Malazan 3 memories of ice

====================== Notes: This book was scanned and corrected by JASC If you correct any minor errors, please change the version number below (and in the file name) to a slightly higher one e.g from 1.0 to 1.1 or if major revisions, to v 1.0 etc Current e-book version is (most major formatting errors have been corrected; unproofed; chapter titles need fixing) Comments, Questions, Requests(no promises): daytonascan4911@hotmail.com DO NOT READ THIS BOOK OF YOU DO NOT OWN/POSSES THE PHYSICAL COPY THAT IS STEALING FROM THE AUTHOR -Book Information : Genre: Epic Fantasy Author: Steven Erikson Name: Memories of Ice Series: A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen ====================== Memories of Ice A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen Steven Erikson Prologue The ancient wars of the T'lan Imass and the Jaghut saw the world torn asunder Vast armies contended on the ravaged lands, the dead piled high, their bone the bones of hills, their spilled blood the blood of seas Sorceries raged until the sky itself was fire… Ancient Histories, Vol I Kinicik Karbar'n I Maeth'ki Im (Pogrom of the Rotted Flower), the 33rd Jaghut War 298,665 years before Burn's Sleep SWALLOWS DARTED THROUGH THE CLOUDS OF MIDGES DANCING OVER the mudflats The sky above the marsh remained grey, but it had lost its mercurial wintry gleam, and the warm wind sighing through the air above the ravaged land held the scent of healing What had once been the inland freshwater sea the Imass called Jaghra Til - born from the shattering of the Jaghut ice-fields - was now in its own death-throes The pallid overcast was reflected in dwindling pools and stretches of knee-deep water for as far south as the eye could scan, but none the less, newly birthed land dominated the vista The breaking of the sorcery that had raised the glacial age returned to the region the old, natural seasons, but the memories of mountain-high ice lingered The exposed bedrock to the north was gouged and scraped, its basins filled with boulders The heavy silts that had been the floor of the inland sea still bubbled with escaping gases, as the land, freed of the enormous weight with the glaciers' passing eight years past, continued its slow ascent Jaghra Til's life had been short, yet the silts that had settled on its bottom were thick And treacherous Pran Chole, Bonecaster of Cannig Tol's clan among the Kron Imass, sat motionless atop a mostly buried boulder along an ancient beach ridge The descent before him was snarled in low, wiry grasses and withered driftwood Twelve paces beyond, the land dropped slightly, then stretched out into a broad basin of mud Three ranag had become trapped in a boggy sinkhole twenty paces into the basin A bull male, his mate and their calf, ranged in a pathetic defensive circle Mired and vulnerable, they must have seemed easy kills for the pack of ay that found them But the land was treacherous indeed The large tundra wolves had succumbed to the same fate as the ranag Pran Chole counted six ay, including a yearling Tracks indicated that another yearling had circled the sinkhole dozens of times before wandering westward, doomed no doubt to die in solitude How long ago had this drama occurred? There was no way to tell The mud had hardened on ranag and ay alike, forming cloaks of clay latticed with cracks Spots of bright green showed where windborn seeds had germinated, and the Bonecaster was reminded of his visions when spiritwalking - a host of mundane details twisted into something unreal For the beasts, the struggle had become eternal, hunter and hunted locked together for all time Someone padded to his side, crouched down beside him Pran Chole's tawny eyes remained fixed on the frozen tableau The rhythm of footsteps told the Bonecaster the identity of his companion, and now came the warm-blooded smells that were as much a signature as resting eyes upon the man's face Cannig Tol spoke 'What lies beneath the clay, Bonecaster?' 'Only that which has shaped the clay itself, Clan Leader.' 'You see no omen in these beasts?' Pran Chole smiled 'Do you?' Cannig Tol considered for a time, then said, 'Ranag are gone from these lands So too the ay We see before us an ancient battle These statements have depth, for they stir my soul.' 'Mine as well,' the Bonecaster conceded 'We hunted the ranag until they were no more, and this brought starvation to the ay, for we had also hunted the tenag until they were no more as well The agkor who walk with the bhederin would not share with the ay, and now the tundra is empty From this, I conclude that we were wasteful and thoughtless in our hunting.' 'Yet the need to feed our own young…' 'The need for more young was great.' 'It remains so, Clan Leader.' Cannig Tol grunted 'The Jaghut were powerful in these lands, Bonecaster They did not flee - not at first You know the cost in Imass blood.' 'And the land yields its bounty to answer that cost.' 'To serve our war.' 'Thus, the depths are stirred.' The Clan Leader nodded and was silent Pran Chole waited In their shared words they still tracked the skin of things Revelation of the muscle and bone was yet to come But Cannig Tol was no fool, and the wait was not long 'We are as those beasts.' The Bonecaster's eyes shifted to the south horizon, tightened Cannig Tol continued, 'We are the clay, and our endless war against the Jaghut is the struggling beast beneath The surface is shaped by what lies beneath.' He gestured with one hand 'And before us now, in these creatures slowly turning to stone, is the curse of eternity.' There was still more Pran Chole said nothing 'Ranag and ay,' Cannig Tol resumed 'Almost gone from the mortal realm Hunter and hunted both.' 'To the very bones,' the Bonecaster whispered 'Would that you had seen an omen,' the Clan Leader muttered, rising Pran Chole also straightened 'Would that I had,' he agreed in a tone that only faintly echoed Cannig Tol's wry, sardonic utterance 'Are we close, Bonecaster?' Pran Chole glanced down at his shadow, studied the antlered silhouette, the figure hinted within furred cape, ragged hides and headdress The sun's angle made him seem tall - almost as tall as a Jaghut 'Tomorrow,' he said 'They are weakening A night of travel will weaken them yet more.' 'Good Then the clan shall camp here tonight.' The Bonecaster listened as Cannig Tol made his way back down to where the others waited With darkness, Pran Chole would spiritwalk Into the whispering earth, seeking those of his own kind While their quarry was weakening, Cannig Tol's clan was yet weaker Less than a dozen adults remained When pursuing Jaghut, the distinction of hunter and hunted had little meaning He lifted his head and sniffed the crepuscular air Another Bonecaster wandered this land The taint was unmistakable He wondered who it was, wondered why it travelled alone, bereft of clan and kin And, knowing that even as he had sensed its presence so it in turn had sensed his, he wondered why it had not yet sought them out She pulled herself clear of the mud and dropped down onto the sandy bank, her breath coming in harsh, laboured gasps Her son and daughter squirmed free of her leaden arms, crawled further onto the island's modest hump The Jaghut mother lowered her head until her brow rested against the cool, damp sand Grit pressed into the skin of her forehead with raw insistence The burns there were too recent to have healed, nor were they likely to - she was defeated, and death had only to await the arrival of her hunters They were mercifully competent, at least These Imass cared nothing for torture A swift killing blow For her, then for her children And with them - with this meagre, tattered family - the last of the Jaghut would vanish from this continent Mercy arrived in many guises Had they not joined in chaining Raest, they would all - Imass and Jaghut both - have found themselves kneeling before that Tyrant A temporary truce of expedience She'd known enough to flee once the chaining was done; she'd known, even then, that the Imass clan would resume the pursuit The mother felt no bitterness, but that made her no less desperate Sensing a new presence on the small island, her head snapped up Her children had frozen in place, staring up in terror at the Imass woman who now stood before them The mother's grey eyes narrowed 'Clever, Bonecaster My senses were tuned only to those behind us Very well, be done with it.' The young, black-haired woman smiled 'No bargains, Jaghut? You always seek bargains to spare the lives of your children Have you broken the kin-threads with these two, then? They seem young for that.' 