom.'

I should have. But I never did. Leave the Empire, he said. Find someplace beyond the reach of the court, beyond the commanders and the Claw. Keep your head low, son…

Finished with the last of the three tents, Toc made his way to Tool's side. Seventy paces away, on the summit of a nearby hill, Mok had assembled the wood-framed hide-lined bath-tub. Lady Envy, Thurule marching at her side with folded robe and bath-kit in his arms, made her way towards it. The wolf and dog sat close to Senu where he worked on the antelope. The Seguleh flung spare bits of meat to the animals every now and then.

Tool had completed four small stone tools — a backed blade; some kind of scraper, thumbnail-sized; a crescent-bladed piece with its inside edge finely worked; and a drill or punch. He now turned to the original three large flakes of obsidian.

Crouching down beside the T'lan Imass, Toc examined the finished items. 'All right,' he said after a few moments' examination, 'I'm starting to understand this. These ones are for working the shaft and the fletching, yes?'

Tool nodded. 'The antelope will provide us with the raw material. We need gut string for binding. Hide for the quiver and its straps.'

'What about this crescent-shaped one?'

'The bone-reed shafts must be trued.'

'Ah, yes, I see. Won't we need some kind of glue or pitch?'

'Ideally, yes. Since this is a treeless plain, however, we shall make do with what we possess. The fletching will be tied on with gut.'

'You make the fashioning of arrowheads look easy, Tool, but something tells me it isn't.'

'Some stone is sand, some is water. Edged tools can be made of the stone that is water. Crushing tools are made of the stone that is sand, but only the hardest of those.'

'And here I've gone through life thinking stone is stone.'

'In our language, we possess many names for stone. Names that tell of its nature, names that describe its function, names for what has happened to it and what will happen to it, names for the spirit residing within it, names-'

'All right, all right! I see your point. Why don't we talk about something else?'

'Such as?'

Toc glanced over at the other hill. Only Lady Envy's head and knees were visible above the tub's framework.