Memories of Ice

protector.'

'Kallor will work to sway the warlord,' Dujek asserted, 'with argument rather than with his sword. He may well seek Rake's support, as well…'

The commander eyed the High Fist. 'Kallor's paid you a visit.'

'Aye, and he's a persuasive bastard. Even to the point of dispelling his enmity towards you — he's not been physically struck in centuries, or so he said. He also said he deserved it.'

'Generous of him,' Whiskeyjack drawled. When it's politically expedient. 'I'll not stand to one side in the butchering of a child,' the commander added in a cold voice. 'No matter what power or potential is within her.'

Dujek glanced up. 'In defiance of my command, should I give it?'

'We've known each other a long time, Dujek.'

'Aye, we have. Stubborn.'

'When it matters.'

The two men said nothing for a time, then the High Fist looked away and sighed. 'I should bust you back down to sergeant.'

Whiskeyjack laughed.

'Pour me another,' Dujek growled. 'We've got an emissary from Darujhistan on the way and I want to be properly cheerful when he arrives.'

'What if Kallor's right?'

The Mhybe's eyes narrowed. 'Then, Warlord, you had best give him leave to cut me down the same time he kills my daughter.'

Caladan Brood's wide, flat brow furrowed as he scowled down at her. 'I remember you, you know. Among the tribes when we campaigned in the north. Young, fiery, beautiful. Seeing you — seeing what the child has done to you — causes pain within me, woman.'

'Mine is greater, I assure you, Warlord, yet I choose to accept it-'

'Your daughter is killing you — why?'

The Mhybe glanced across at Korlat. The Tiste Andii's expression was distraught. The air within the tent was sweltering, the currents around the three of them damp and turgid. After a moment, the old woman returned her gaze to Caladan Brood. 'Silverfox is of Tellann, of the T'lan Imass, Warlord. They have no life-force to give her. They are kin, yet can offer no sustenance, for they are undead, whilst their new child is flesh and blood. Tattersail too is dead. As was Nightchill. Kinship is more important than you might think. Blood-bound lives are the web that carries each of us; they make up that which a life climbs, from newborn to child, then child to adulthood. Without such life- forces, one withers and dies. To be alone is to be ill, Warlord, not just spiritually, but physically as well. I am my daughter's web, and I am alone in that-'

Brood was shaking his head. 'Your explanation does not answer her … impatience, Mhybe. She claims she will command the T'lan Imass. She claims they have heard her summons. Does this not in turn mean that the undead armies have already accepted her?'

Korlat spoke up. 'Warlord, you believe Silverfox seeks to hasten her own growth in order to confirm her authority when she comes face to face with the T'lan Imass? The undead armies will reject a child summoner — is this your belief?'

'I am seeking the reason for what she's doing to her mother, Korlat,' Brood said, with a pained expression.

'You might well be correct, Warlord,' the Mhybe said. 'Bone and flesh can hold only so much power — the limit is always finite. For such beings as you and Anomander Rake — and you, too, Korlat — you possess the centuries of living necessary to contain what you command. Silverfox does not, or, rather, her memories tell her she does, yet her child's body denies those memories. Thus, vast power awaits her, and to fully command it she must be a grown woman — and even then …'

'Ascendancy is born of experience,' Korlat said. 'An interesting notion, Mhybe.'

'And experience. tempers,' the Rhivi woman nodded.

'Thus, Kallor's fear,' Brood rumbled, rising from his chair with a restless sigh. 'Untempered power.'

'It may be,' Korlat said in a low voice, 'that Kallor himself is the cause of the child's impatience — she seeks to become a woman in order to alleviate his fears.'

'I'd doubt he'd appreciate the irony,' the warlord muttered. 'Alleviate, you said? Thinking on it, more likely she knows she'll have to defend herself against him sooner or later-'

'A secret hovers between them,' Korlat murmured.

There was silence. All knew the truth of that, and all were troubled. One of the souls within Silverfox had crossed paths with Kallor before. Tattersail, Bellurdan or Nightchill.

After a long moment, Brood cleared his throat. 'Life experiences … the child possesses those, does she not, Mhybe? The three Malazan mages …'

The Mhybe smiled wearily. 'A Thelomen, two women, and myself — one father and three reluctant mothers to the same child. The father's presence seems so faint that I have begun to suspect it exists only as Nightchill's memory. As for the two women, I am seeking to discover who they were, and what I have learned thus far — of Tattersail — comforts me.'

'And Nightchill?' Korlat asked.

Brood interjected, 'Did not Rake kill her here at Pale?'

'No, Nightchill was ambushed — betrayed — by the High Mage Tayschrenn,' the Tiste Andii replied. 'We have been informed,' she added drily, 'that Tayschrenn has since fled back to the Empress.' Korlat faced the Mhybe again. 'What have you learned of her?'

'I have seen flashes of darkness within Silverfox,' the Rhivi woman replied reluctantly, 'which I would attribute to Nightchill. A seething anger, a hunger for vengeance, possibly against Tayschrenn. At some time, perhaps soon, there will be a clash between Tattersail and Nightchill — the victor will come to dominate my daughter's nature.'

Brood was silent for a half-dozen breaths, then said, 'What can we do to aid this Tattersail?'

'The Malazans are seeking to do that very thing, Warlord. Much rests on their efforts. We must have faith in them. In Whiskeyjack, and in Captain Paran — the man who was once Tattersail's lover.'

'I have spoken with Whiskeyjack,' Korlat said. 'He possesses an unshakeable integrity, Warlord. An honourable man.'

'I hear your heart in your words,' Brood observed.

Korlat shrugged. 'Less cause to doubt me, then, Caladan. I am not careless in such matters.'

The warlord grunted. 'I dare not take another step in that direction,' he said wryly. 'Mhybe, hold close to your daughter. Should you begin to see the spirit of Nightchill rising and that of Tattersail setting, inform me at once.'

And should that occur, my telling you will see my daughter killed.

'My thoughts,' Brood continued, his thin eyes fixed on her, 'are not settled on that matter. Rather, such an event may well lead to my more directly supporting the Malazans in their efforts on Tattersail's behalf.'

The Mhybe raised her brows. 'Precisely how, Warlord?'

'Have faith in me,' Brood said.

The Rhivi woman sighed, then nodded. 'Very well, I shall so inform you.'

The tent flap was drawn back and Hurlochel, Brood's standard-bearer, entered. 'Warlord,' he said, 'the Darujhistan contingent approach our camp.'

'Let us go to meet them, then.'

Since arriving, the hooded driver seemed to have fallen asleep. The huge, ornate carriage's double doors opened from within and a regent-blue slippered foot emerged. Arrayed before the carriage and its train of six jewel-decked horses, in a crescent, were the representatives of the two allied armies: Dujek, Whiskeyjack, Twist and Captain Paran to the left, and Caladan Brood, Kallor, Korlat, Silverfox and the Mhybe to the right.

The Rhivi matron had been left exhausted by the events of the night just past, and her meeting with Brood had added yet more layers of weariness — the holding back on so much in the face of the warlord's hard questions had been difficult, yet, she felt, necessary. Her daughter's meeting with Paran had been far more strained and uncertain than the Mhybe had suggested to Brood. Nor had the intervening hours since then diminished the