'Bargains are pointless Your kind never agree to them.' 'No, yet still your kind try.' 'I shall not Kill us, then Swiftly.' The Imass was wearing the skin of a panther Her eyes were as black and seemed to match its shimmer in the dying light She looked well fed, her large, swollen breasts indicating she had recently birthed The Jaghut mother could not read the woman's expression, only that it lacked the typical grim certainty she usually associated with the strange, rounded faces of the Imass The Bonecaster spoke 'I have enough Jaghut blood on my hands I leave you to the Kron clan that will find you tomorrow.' 'To me,' the mother growled, 'it matters naught which of you kills us, only that you kill us.' The woman's broad mouth quirked 'I can see your point.' Weariness threatened to overwhelm the Jaghut mother, but she managed to pull herself into a sitting position 'What,' she asked between gasps,'do you want?' 'To offer you a bargain.' Breath catching, the Jaghut mother stared into the Bonecaster's dark eyes, and saw nothing of mockery Her gaze then dropped, for the briefest of moments, on her son and daughter, then back up to hold steady on the woman's own The Imass slowly nodded The earth had cracked some time in the past, a wound of such depth as to birth a molten river wide enough to stretch from horizon to horizon Vast and black, the river of stone and ash reached southwestward, down to the distant sea Only the smallest of plants had managed to find purchase, and the Bonecaster's passage - a Jaghut child in the crook of each arm - raised sultry clouds of dust that motionless in her wake She judged the boy at perhaps five years of age; his sister perhaps four Neither seemed entirely aware, and clearly neither had understood their mother when she'd hugged them goodbye The long flight down the L'amath and across the Jagra Til had driven them both into shock No doubt witnessing the ghastly death of their father had not helped matters They clung to her with their small, grubby hands, grim reminders of the child she had but recently lost Before long, both began suckling at her breasts, evincing desperate hunger Some time later, the children slept The lava flow thinned as she approached the coast A range of hills rose into distant mountains on her right A level plain stretched directly before her, ending at a ridge half a league distant Though she could not see it, she knew that just the other side of the ridge, the land slumped down to the sea The plain itself was marked by regular humps, and the Bonecaster paused to study them The mounds were arrayed in concentric circles, and at the centre was a larger dome - all covered in a mantle of lava and ash The rotted tooth of a ruined tower rose from the plain's edge, at the base of the first line of hills Those hills, as she had noted the first time she had visited this place, were themselves far too evenly spaced to be natural The Bonecaster lifted her head The mingled scents were unmistakable, one ancient and dead, the other… less so The boy stirred in her clasp, but remained asleep 'Ah,' she murmured, 'you sense it as well.' Skirting the plain, she walked towards the blackened tower The warren's gate was just beyond the ragged edifice, suspended in the air at about six times her height She saw it as a red welt, a thing damaged, but no longer bleeding She could not recognize the warren -the old damage obscured the portal's characteristics Unease rippled faintly through her The Bonecaster set the children down by the tower, then sat on a block of tumbled masonry Her gaze fell to the two young Jaghut, still curled in sleep, lying on their beds of ash 'What choice?' she whispered 'It must be Omtose Phellack It certainly isn't Tellann Starvald Demelain? Unlikely.' Her eyes were pulled to the plain, narrowing on the mound rings 'Who dwelt here? Who else was in the habit of build-mg in stone?' She fell silent for a long moment, then swung her attention back to the ruin 'This tower is the final proof, for it is naught else but Jaghut, and such a structure would not be raised this close to an inimical warren No, the gate is Omtose Phellack It must be so.' Still, there were additional risks An adult Jaghut in the warren beyond, coming upon two children not of its own blood, might as easily I kill them as adopt them 'Then their deaths stain another's hands, a Jaghut's.' Scant comfort, that distinction It matters naught which of you kills us, only that you kill us The breath hissed between the woman's teeth 'What choice?' she asked again She would let them sleep a little longer Then, she would send them through the gate A word to the boy - take care of your sister The journey will not be long And to them both - your mother waits beyond A lie, but they would need courage If she cannot find you, then one of her kin will Go then, to safety, to salvation After all, what could be worse than death? She rose as they approached Pran Chole tested the air, frowned The Jaghut had not unveiled her warren Even more disconcerting, where were her children? 'She greets us with calm,' Cannig Tol muttered 'She does,' the Bonecaster agreed 'I've no trust in that - we should kill her immediately.' 'She would speak with us,' Pran Chole said 'A deadly risk, to appease her desire.' 'I cannot disagree, Clan Leader Yet… what has she done with her children?' ''Can you not sense them?' Pran Chole shook his head 'Prepare your spearmen,' he said, stepping forward There was peace in her eyes, so clear an acceptance of her own imminent death that the Bonecaster was shaken Pran Chole walked through shin-deep water, then stepped onto the island's sandy bank to stand face to face with the Jaghut 'What have you done with them?' he demanded The mother smiled, lips peeling back to reveal her tusks 'Gone.' 'Where?' 'Beyond your reach, Bonecaster.' Pran Chole's frown deepened These are our lands There is no place here that is beyond our reach Have you slain them with your own hands, then?' The Jaghut cocked her head, studied the Imass 'I had always believed you were united in your hatred for our kind I had always believed that such concepts as compassion and mercy were alien to your natures.' The Bonecaster stared at the woman for a long moment, then his gaze dropped away, past her, and scanned the soft clay ground 'An Imass has been here,' he said 'A woman The Bonecaster—' the one I could not find in my spiritwalk The one who chose not to be found 'What has she done?' 'She has explored this land,' the Jaghut replied 'She has found a gate far to the south It is Omtose Phellack.' 'I am glad,' Pran Chole said, 'I am not a mother.' And you, woman, should be glad I am not cruel He gestured Heavy spears flashed past the Bonecaster Six long, fluted heads of flint punched through the skin covering the Jaghut's chest She staggered, then folded to the ground in a clatter of shafts Thus ended the thirty-third Jaghut War Pran Chole whirled 'We've no time for a pyre We must strike southward Quickly.' Cannig Tol stepped forward as his warriors went to retrieve their weapons The Clan Leader's eyes narrowed on the Bonecaster 'What distresses you?' 'A renegade Bonecaster has taken the children.' 'South?' 