Memories of Ice

Aye, I know what that's like. Your heart's just turned to water. Struggling not to prostrate yourself at her feet. Aye, plucked and now pinned and writhing.

Kahlt cleared his throat. 'I shall now leave you to your repast. Sleeping chambers have been prepared. The monk who met you at the door will be your guide. Day's end is in a bell's time. Thank you for this most enlightening conversation.' He rose, collected his axe from the wall behind him, then exited through the inner door.

Toc grunted as the panel closed. 'Enlightening? Was that a joke?'

'Eat up, my love,' Envy said. 'Belly filled and content … before we receive our reward.'

Toc choked on a mouthful of wine, coughed helplessly for a time, then looked at her through a bleary eye. 'Reward?' he rasped.

'You and I, yes. I suspect the Seguleh will be given a proper escort or some such thing. Baaljagg and Garath will be butchered, of course. Here, try this, it's delicious. Before dawn, is my guess, the fire in our veins released to greet the sun's rise, or some such thing equally pathetic. Then again, we could embrace the faith — do you think we'll convince him? What kind of fruit is this? Tastes like a soldier's foot-wrap. I don't — he's made up his mind, you see.'

'And you helped him along, Lady.'

'Did I?' She paused, looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached for some bread. 'I can't imagine how. True, I was irritated. Have you ever noticed how language can be twisted to mask brutality? Ah, a thought! Look at the Seguleh — masked, yes, yet they speak true and plain, do they not? Is there something in that, do you think? Some hidden significance? Our malleable, fleshy visages are skilled at deceit — a far more subtle mask than what the brothers over there are wearing. More wine? Quite wonderful. Gredfallan? Never heard of it. The Seguleh reveal only their eyes, devoid of framing expression, yet portals to the soul none the less. Remarkable. I wonder who originated the custom, and why.'

'Lady, please,' Toc cut in. 'If they intend to kill us-'

'Intentions are unimportant, my dear. I taste clover in this honey. Lovely. By the way, the walls around us are mostly hollow, but not unoccupied. Would you be so kind as to deliver these plates of meat to my pups? Thank you, darling, you're sweet.'

'All right,' Toc growled. 'So now they know that we know. What now?'

'Well, I don't know about you, but I am dead tired. I do hope the beds are soft. Are the Pannions interested in such conveniences as plumbing, do you think?'

'Nobody's interested in plumbing, Lady Envy, but I'm sure they've worked something out.'

'Repast complete! Now where is our poor little monk?'

A side door opened and the man appeared.

'Extraordinary coincidence. Thank your master for the repast, cowed one, and please, lead the way.'

The monk bowed, gestured. 'Follow me, honoured guests. Alas, the beasts must remain outside, in the compound.'

'Of course.'

The man bowed again.

Lady Envy fluttered the fingers of one thin hand and Baaljagg and Garath loped outside.

'Well trained, Lady,' the monk murmured.

'You have no idea,' she replied.

The sleeping chambers ran the length of one wall, small square, low-ceilinged rooms, unfurnished except for narrow hide-mattressed cots and a lantern sitting on a shelf on one wall. A room at the far end of the hallway was provided for communal bathing, its floors tiled and sunken at gradating levels in the various pools, the water continually flowing and cool and clean.

Leaving the lady to her ablutions, Toc entered his sleeping chamber and set his pack down with a sigh. His nerves were already in tatters, and listening to Envy's melodic singing wasn't helping. He threw himself on the cot. Sleep? Impossible. These bastards are whetting their knives right now, preparing our reward. We're about to embrace the faith, and its face is a death's head …

His eye snapped open at a sudden, curdling scream. It was dark — the lanterns had either gone out or been removed. Toc realized he'd fallen asleep after all, and that had the stench of sorcery. The scream sounded again, ending in a dwindling gurgle.

Claws clicked down the hallway outside his room.

Covered in sweat yet shivering, Toc the Younger edged off the bed. He drew the broad-bladed obsidian dagger Tool had made for him, settled the hide-wrapped grip in his right hand, then unsheathed his own iron knife with his left.

Claws. Either there's Soletaken here … or Baaljagg and Garath are paying a visit. He silently prayed it was the latter.