Memories of Ice

'Seems likely, Ganoes Paran, does it not?'

The captain sighed. 'Aye.'

'Now, let us go down to meet Silverfox.'

'No.'

'Damn you, Paran,' Whiskeyjack growled. 'This is about more than just you and her all starry-eyed. That child possesses power, and it's vast and. and unknown. Kallor has murder in his eyes when he looks at her. Silverfox is in danger. The question is, do we protect her or stand aside? The High King calls her an abomination, Captain. Should Caladan Brood turn his back at the wrong moment-'

'He'll kill her? Why?'

'He fears, I gather, the power within her.'

'Hood's breath, she's just a-' He stopped, realizing the venality of the assertion. Just a child? Hardly. 'Protect her against Kallor, you said. That's a risky position to assume, Commander. Who stands with us?'

'Korlat, and by extension, all of the Tiste Andii.'

'Anomander Rake?'

'That we don't yet know. Korlat's mistrust of Kallor, coupled with a friendship with the Mhybe, has guided her to her decision. She says she will speak with her master when he arrives-'

'Arrives?'

'Aye. Tomorrow, possibly early, and if so you'd best avoid him, if at all possible.'

Paran nodded. One meeting was enough. 'And the warlord?'

'Undecided, we think. But Brood needs the Rhivi and their bhederin herds. For the moment, at least, he remains the girl's chief protector.'

'And what does Dujek think of all this?' the captain asked.

'He awaits your decision.'

'Mine? Beru fend, Commander — I'm no mage or priest. Nor can I glean the child's future.'

'Tattersail resides within Silverfox, Paran. She must be drawn forth … to the fore.'

'Because Tattersail would never betray us. Yes, now I see.'

'You needn't sound so miserable about it, Paran.'

No? And if you stood in my place, Whiskeyjack? 'Very well, lead on.'

'It seems,' Whiskeyjack said, striding to the edge of the barrow's summit, 'we will have to promote you to a rank equal to mine, Captain, if only to circumvent your confusion as to who commands who around here.'

Their arrival was a quiet, stealthy affair, leading their mounts into the encampment with the minimum of fuss. Few Tiste Andii remained outside their tents to take note. Sergeant Antsy led the main group of Bridgeburners towards the kraal to settle in the horses, whilst Corporal Picker, Detoran, Blend, Trotts and Hedge slipped away to find Brood's command tent. Spindle awaited them at its entrance.

Picker gave him a nod and the mage, wrapped in his foul-smelling hairshirt with its equally foul hood thrown over his head, turned to face the tied-down entrance flap. He made a series of hand gestures, paused, then spat at the canvas. There was no sound as the spit struck the flap. He swung a grin to Picker, then bowed before the entrance in invitation.

Hedge nudged the corporal and rolled his eyes.

There were two rooms within, she knew, and the warlord was sleeping in the back one. Hopefully. Picker looked around for Blend — damn, where is she? Here a moment ago-

Two fingers brushed her arm and she nearly leapt out of her leathers. Beside her, Blend smiled. Picker mouthed a silent stream of curses. Blend's smile broadened, then she stepped past, up to the tent entrance, where she crouched down to untie the fastenings.

Picker glanced over a shoulder. Detoran and Trotts stood side by side a few paces back, both hulking and monstrous.

At the corporal's side Hedge nudged her again, and she turned to see that Blend had drawn back the flap.

All right, Jet's get this done.

Blend led the way, followed by Spindle, then Hedge. Picker waved the Napan and the Barghast forward, then followed them into the tent's dark confines.

Even with Trotts at one end and Detoran at the other, with Spindle and Hedge at the sides, the table had them staggering before they'd gone three paces. Blend moved ahead of them to pull the flap back as far as she could. Within the sorcerous silence, the four soldiers managed to manoeuvre the massive table outside. Picker watched, glancing back at the divider every few moments — but the warlord made no appearance. So far so good.

The corporal and Blend added their muscles in carrying the table, and the six of them managed to take it fifty paces before exhaustion forced them to halt.

'Not much further,' Spindle whispered.

Detoran sniffed. 'They'll find it.'

'That's a wager I'll call you on,' Picker said. 'But first, let's get it there.'

'Can't you make this thing any lighter?' Hedge whined at Spindle. 'What kind of mage are you, anyway?'

Spindle scowled. 'A weak one, what of it? Look at you — you're not even sweating!'

'Quiet, you two,' Picker hissed. 'Come on, heave her up, now.'

'Speaking of heaving,' Hedge muttered as, amid a chorus of grunts, the table once again rose from the ground, 'when are you gonna wash that disgusting shirt of yours, Spindle?'

'Wash it? Mother never washed her hair when she was alive — why should I start now? It'll lose its lustre-'

'Lustre? Oh, you mean fifty years of sweat and rancid lard-'

'Wasn't rancid when she was alive, though, was it?'

'Thank Hood I don't know-'

'Will you two save your foul breath? Which way now, Spindle?'

'Right. Down that alley. Then left — the hide tent at the end-'

'Bet someone's living in it,' Detoran muttered.

'You're on with that one, too,' Picker said. 'It's the one the Rhivi use to lay out Tiste Andii corpses before cremation. Ain't been a killed Tiste since Darujhistan.'

'How'd you find it anyway?' Hedge asked.

'Spindle sniffed it out-'

'Surprised he can sniff anything-'

'All right, set her down. Blend — the flap.'

The table filled the entire room within, with only an arm's length of space around it on all sides. The low cots that had been used for the corpses went beneath, folded and stacked. A shuttered lantern was lit and hung from the centre-pole hook. Picker watched Hedge crouch down, his eyes inches from the table's scarred, pitted surface, and run his blunt, battered fingers lovingly along the wood's grain. 'Beautiful,' he whispered. He glanced up, met Picker's eyes. 'Call in the crew, Corporal, the game's about to start.'

Grinning, Picker nodded. 'Go get 'em, Blend.'

'Even cuts,' Hedge said, glaring at everyone. 'We're a squad now-'

'Meaning you let us in on the secret,' Spindle said, scowling. 'If we'd known you was cheating all that time-'

'Yeah, well, your fortunes are about to turn, ain't they? So quit the complaining.'

'Aren't you two a perfect match,' Picker observed. 'So tell us, Hedge, how does this work?'

'Oppositions, Corporal. Both Decks are the real thing, you see. Fiddler had the better sensitivity, but Spindle should be able to pull it off.' He faced the mage. 'You've done readings before, haven't you? You said-'

'Yeah yeah, squirt — no problem, I got the touch-'

'You'd better,' the sapper warned. He caressed the tabletop again. 'Two layers, you see, with the fixed Deck in between 'em. Lay a card down and there's a tension formed, and it tells ya which one the face-down one is. Never fails. Dealer knows every hand he plays out. Fiddler-'

'Ain't here,' Trotts growled, his arms crossed. He bared his teeth at Spindle.

The mage sputtered. 'I can do it, you horse-brained savage! Watch me!'

'Shut up,' Picker snapped. 'They're coming.'

It was near dawn when the other squads began filing back out of the tent, laughing and back-slapping as they jingled bulging purses. When the last of them had left, voices trailing away, Picker slumped wearily down on the table. Spindle, sweat dripping from his gleaming hairshirt, groaned and dropped his head, thumping against the thick wood.