'To Morn.' The Clan Leader's brows knitted 'The renegade would save this woman's children The renegade believes the Rent to be Omtose Phellack.' Pran Chole watched the blood leave Cannig Tol's face 'Go to Morn, Bonecaster,' the Clan Leader whispered 'We are not cruel Go now.' Pran Chole bowed The Tellann warren engulfed him The faintest release of her power sent the two Jaghut children upward, into the gate's maw The girl cried out a moment before reaching it, a longing wail for her mother, who she imagined waited beyond Then the two small figures vanished within The Bonecaster sighed and continued to stare upward, seeking any evidence that the passage had gone awry It seemed, however, that no wounds had reopened, no gush of wild power bled from the portal Did it look different? She could not be sure This was new land for her; she had nothing of the bone-bred sensitivity that she had known all her life among the lands of the Tarad clan, in the heart of the First Empire The Tellann warren opened behind her The woman spun round, moments from veering into her Soletaken form An arctic fox bounded into view, slowed upon seeing her, then sembled back into its Imass form She saw before her a young man, wearing the skin of his totem animal across his shoulders, and a battered antler headdress His expression was twisted with fear, his eyes not on her, but on the portal beyond The woman smiled 'I greet you, fellow Bonecaster Yes, I have sent them through They are beyond the reach of your vengeance, and this pleases me.' His tawny eyes fixed on her 'Who are you? What clan?' 'I have left my clan, but I was once counted among the Logros I am named Kilava.' 'You should have let me find you last night,' Pran Chole said 'I would then have been able to convince you that a swift death was the greater mercy for those children than what you have done here, Kilava.' 'They are young enough to be adopted—' 'You have come to the place called Morn,' Pran Chole interjected, his voice cold 'To the ruins of an ancient city—' 'Jaghut—' 'Not Jaghut! This tower, yes, but it was built long afterward, in the time between the city's destruction and the T'ol Ara'd - this flow of lava which but buried something already dead.' He raised a hand, pointed towards the suspended gate 'It was this - this wounding - that destroyed the city, Kilava The warren beyond - you not understand? It is not Omtose Phellack! Tell me this - how are such wounds sealed? You know the answer, Bonecaster!' The woman slowly turned, studied the Rent 'If a soul sealed that wound, then it should have been freed… when the children arrived—' 'Freed,' Pran Chole hissed, ',''« exchanger Trembling, Kilava faced him again 'Then where is it? Why has it not appeared?' Pran Chole turned to study the central mound on the plain 'Oh,' he whispered, 'but it has.' He glanced back at his fellow Bonecaster 'Tell me, will you in turn give up your life for those children? They are trapped now, in an eternal nightmare of pain Does your compassion extend to sacrificing yourself in yet another exchange?' He studied her, then sighed 'I thought not, so wipe away those tears, Kilava Hypocrisy ill suits a Bonecaster.' 'What…' the woman managed after a time, 'what has been freed?' Pran Chole shook his head He studied the central mound again 'I am not sure, but we shall have to something about it, sooner or later I suspect we have plenty of time The creature must now free itself of its tomb, and that has been thoroughly warded More, there is the T'ol Ara'd's mantle of stone still clothing the barrow.' After a moment, he added 'But time we shall have.' 'What you mean?' 'The Gathering has been called The Ritual of Tellann awaits us, Bonecaster.' She spat 'You are all insane To choose immortality for the sake of a war - madness I shall defy the call, Bonecaster.' He nodded 'Yet the Ritual shall be done I have spiritwalked into the future, Kilava I have seen my withered face of two hundred thousand and more years hence We shall have our eternal war.' Bitterness filled Kilava's voice 'My brother will be pleased.' 'Who is your brother?' 'Onos T'oolan, the First Sword.' Pran Chole turned at this 'You are the Defier You slaughtered your clan - your kin—' 'To break the link and thus achieve freedom, yes Alas, my eldest brother's skills more than matched mine Yet now we are both free, though what I celebrate Onos T'oolan curses.' She wrapped her arms around herself, and Pran Chole saw upon her layers and layers of pain Hers was a freedom he did not envy She spoke again 'This city, then Who built it.' 'K'Chain Che'Malle.' 'I know the name, but little else of them.' Pran Chole nodded 'We shall, I expect, learn.' II Continents of Korelri and Jacuruku, in the Time of Dying,736 years before Burn's Sleep (three years after the Fall of the Crippled God) The Fall had shattered a continent Forests had burned, the firestorms lighting the horizons in every direction, bathing crimson the heaving ash-filled clouds blanketing the sky The conflagration had seemed unending, world-devouring, weeks into months, and through it all could be heard the screams of a god Pain gave birth to rage Rage, to poison, an infection sparing no-one Scattered survivors remained, reduced to savagery, wandering a landscape pocked with huge craters now filled with murky, lifeless water, the sky churning endlessly above them Kinship had been dismembered, love had proved a burden too costly to carry They ate what they could, often each other, and scanned the ravaged world around them with rapacious intent One figure walked this landscape alone Wrapped in rotting rags, he was of average height, his features blunt and unprepossessing There was a dark cast to his face, a heavy inflexibility in his eyes He walked as if gathering suffering unto himself, unmindful of its vast weight; walked as if incapable of yielding, of denying the gifts of his own spirit In the distance, ragged bands eyed the figure as he strode, step by step, across what was left of the continent that would one day be called Korelri Hunger might have driven them closer, but there were no fools left among the survivors of the Fall, and so they maintained a watchful distance, curiosity dulled by fear For the man was an ancient god, and he walked among them Beyond the suffering he absorbed, K'rul would have willingly embraced their broken souls, yet he had fed - was feeding - on the blood spilled onto this land, and the truth was this: the power born of that would be needed In K'rul's wake, men and women killed men, killed women, killed children Dark slaughter was the river the Elder God rode Elder Gods embodied a host of harsh unpleasantries The foreign god had been torn apart in his descent to earth He had come down in pieces, in streaks of flame His pain was fire, screams and thunder, a voice that had been heard by half the world Pain, and outrage And, K'rul reflected, grief It would be a long time before the foreign god could begin to reclaim the remaining fragments of its life, and so,'begin to unveil its nature K'rul feared that day's arrival From such a shattering could only come madness The summoners were dead Destroyed by what they had called down upon them There was no point in hating them, no need to conjure up images of what they in truth deserved by way of punishment They had, after all, been desperate Desperate enough to part the fabric of chaos, to open a way into an alien, remote realm; to then lure a curious god of that realm closer, ever closer to the trap they had prepared The summoners sought power All to destroy one man The Elder God had crossed the ruined continent, had looked upon the still-living flesh of the Fallen God, had seen the unearthly maggots that crawled forth from that rotting, endlessly pulsing meat and broken bone Had seen what those maggots flowered into Even now, as he reached the battered shoreline of Jacuruku, the ancient sister continent to Korelri, they wheeled above him on their broad, black wings Sensing the power within him, they were hungry for its taste But a strong god could ignore the scavengers that trailed in his wake, and K'rul was a strong god Temples had been raised in his name Blood had for generations soaked countless altars in worship of him The nascent cities were wreathed in the smoke of forges, pyres, the red glow of humanity's dawn The First Empire had risen, on a continent half a world away from where K'rul now walked An empire of humans, born from the legacy of the T'lan Imass, from whom it took its name But it had not been alone for long Here, on Jacuruku, in the shadow of long-dead K'Chain Che'Malle ruins, another empire had emerged Brutal, a devourer of souls, its ruler was a warrior without equal K'rul had come to destroy him, had come to snap the chains of twelve million slaves - even the Jaghut Tyrants had not commanded such