Memories of Ice

'Could still be that untoward skew,' another voice interjected. 'You ain't got Fid's natural hand, Spin-'

'Enough of that, Hedge,' the corporal snapped. 'Spindle's done enough readings to be the real thing, trust me.'

'Didn't you just-'

'Shut up.'

'Besides,' Spindle muttered, 'I told you already, the new card's got a fixed influence — it's the glue holding everything together, and once you see that it all makes sense.'

'The glue, you said,' the fourth and final voice — also a woman's — mused. 'Linked to a new ascendant, you think?'

'Beats me, Blend,' Spindle sighed. 'I said a fixed influence, but I didn't say I knew the aspect of that influence. I don't know, and not because I'm not good enough. It's like it hasn't … woken up yet. A passive presence, for the moment. Nothing more than that. When it does awaken … well, things should heat up nicely, is my guess.'

'So,' the corporal said, 'what are we looking at here, mage?'

'Same as before. Soldier of High House Death's right-hand to Obelisk. Magi of Shadow's here — first time for that one, too — a grand deception's at work, is my guess. The Captain of High House Light holds out some hope, but it's shaded by Hood's Herald — though not directly, there's a distance there, I think. The Assassin of High House Shadow seems to have acquired a new face, I'm getting hints of it … bloody familiar, that face.'

The one named Hedge grunted. 'Should bring Quick Ben in on this-'

'That's it!' Spindle hissed. 'The Assassin's face — it's Kalam!'

'Bastard!' Hedge growled. 'I'd suspected as much — him and Fid paddling off the way they did — you know what this means, don't you…'

'We can guess,' the corporal said, sounding unhappy. 'But the other thing's clear, Spin, isn't it?'

'Aye. Seven Cities is about to rise — may have already. The Whirlwind … Hood must be smiling right now. Smiling something fierce.'

'I got some questions for Quick Ben,' Hedge muttered. 'Don't I just.'

'You should ask him about the new card, too,' Spindle said. 'If he don't mind crawling, let him take a look.'

'Aye…'

A new card of the Deck of Dragons? Crone cocked her head up farther, thinking furiously. New cards were trouble, especially ones with power. The House of Shadow was proof enough of that… Her eyes — one, then, as she further cocked her head, the other — slowly focused, her mind dragged back from its abstracted realm, fixing at last on the underside of the table.

To find a pair of human eyes, the paint glittering as if alive, staring back down at her.

The Mhybe stepped out of the tent, her mind befuddled with exhaustion. Silverfox had fallen asleep in her chair, during one of Kruppe's rambling accounts describing yet another peculiarity of the Trygalle Trade Guild's Rules of Contract, and the Mhybe had decided to let the child be.

In truth, she longed for some time away from her daughter. A pressure was building around Silverfox, an incessant need that, moment by moment, was taking ever more of the Mhybe's life-spirit. Of course, this feeble attempt at escape was meaningless. The demand was boundless, and no conceivable distance could effect a change. Her flight from the tent, from her daughter's presence, held naught but symbolic meaning.

Her bones were a rack of dull, incessant pains, an ebb and flow of twinges that only the deepest of sleep could temporarily evade — the kind of sleep that had begun to elude her.

Paran emerged from the tent and approached. 'I would ask you something, Mhybe, then I shall leave you in peace.'

Oh, you poor, savaged man. What would you have me answer? 'What do you wish to know, Captain?'

Paran stared out at the sleeping camp. 'If someone wished to hide a table …'

She blinked, then smiled. 'You will find them in the tent of the Shrouds — it is unfrequented for the moment. Come, I shall take you there.'

'Directions will suffice-'

'Walking eases the aches, Captain. This way.' She made her way between the first of the tent rows. 'You have stirred Tattersail awake,' she observed after a few moments. 'As a dominant personality for my daughter, I think I am pleased by the development.'

'I am glad for that, Mhybe.'

'What was the sorceress like, Captain?'

'Generous … perhaps to a fault. A highly respected and indeed well-liked cadre mage.'

Oh, sir, you hold so much within yourself, chained and in darkness. Detachment is a flaw, not a virtue — don't you realize that?

He went on, 'You might well have viewed, from your Rhivi perspective, the Malazan forces on this continent as some kind of unstoppable, relentless monster, devouring city after city. But it was never like that. Poorly supplied, often outnumbered, in territories they had no familiarity with — by all accounts, Onearm's Host was being chewed to pieces. The arrival of Brood, the Tiste Andii, and the Crimson Guard stopped the campaign in its tracks. The cadre mages were often all that stood between the Host and annihilation.'

'Yet they had the Moranth …'

'Aye, though not as reliable as you might think. None the less, their alchemical munitions have changed the nature of warfare, not to mention the mobility of their quorls. The Host has come to rely heavily on both.'

'Ah, I see faint lantern-glow coming from the Shroud — there, directly ahead. There have been rumours that all was not well with the Moranth …'

Paran shot her a glance, then shrugged. 'A schism has occurred, triggered by a succession of defeats weathered by their elite forces, the Gold. At the moment, we have the Black at our side, and none other, though the Blue continue on the sea-lanes to Seven Cities.'

They were startled by the staggering appearance of a Great Raven from the Shroud's flap. She reeled drunkenly, flopped onto her chest but three paces from the Mhybe and the Malazan. Crone's head jerked up, one eye fixing on Paran.

'You!' she hissed, then, spreading her vast wings, she sprang into the air. Heavy, savage thuds of her wings lifted her up into the darkness. A moment later she was gone.

The Mhybe glanced at the captain. The man was frowning.

'Crone showed no sign of fearing you before,' she murmured.

Paran shrugged.

Voices sounded from the Shroud, and a moment later figures began filing out, the lead one carrying a hooded lantern.

'Far enough,' the captain growled.

The woman with the lantern flinched, then thumped a wrong-handed salute. 'Sir. We have just made a discovery — in this tent, sir. The purloined table has been found.'

'Indeed,' Paran drawled. 'Well done, Corporal. You and your fellow soldiers have shown admirable diligence.'

'Thank you, sir.'

The captain strode towards the tent. 'It is within, you said?'

'Yes sir.'

'Well, military decorum insists we return it to the warlord at once, wouldn't you agree, Picker?'

'Absolutely, sir.'

Paran paused and surveyed the soldiers. 'Hedge, Spindle, Blend. Four in all. I trust you will be able to manage.'

Corporal Picker blinked. 'Sir?'

'Carrying the table, of course.'

'Uh, might I suggest we find a few more soldiers-'

'I think not. We are departing in the morning, and I want the company well rested, so best not disturb their sleep. It shouldn't take the four of you more than an hour, I would judge, which will give you a few moments to spare readying your kits. Well, best not delay, Corporal, hmm?'

'Yes, sir.' Picker glumly swung to her soldiers. 'Dust up your hands, we've work to do. Spindle, you got a problem?'

The man in question was staring slack-jawed at Paran.

'Spindle?'

'Idiot,' the mage whispered.

'Soldier!'

'How could I have missed it? It's him. As plain as can be. '