heartless mastery over their subjects No, it took a mortal human to achieve this level of tyranny over his kin Two other Elder Gods were converging on the Kallorian Empire The decision had been made The three - last of the Elder - would bring to a close the High King's despotic rule K'rul could sense his companions Both were close; both had been comrades once, but they all - K'rul included - had changed, had drifted far apart This would mark the first conjoining in millennia He could sense a fourth presence as well, a savage, ancient beast following his spoor A beast of the earth, of winter's frozen breath, a beast with white fur bloodied, wounded almost unto death by the Fall A beast with but one surviving eye to look upon the destroyed land that had once been its home long before the empire's rise Trailing, but coming no closer And, K'rul well knew, it would remain a distant observer of all that was about to occur The Elder god could spare it no sorrow, yet was not indifferent to its pain We each survive as we must, and when time comes to die, we find our places of solitude… Th^ Kallorian Empire had spread to every shoreline of Jacuruku, yet K'rul saw no-one as he took his first steps inland Lifeless wastes stretched on all sides The air was grey with ash and dust, the skies overhead churning like lead in a smith's cauldron The Elder God experienced the first breath of unease, sidling chill across his soul Above him the god-spawned scavengers cackled as they wheeled A familiar voice spoke in K'rul's mind Brother, I am upon the north shore 'And I the west.' Are you troubled? 'I am All is… dead.' Incinerated The heat remains deep beneath the beds of ash Ash… and bone A third voice spoke Brothers, I am come from the south, where once dwelt the cities All destroyed The echoes of a continent's death-cry still linger Are we deceived? Is this illusion? K'rul addressed the first Elder who had spoken in his mind 'Draconus, I too feel that death-cry Such pain… indeed, more dreadful in its aspect than that of the Fallen One If not a deception as our sister suggests, what has he done?' We have stepped onto this land, and so all share what you sense, K'rul, Draconus replied ,', too, am not certain of its truth Sister, you approach the High King's abode? The third voice replied,'' do, brother Draconus Would you and brother K'rul join me now, that we may confront this mortal as one! 'We shall.' She cocked her head 'Sir?' The Malazan removed the cloth to reveal Itkovian's helm 'I - I did not wish to take advantage of him Yet - he insisted that he fared better in the exchange Untrue, Destriant You can see that Anyone can See the helm he wears - it was mine I would take it back He should be wearing his own This one…' The Destriant swung round, looked down at the body once more, said nothing for a long moment, then she shook her head 'No Sir, Itkovian would refuse your request Your gift pleased him, sir None the less, if you have now decided that the helmet you gave to him is indeed of greater value, then he would not hesitate in returning it to…' She was turning as she spoke, and, her gaze travelling to the now weeping soldier, then past to something beyond them all, her words trailed away to silence Gruntle saw the young woman's eyes slowly widen The Grey Swords' Shield Anvil suddenly pivoted in a soft clatter of armour, then, a moment later, the other soldiers followed suit As did Gruntle and Stonny The lone Malazan had been but the first Beneath the silver starlight, every surviving soldier of Dujek's Host had marched to position themselves at the base of the ridge's slope, forming ranks Flanked by Tiste Andü, Rhivi, Barghast, Black Moranth - a vast sweep of figures, standing silent— —and then Gruntle's scan continued eastward, down to the killing field, and there, once more, were the T'lan Imass, and they too were coming forward Silverfox stood off to the far side, watching The Grey Swords, stunned into silence, slowly parted as the first of the T'lan Imass reached the ridge A Bonecaster came first, holding in one hand a battered seashell hanging from a leather thong The undead creature halted and said to the Destriant, 'For the gift this mortal has given us, we shall each offer one in turn Together, they shall become his barrow, and it shall be unassailable If you refuse us this, we will defy you.' The Destriant shook her head 'No, sir,' she whispered 'There will be no refusal.' The Bonecaster walked up to Itkovian, laid the shell down on the man's chest Gruntle sighed Ah, Itkovian, it seems you have made yet more friends The solemn procession of modest gifts - at times nothing more than a polished stone, carefully set down on the growing pile covering the body - continued through the night, the stars completing their great wheel in the sky until fading at last to dawn's light When the Malazan soldier added Itkovian's helmet to the barrow, a second wave began, as soldier after soldier ascended the slope to leave the man a gift Sigils, diadems, rings, daggers Through it all, Gruntle and Stonny stood to one side, watching As did the Grey Swords With the last soldiers leaving the hill, Gruntle stirred He stared at the massive, glittering barrow, seeing the faint emanation of Tellann sorcery that would keep it intact - every object in its place, immovable - then reached up with his left hand A soft click, and the tores fell free Sorry, Treach Learn to live with the loss We I The gloom remained, suffusing the entire city of Coral, as the sun edged clear over the seas to the east Paran stood with Quick Ben They had both watched the procession, but had not moved from their position on the hill They had watched Dujek join the silent line of gift-givers, one soldier honouring another The captain felt diminished by his inability to follow suit In his mind, the death of Whiskeyjack had left him too broken to move He and Quick Ben had arrived too late, had been unable to stand with the others in formal acknowledgement - Paran had not believed that so simple a ritual possessed such importance within himself He had attended funerals before - even as a child in Unta, there had been solemn processions where he walked with his sisters, his mother and father, to eventually stand before a crypt in the necropolis, as some elder statesman's wrapped corpse was delivered into the hands of his ancestors Ceremonies through which he had fidgeted, feeling nothing of grief for a man he had never met Funerals had seemed pointless Hood had already taken the soul, after all Weeping before an empty body had seemed a waste of time His mother, his father He had not been there for either funeral, had believed himself sufficiently comforted by the knowledge that Tavore would have ensured noble ceremony, proper respect Here, the soldiers had kept ceremony to a minimum Simply standing at attention, motionless, each alone with their thoughts, their feelings Yet bound together none the less The binding that was shared grief And he and Quick Ben had missed it, had come too late Whiskeyjack's body was gone And Ganoes Paran was bereft, his heart a vast cavern, dark, echoing with emotions he would not, could not show He and the wizard, silent, stared at Moon's Spawn as it drifted ever farther eastward, out over the sea, now a third of a league distant It rode low in the air, and some time soon - perhaps a month from now - it would touch the waves, somewhere in the ocean, and then, as water rushed once more into the fissures, filling the chambers within, Moon's Spawn would sink Down, beneath the insensate seas… No-one approached them Finally, the wizard turned 'Captain.' 'What is it, Quick Ben?' 'Moon's Spawn Draw it.' Paran frowned, then his breath caught He hesitated, then crouched down, hand reaching to wipe smooth a small span of earth With his index finger he etched a round-cornered rectangle, then, within it, a rough but recognizable outline He studied his work for a moment, then looked up at Quick Ben and nodded The wizard took a handful of Paran's cloak in one hand, said, 'Lead us through.' Right Now how I that? Study the card, Paran - no, that alone will land us on its damned surface, a short but no doubt thoroughly fatal fall to the waves below A chamber, Picker said Rake's throne room Think darkness Kurald Galain, a place unlit, silent, a place with clothwrapped corpses… Eyes closed, Paran stepped forward, dragging Quick Ben with him His boot landed on stone He opened his eyes, saw nothing but inky blackness, but the air smelled… different He moved forward another step, heard Quick Ben's sigh behind him The wizard muttered something and a fitful globe of light appeared above them A high-ceilinged chamber, perhaps twenty paces wide and more than forty paces long They had arrived at what seemed the formal entrance - behind them, beyond an arched threshold, was a hallway Ahead, at the far end of the chamber, a raised dais The huge, high-backed chair that had once commanded that dais had been pushed to one side, two of its legs on a lower step, the throne leaning On the centre of the dais three black-wood sarcophagi now resided Along the length of the approach, to either side, were additional sarcophagi, upright, on which black-webbed sorcery played Quick Ben hissed softly through his teeth "Ware the looter who penetrates this place.' Paran studied the sorcery's soft dance over the unadorned sarcophagi 'Wards?' he asked 'That, and a lot more, Captain But we need not be worried The Bridgeburners are within these ones flanking the approach Oh, and one Black Moranth.' He pointed to a sarcophagus that, to Paran's eyes, looked no different from all the others 'Twist The poison in his arm took him a bell before the first wave of Dujek's companies.' Quick Ben slowly walked towards another sarcophagus 'In here… what was left of Hedge Not much The bastard blew himself up with a cusser.' The wizard stopped to stand before the coffin 'Picker described it well, Hedge And I will tell Fiddler Next time I see him.' He was silent a moment longer, then he turned to Paran with a grin 'I can picture him, his soul, crouching at the base of Hood's Gate, driving a cracker between the stones…' Paran smiled, but it was a struggle He set off towards the dais The wizard followed Quick Ben spoke names in a soft voice as they proceeded 'Shank Toes… Detoran… Aimless… Runter… Mulch… Bucklund Story… Liss… Dasalle… Trotts - uh, I would've thought the Barghast… no, I suppose not He was as much a Bridgeburner as the rest of us Behind that lid, Paran, he's still grinning…' As they walked, Quick Ben spoke aloud every name of those they passed Thirty-odd Bridgeburners, Paran's fallen command They reached the dais And could go no further Sorcery commanded the entire platform, a softly coruscating web of Kurald Galain 'Rake's own hand,' the wizard murmured These… spells He worked alone.' Paran nodded He had heard the same from Picker, but he understood Quick Ben's need to talk, to fill the chamber with his echoing voice 'It was his leg, you know Gave out at the wrong moment Probably a lunge… meaning he had Kallor Had him dead He would never have extended himself so fully otherwise That damned leg Shattered in that garden in Darujhistan A marble pillar, toppling… and Whiskeyjack was just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time 'From then… to this.' And now, Picker and the others are watching Mallet Every moment, someone's hovering close The healer might try to fall on his knife at any time… given the chance Ah, Mallet, he kept pushing you away 'Another time, I've too much on my mind right now Nothing more than a dull ache When this is done, we'll get to it, then.' It wasn't your fault, Mallet Soldiers die He watched Quick Ben remove a small pebble from his pouch and lay it on the floor in front of the dais 'I may want to visit later,' he said, offering Paran a faint, sad smile 'Me and Kalam…' Oh, Wizard… Paran lifted his gaze to the three sarcophagi He did not know which one held whom For some reason, that didn't matter much Whiskeyjack and two marines - they were there for Tattersail, at the last Always an even exchange, sorceress 'I am ready to leave them, now, Captain.' Paran nodded They turned and slowly retraced their steps Reaching the arched entrance, they stopped Quick Ben glanced into the hallway 'They left everything, you know.' 'What? Who?' 'Rake The Tiste Andü Left their possessions Everything.' 'Why would they that? They are to settle in Black Coral, aren't they? The city's been stripped clean…' Quick Ben shrugged 'Tiste Andü,' he said, in a tone that silently added: we'll never know A vague portal took shape before them The wizard grunted 'You've certainly a particular style with these things, Captain.' Yes, the style of awkward ignorance 'Step through, Wizard.' He watched Quick Ben vanish within the portal Then Paran turned, one last time, to look upon the chamber The globe of light was fast dimming Whiskeyjack, for all that you have taught me, I thank you Bridgeburners, I wish I could have done better by you Especially at the end At the very least, I could have died with you All right, it's probably far too late But I bless you, one and all With that, he turned back, stepped through the portal In the silent chamber, the light faded, the globe flickering, then finally vanishing But a new glow had come to the chamber Faint, seeming to dance with the black web on the sarcophagi A dance of mystery The carriage of bone clattered its way down the trader road, Emancipor flicking the traces across the broad, midnight backs of the oxen Gruntle, halfway across the road, stopped, waited The manservant scowled, reluctantly halted the carriage He thumped one fist on the wall behind him, the reptilian skin reverberating like a war drum A door opened and Bauchelain climbed out, followed by Korbal Broach Bauchelain strode to stand opposite Gruntle, but his flat grey eyes were focused on the dark city beyond 'Extraordinary,' he breathed 'This - this is a place I could call home.' Gruntle's laugh was harsh 'You think so? There are Tiste Andü there, now More, it is now a part of the Malazan Empire Do you believe that either will tolerate your friend's hobbies?' 'He's right,' Korbal Broach whined from beside the carriage 'I won't have any fun there.' Bauchelain smiled 'Ah, but Korbal, think of all the fresh corpses And look to this field below K'Chain Che'Malle, already conveniently dismembered - manageable portions, if you will Enough material, dear colleague, to build an entire estate.' Gruntle watched Korbal Broach suddenly smile Gods, spare me the sight of that - never again, please 'Now, barbed Captain,' Bauchelain said, 'kindly remove yourself from our path But first, if you would be so kind, a question for you.' 'What?' 'I have but recently received a note Terrible penmanship, and worse, written on bark It would seem that a certain Jib Bole and his brothers wish to pay me a visit Are you, by any chance, knowledgeable of these good sirs? If so, perhaps some advice on the proper etiquette of hosting them…' Gruntle smiled 'Wear your best, Bauchelain.' 'Ah Thank you, Captain And now, if you would…' With a wave, Gruntle resumed crossing the road The Grey Swords had established a temporary encampment fifty paces east of the massive, glittering barrow that had already acquired the name of Itkovian's Gift Ragged bands of Tenescowri, emaciated and sickly, had emerged from Black Coral, and from the woodlands, and were all congregating around the camp Word of Anaster's… rebirth had spread, and with it the promise of salvation Recruitment Those Tenescowri could never go back to what they had once been They, too, need to be reborn The stranger within Anaster - this new Mortal Sword of Togg and Fanderay has much to do… Time had come for Gruntle to take the man's measure He'll likely prove a better Mortal Sword than I am Likely smug, sanctimonious up there on that damned ugly horse Aye, I'm ready to hate the bastard, I admit it Gruntle approached Anaster, who was guiding his horse through the decrepit camp of Tenescowri Stick-limbed figures were reaching up on all sides, touching him, his horse Trailing a half-dozen paces behind walked the Destriant, and Gruntle could feel healing sorcery swirling out from her - the embrace of the Wolf's Reve had begun Anaster finally rode clear of the camp His lone eye noted Gruntle and the man reined in, waited for the Daru He spoke before Gruntle had a chance to the same, 'You're Gruntle, Trake's Mortal Sword The Destriant has told me about you I'm glad you've come.' Anaster glanced back at the Tenescowri, who back, within their encampment, as if its edge was some kind of invisible, impassable barrier, then the young man dismounted The Shield Anvil insisted I remain visible,' he grunted, wincing as he stretched his legs 'Much more of this and I'll start walking like a Wickan.' 'You said you are glad that I've come,' Gruntle rumbled 'Why?' 'Well, you're a Mortal Sword, right? They're calling me one, too I guess, uh, well What does that mean, anyway?' 'You don't know?' 'No Do you?' Gruntle said nothing for a long moment, then he grinned 'Not really.' The tension left Anaster in a heartfelt sigh He stepped close 'Listen Before this - uh, before I arrived in this body, I was a scout in the Malazan army And as far as I was concerned, temples were where poor people paid to keep the priests' wine cellars well stocked I don't want followers That Destriant back there, the Shield Anvil - gods, what a hard woman! They're piling expectations on me I'm feeling like that man Itkovian is feeling right now, not that he's feeling anything, I suppose Hood, just mentioning his name breaks my heart and I never even knew him.' 'I did, Anaster Relax, lad - about everything Did you think I asked to be Trake's Mortal Sword? I was a caravan guard, and a miserable one and I was happy with it—' 'You were happy being miserable?' 'Damned right I was.' Anaster suddenly smiled 'I stumbled on a small cask of ale - it's back in the camp of the Grey Swords We should go for a walk, Gruntle.' 'Under the trees, aye I'll find Stonny - a friend You'll like her, I think.' 'A woman? I like her already I'll get the ale, meet you back here.' 'A sound plan, Anaster Oh, and don't tell the Destriant or the Shield Anvil—' 'I won't, even if they torture me…' His voice fell away, and Gruntle saw the young man grow paler than usual Then he shook his head 'See you soon, friend.' 'Aye.' Friend… Yes, I think so He watched Anaster swing back onto the horse - the man he had been knew how to ride No, not the man he had been The man be is Gruntle watched him riding away for a moment longer, then turned back to find Stonny Steam or smoke still drifted from the four Trygalle Trade Guild carriages waiting at the base of the hill Quick Ben had gone ahead to speak with the train's master - an opulently dressed, overweight man whose bone-deep exhaustion was discernible from fifty paces away Paran, waiting with the Bridgeburners for Dujek on the crest of the hill, watched the wizard and the Trygalle mage engaging in a lengthy conversation the result of which seemed to leave Quick Ben bemused The Daru, Kruppe, then joined them, and the discussion resumed once more Heatedly 'What's all that about?' Picker wondered beside the captain Paran shook his head 'I have no idea, Lieutenant.' 'Sir.' Something in her tone brought him round 'Yes?' 'You shouldn't have left me in command - I messed it up, bad, sir.' He saw the raw pain in her eyes, continued to meet them despite a sudden desire to look away 'Not you, Lieutenant The command was mine, after all I abandoned all of you.' She shook her head 'Quick's told us what you two did, Captain You went where you had to, sir It was well played It'd seemed to us that there was no victory to be found, in any of this, but now we know that's not true - and that means more than you might realize.' 'Lieutenant, you walked out of that keep with survivors No-one could have done better.' 'I agree,' a new voice growled Dujek's appearance shocked both soldiers to silence The man seemed to have aged ten years in the span of a single day and night He was bent, the hand of his lone arm trembling 'Lieutenant, call the Bridgeburners over I would speak to you all.' Picker turned and gestured the five soldiers closer 'Good,' the High Fist grunted 'Now, hear me There's half a wagon of back pay being loaded onto one of those Trygalle carriages below Back pay for the company known as the Bridgeburners Full complement Enough to buy each of you an estate and a life of well-earned idyll The Trygalle will take you to Darujhistan - I don't recommend you head back to the Empire As far as Tayschrenn and Fist Aragan and I are concerned, not one Bridgeburner walked out of that keep No, say not a single word, soldiers - Whiskeyjack wanted this for you Hood, he wanted it for himself, too Respect that 'Besides, you've one more mission, and it takes you to Darujhistan The Trygalle has delivered someone He's presently in the care of the High Alchemist, Baruk The man's not well - he needs you, I think Malazans Soldiers Do what you can for him when you're there, and when you decide that you can't anything more, then walk away.' Dujek paused, eyed them, then nodded and said, 'That's all, Bridgeburners The Trygalle are waiting for you Captain, remain a moment - I would a private word with you Oh, Picker, send High Mage Quick Ben up here, will you?' Picker blinked 'High Mage?' Dujek grimaced 'That bastard can't hide any longer Tayschrenn's insisted.' 'Yes, sir.' Paran watched the small troop head down the hill Dujek drew a palsied hand across his face, turned away 'Walk with me, Paran.' Paran did 'That was well done, sir.' 'No, it wasn't, Ganoes, but it was all I could I don't want the last of the Bridgeburners to die on some field of battle, or in some nameless city that's fighting hard to stay free I'm taking what's left of my Host to Seven Cities, to reinforce Adjunct Tavore's retributive army You are welcome—' 'No, sir I'd rather not.' Dujek nodded, as if he had expected that 'There's a dozen or so columns for you, near the carriages below Go with your company, then, with my blessing I'll have you counted among the casualties.' 'Thank you, High Fist I don't think I was ever cut out to be a soldier.' 'Not another word of that, Captain Think what you like about yourself, but we will continue seeing you as you are - a noble man.' 'Noble—' 'Not that kind of noble, Ganoes This is the kind that's earned, the only kind that means anything Because, in this day and age, it's damned rare.' 'Well, sir, there I'll respectfully disagree with you If there's but one experience I will carry with me of my time in this campaign, High Fist, it is that of being humbled, again and again, by those around me.' 'Go join your fellow Bridgeburners, Ganoes Paran.' 'Yes, sir Goodbye, High Fist.' 'Goodbye.' As Paran made his way down the slope, he stumbled momentarily, then righted himself My fellow Bridgeburners, he said… well, the achievement is shortlived, but even so I made it Ignoring the grim-faced soldiers on all sides, Toe - Anaster - reined in beside the small tent the Grey Swords had given him Aye, I remember Anaster, and this may be his body, but that's all He slipped from the saddle and entered it He hunted until he found the cask, hid it within a leather sack and slung that over a shoulder, then hurried back outside As- he drew himself into the saddle once more, a man stepped up to him Toe frowned down at him This was no Tenescowri, nor a Grey Sword If anything, he looked, from his faded, tattered leathers and furs, to be Barghast Covered in scars - more scars of battle than Toe had ever seen on a single person before Despite this, there was a comfort, there in his face - a gentleman's face, no more than twenty years of age, the features pronounced, heavy-boned, framed in long black hair devoid of any fetishes or braids His eyes were a soft brown as he looked up at Toe Toe had never met this man before 'Hello Is there something you wish?' he asked, impatient to be away The man shook his head 'I only sought to look upon you, to see that you were well.' He believes me to be Anaster A friend of old, perhaps - not one of his lieutenants, though - I would have remembered this one Well, I'll not disappoint him 'Thank you I am.' 'This pleases me.' The man smiled, reached up and laid a hand on Toe's leg 'I will go, now, brother Know that I hold you in my memory.' Still smiling, he turned and strode away, passing through the midst of curious Grey Swords, heading north towards the forest Toe stared after him Something… something about that walk… 'Mortal Sword—' The Shield Anvil was approaching Toe gathered the reins 'Not now,' he called out 'Later.' He swung his horse round 'All right, you wretched hag, let's see how you gallop, shall we?' He drove his heels into the beast's flanks His sister awaited him at the edge of the forest 'You are done?' she asked him 'I am.' They continued on, under the trees 'I have missed you, brother.' 'And I you.' 'You have no sword…' 'Indeed, I have not Do you think I will need one?' She leaned close to him 'Now more than before, I would think.' 'Perhaps you are right We must needs find a quarry.' 'The Barghast Range A flint the colour of blood - I will invest it, of course, to prevent its shattering.' 'As you did once before, sister.' 'Long ago.' 'Aye, so very long ago.' Under the impassive gaze of the two brothers, Lady Envy relinquished the sorcery that kept Mok from returning to consciousness She watched as the Third slowly regained awareness, the eyes within the mask dulled with pain 'There, now,' she murmured 'You have suffered of late, haven't you?' Mok struggled to sit upright, his gaze hardening upon finding his brothers Lady Envy straightened and glanced over at Senu and Thurule with an appraising eye After a moment, she sighed 'Indeed, they are a sight They suffered in your absence, Third Then again,' she noted brightly, 'you've not fared much better! I must inform you, Mok, that your mask has cracked.' The Seguleh reached up, probed tentatively, finding then following the hairline fissure running two-thirds of the length on the left side Lady Envy continued, 'In fact, I reluctantly admit, none of our facades has survived… unfractured If you can imagine it, Anomander Rake - the Seventh - has unceremoniously banished us from the city.' Mok climbed unsteadily to his feet, looked around 'Yes,' Lady Envy said, 'we find ourselves in the very same forest we spent days trudging through Your punitive exercise is concluded, perhaps satisfactorily, perhaps not The Pannion Domin is no more, alas Time's come, my three grim servants, to begin the journey home.' Mok examined his weapons, then faced her 'No We shall demand an audience with the Seventh —' 'Oh, you foolish man! He'll not see you! Worse, you'll have to carve your way through a few hundred Tiste Andü to get to him - and no, they won't cross blades with you They will simply annihilate you with sorcery They're a perfunctory people, the Children of Mother Dark Now, I have decided to escort the three of you home Isn't that generous of me?' Mok regarded her, the silence stretching Lady Envy offered him a sweet smile On their long journey north, the White Face Barghast broke up into clans, then family bands, ranging far and wide as was their wont Hetan walked with Cafal, lagging behind their father and his closest followers and angling some distance eastward The sun was warm on their heads and shoulders, the air fresh with the gentle surf brushing the shore two hundred paces to their right It was midday when she and her brother spotted the two travellers ahead Close kin, Hetan judged as they drew nearer Neither one particularly tall, but robust, both black-haired, walking very slowly side by side closer to the coastline They looked to be Barghast, but of a tribe or clan unknown to either Hetan or Cafal A short while later they came alongside the two strangers Hetan's eyes focused on the man, studied the extraordinary scars crisscrossing his flesh 'We greet you, strangers!' she called out Both turned, clearly surprised that they had company Hetan now looked upon the man's face That the woman beside him was his sister could be no more obvious Good 'You!' she called to the man, 'what is your name?' The man's smile made her heart catch 'Onos Toolan.' Hetan strode closer, offering a wink to the dark-haired woman, then settling her eyes once more on the man called Onos Toolan 'I see more than you imagine,' she said in a low voice The young warrior cocked his head 'You do?' 'Aye, and what I see tells me you've not bedded a woman in a long time.' The man's eyes widened - oh, such lovely eyes, a lover's eyes -'Indeed,' he said, his smile broadening Oh yes, my lover's eyes… EPILOQUE PARAN SHOVED THE DOOR OPEN SHOULDERING HIS HEAVY, GOLD-filled pack, he stepped into the antechamber beyond 'Raest! Where are you?' The armour-clad Jaghut emerged from somewhere to halt before Paran, said nothing 'That's right,' Paran muttered, 'I've decided to take up residence here.' Raest's voice was a cold rasp, 'You have.' 'Aye Three weeks in that damned inn was enough, believe me So, here I am, courage worked up, ready to settle into the dreaded, infamous Finnest House - and I see your skills as housekeeper leave much to be desired.' 'These two bodies on the threshold - what will you with them?' Paran shrugged 'I haven't decided yet Something, I suppose But, for now, I want to drop this gold off - so I can sleep easy for a change They're opening the place up tonight, you know…' The giant warrior replied, 'No, Master of the Deck, I not.' 'Never mind I said I'd go Hood knows, I doubt anybody else in this city will, except maybe Kruppe, Coll and Murillio.' 'Go where, Master of the Deck?' 'Ganoes, please Or Paran Where, you ask? Picker's new tavern, that's where.' 'I know nothing of—' 'I know you don't, that's why I'm telling—' '—nor I care, Ganoes Paran, Master of the Deck.' 'Well, your loss, Raest As I was saying, Picker's new tavern Her and her partner's, that is They've spent half their pay on this insane project.' 'Insane?' 'Yes - you don't know the meaning of insane?' 'I know it all too well, Ganoes Paran, Master of the Deck.' Paran was brought up short by that He studied the helmed face, seeing only shadows behind the visor's slots A faint shiver ran through the Malazan 'Uh, yes In any case, they purchased the K'rul Temple, belfry and all Made it into a—' 'A tavern.' 'A temple everyone in the city calls haunted.' 'I imagine,' Raest said, turning away, 'it came cheap, all things considered…' Paran stared after the armoured Jaghut 'See you later,' he called Faintly came the reply, 'If you insist…' Emerging from the battered gateway onto the street, Paran almost stumbled over a decrepit, hooded figure sitting awkwardly on the edge of the gutter A grimy hand lifted from the rags towards the Malazan 'Kind sir! A coin, please! A single coin!' 'Luckily for you, I can spare more than one, old man.' Paran reached for the leather purse tucked into his belt He drew out a handful of silvers The beggar grunted, dragged himself closer, his legs trailing like dead weights 'A man of wealth! Listen to me I have need of a partner, generous sir! I have gold Councils! Hidden in a cache on the slopes of the Tahlyn Hills! A fortune, sir! We must needs only mount an expedition - it's not far.' Paran dropped the coins into the old man's hands 'Buried treasure, friend? No doubt.' 'Sir, the sum is vast, and I would gladly part with half of it - the repayment to your investment will be ten times at the very least.' 'I've no need for more riches.' Paran smiled He stepped away from the beggar, then paused and added, 'By the way, you probably shouldn't linger overlong at this particular gate The House does not welcome strangers.' The old man seemed to shrink in on himself His head twisted to one side 'No,' he muttered from beneath his ragged hood, 'not this House.' Then he softly cackled 'But I know one that does…' Shrugging at the beggar's obscure words, Paran turned once more and set off Behind him, the beggar broke into a wretched cough Picker could not pull her eyes from the man He sat hunched over, on a chair that had yet to find a table, still clutching in his hands the small rag of tattered cloth on which something had been written The alchemist had done all he could to return life to what had been a mostly destroyed, desiccated body, and Baruk's talents had been stretched to their limits - there was no doubt of that She knew of him, of course They all did They all knew, as well, where he had come from He spoke not a word Had not since the resurrection No physical flaw kept him from finding his voice, Baruk had insisted The Imperial Historian had fallen silent No-one knew why She sighed The grand opening of K'rul's Bar was a disaster Tables waited, empty, forlorn in the massive main chamber Paran, Spindle, Blend, Antsy, Mallet and Bluepearl sat at the one nearest the blazing hearth, barely managing a word among them Nearby was the only other occupied table, at which sat Kruppe, Murillio and Coll And that's it Gods, we're finished We should never have listened to Antsy… The front door swung open Picker looked over hopefully But it was only Baruk The High Alchemist paused within the antechamber, then slowly made his way forward to where the other Daru sat 'Dearest friend of honourable Kruppe! Baruk, stalwart champion of Darujhistan, could you ask for better company this night? Here, yes, at this very table! Kruppe was astonishing his companions - and indeed, these grim-faced ex-soldiers next to us - with his extraordinary account of Kruppe and this tavern's namesake, conspiring to fashion a new world.' 'Is the tale done, then?' Baruk asked as he approached 'Just, but Kruppe would be delighted to—' 'Excellent I'll hear it some other time, I suppose.' The High Alchemist glanced over at Duiker, but the Imperial Historian had not so much as even looked up Head still bowed, eyes fixed on the cloth in his hands Baruk sighed 'Picker, have you mulled wine?' 'Aye, sir,' she said 'Behind you, beside the hearth.' Antsy reached for the clay jug, rose to pour Baruk a cup 'All right,' Picker said in a loud voice, walking over 'So, this is it Fine The fire's warm enough, we've drunk enough, and I for one am ready for some stories to be told - no, not you, Kruppe We've heard yours Now, Baruk here, and Coll and Murillio for that matter, might be interested in the tale of the final taking of Coral.' Coll slowly leaned forward 'So, you'll finally talk, will you? It's about time, Picker.' 'Not me,' she replied 'Not to start, anyway Captain? Refill your cup, sir, and weave us a tale.' The man grimaced, then shook his head 'I'd like to, Picker.' Too close,' Spindle grumbled, nodding and turning away 'Hood's breath, what a miserable bunch!' 'Sure,' Spindle snapped, 'a story to break our hearts all over again! What's the value in that?' A rough, broken voice replied, 'There is value.' Everyone fell silent, turned to Duiker The Imperial Historian had looked up, was studying them with dark eyes 'Value Yes I think, much value But not yours, soldiers Not yet Too soon for you Too soon.' 'Perhaps,' Baruk murmured, 'perhaps you are right in that We ask too much—' 'Of them Yes.' The old man looked down once more at the cloth in his hands The silence stretched Duiker made no move Picker began to turn back to her companions - when the man began speaking 'Very well, permit me, if you will, on this night To break your hearts once more This is the story of the Chain of Dogs Of Coltaine of the Crow Clan, newly come Fist to the 7th Army…' O)is €Nbs trie "Glint) Hale of tTje MalazaN Book of trie FalleN QLOSSARy PaNNlON DOMIN 'CGRMlNOlOQ?: Pannion Seer: the political and spiritual leader of the Domin Septarch: ruler of one of seven districts in Domin (also commands armies) Urdo: commander of elite heavy infantry (Urdomen) Urdomen: elite heavy infantry, fanatical followers of the Seer Seerdomin: fanatical bodyguard and assassin sect of the Domin Betaklites: medium infantry Beklites: regular infantry (also known as the Hundred Thousand) Betrullid: light cavalry Betakullid: medium cavalry Scalandi: skirmishers Desandi: sappers Tenescowri: the peasant army IN CapustaN: The Grey Swords: a mercenary cult hired to defend against the Pannion Domin The Mask Council: High Priests of the Fourteen Ascendants represented in Capustan The Gidrath: soldiers serving the fourteen temples The Capanthall: Capustan's city garrison, under command of Prince Jelarkan The Coralessian Company: followers of exiled Prince Arard of Coral Lestari Guard: refugee Palace Guard from the city of Lest Capan: name for distinct self-contained neighbourhoods and people in Capustan Daru Quarter: old town at centre of Capustan The Thrall: old Daru keep now home to the Mask Council FoüRteeN AsceNbaNts of CapustaN's Mask COUNCil: Fener,'Tennerock Trake,'Treach D'rek Hood Burn Togg Beru Mowri Oponn Soliel and Poliel Queen of Dreams Fanderay Dessembrae Shadowthrone Peoples aNb Places The Rhivi: pastoral nomadic society in central plains of Genabackis The Barghast: a warrior caste tribe found on various continents: Ilgres Clan White Face Clan (including: Senan, Gilk, Ahkrata, Barahn, Nith'rithal) T'lan Imass (the Armies of the Diaspora): Logros, Guardians of the First Throne Kron, First to the Gathering Betrule (lost) Ifayle (lost) Bentract (lost) Orshayn (lost) Kerluhm (lost) Tiste Andü: an Elder Race Jaghut: an Elder Race K'Chain Che'Malle: one of the Four Founding Races, presumed extm Moranth: a highly regimented culture, centred in Cloud Forest Daru: a cultural and linguistic group on Genabackis Capan: a citizen of Capustan Domin,'Pannion: name for a new empire on Genabackis Lestari: a citizen of Lest Coralessian: a citizen of Coral Morn: a ruined, haunted place on the southwest coast of Genabackis Coral: a city in the Pannion Domin Lest: a city in the Pannion Domin Capustan: a city on the north side of the Catlin River Darujhistan: last Free City on Genabackis Lamatath Plain: plains to south of Darujhistan Jhagra Til: T'lan Imass name for now-extinct inland sea U?e woRlb of soRceR? O]e WaRReNS (tt?e Patfjs - tuose WaRReus accessible to Denul: the Path of Healing D'riss: The Path of Stone Hood's Path: the Path of Death Meanas: The Path of Shadow and Illusion Ruse: the Path of the Sea Rasham: The Path of Darkness Sere: the Path of the Sky r=nnes: the Path of the Land : the Path of Light :a[d Galain: the Tiste Andü Warren of Darkness Emurlahn: the Tiste Edur Warren Q^nn: the T'lan Imass Warren Starv°a **hellack: the Jaghut Warren Je: the Tiam Warren, the First Warren Deck of DRaqoNS -associateb AsceNbaNts) High House Life King Queen (Queen of Dreams) Champion Priest Herald Soldier Weaver Mason Virgin High House Death King (Hood) Queen Knight (once Dassem Ultor) Magi Herald Soldier Spinner Mason Virgin High House Light King Queen Champion Priest Captain Soldier Seamstress Builder Maiden High House Dark King Queen Knight (Son of Darkness) Fatib (aNb Magi Captain Soldier Weaver Mason Wife High House Shadow King (Shadowthrone,'Ammanas) Queen Assassin (the Rope,'Cotillion) Magi Hound Unaligned Oponn (the Jesters of Chance) Obelisk (Burn) Crown Sceptre Orb Throne AsceNbaNts Apsalar, Lady of Thieves Beru, Lord of Storms Burn, Lady of the Earth, the Sleeping Goddess Caladan Brood, the Warlord Cotillion,'The Rope (the Assassin of High House Shadow) Dessembrae, Lord of Tragedy D'rek, the Worm of Autumn (sometimes the Queen of Disease, see Poliel) Fanderay, She-Wolf of Winter Fener, the Boar (see also Tennerock) Gedderone, Lady of Spring and Rebirth Great Ravens, ravens sustained by magic Hood (King of High House Death) Jhess, Queen of Weaving Kallor, the High King K'rul, Elder God Mael, Elder God Mowri, Lady of Beggars, Slaves and Serfs Nerruse, Lady of Calm Seas and Fair Wind Oponn, Twin Jesters of Chance Osserc, Lord of the Sky Poliel, Mistress of Pestilence Queen of Dreams (Queen of High House Life) Shadowthrone,'Ammanas (King of High House Shadow) Shedenul,'Soliel, Lady of Health Soliel, Mistress of Healing Tennerock,'Fener, the Boar of Five Tusks The Crippled God, King of Chains The Hounds (of High House Shadow) Togg (see Fanderay), the Wolf of Winter Trake,'Treach, The Tiger of Summer and Battle Son of Darkness,'Moon's Lord,'Anomander Rake (Knight of High House Dark) Treach, First Hero ... Name: Memories of Ice Series: A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen ====================== Memories of Ice A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen Steven Erikson Prologue The ancient wars of. .. ravaged as those of a mortal man who was nearing a century of life Brood made use of Kallor's knowledge of tactics, what seemed an instinctive mastery of the sweep and shift of vast campaigns,... forming cloaks of clay latticed with cracks Spots of bright green showed where windborn seeds had germinated, and the Bonecaster was reminded of his visions when spiritwalking - a host of mundane