Memories of Ice

'The Tiger of Summer has ascended, woman. Treach — Trake — now strides with the gods. I will have them now, and I thank you for delivering them to my hand.'

She pulled her right arm clear of the chain sleeve. Three ivory arm-torcs clattered down to her hand. 'Here! Yes, please! Glad to oblige-'

'Hood take your tongue, Picker,' Antsy snapped. 'You're embarrassing us! Just give him the damned things!'

The corporal stared about. 'Blend! Where in the Abyss you hiding, woman?'

'Here,' a voice murmured beside Paran.

Startled, he stepped back. Damn her!

'Hah!' Picker crowed. 'You hear me, Blend? Hah!'

The squads were converging once more.

The Daru rolled up a tattered sleeve. The striped pattern covered the large, well-defined muscles of his arm. He slid the three torcs up past the elbow. The ivory clicked. Something flashed amber in the darkness beneath the rim of his helmet.

Paran studied the man. A beast resides within him, an ancient spirit, reawakened. Power swirled around the Daru, but the captain sensed that it was born as much from a natural air of command as from the beast hiding within him — for that beast preferred solitude. Its massive strength had, somehow, been almost subsumed by that quality of leadership. Together, a formidable union. There's no mistaking, this one's important. Something's about to happen here, and my presence is no accident. 'I am Captain Paran, of Onearm's Host.'

'Took your time, didn't you, Malazan?'

Paran blinked. 'We did the best we could, sir. In any case, your relief this night and tomorrow will come from the White Face clans.'

'Hetan and Cafal's father, Humbrall Taur. Good. Time's come to turn the tide.'

'Turn the tide?' Antsy sputtered. 'Looks like you didn't need no help to turn the tide, man!'

Trotts,' Hedge called out. 'I ain't happy about what's underfoot. There's cracks. This whole roof is nothing but cracks.'

'Same for the walls,' another sapper noted. 'All sides.'

'This building is filled with bodies,' said a small warrior in Lestari armour beside the Daru. 'They're swelling, I guess.'

His eyes still on the big Daru, Paran asked, 'Do you have a name?'

'Gruntle.'

'Are you some kind of sect, or something? Temple warriors?'

Gruntle slowly faced him, his expression mostly hidden beneath the helm's visor. 'No. We are nothing. No-one. This is for a woman. And now she's dying-'

'Which tent?' Mallet interrupted in his high, thin voice.

'The Warren of Denul is poisoned-'

'You feel that, do you, Gruntle? Curious.' The healer waited, then asked again, 'Which tent?'

Gruntle's Lestari companion pointed. 'There. She was stuck through bad. Blood in the lungs. She might already be …' He fell silent.

Paran followed Mallet to the tattered shelter.

The woman lying within was pale, her young face drawn and taut. Frothy blood painted her lips.

And here, there's more.

The captain watched the healer settle to his knees beside her, reach out his hands.

'Hold it,' Paran growled. 'The last time damn near killed you-'

'Not my gift, Captain. Got Barghast spirits crowding me with this one, sir. Again. Don't know why. Someone's taken a personal interest, maybe. It may be too late anyway. We'll see … all right?'

After a moment, Paran nodded.

Mallet laid his hands on the unconscious woman, closed his eyes. A dozen heartbeats passed. 'Aai,' he finally whispered. 'Layers here. Wounded flesh… wounded spirit. I shall need to mend both. So … will you help me?'

The captain realized the question was not being asked of him, and so made no reply.

Mallet, eyes still closed, sighed. 'You will sacrifice so many for this woman?' He paused, eyes still closed, then frowned. 'I can't see these threads you speak of. Not her, nor Gruntle, nor the man at my side-'

At your side? Me? Threads? Gods, why don't you just leave me alone?

'-but I'll take your word for it. Shall we begin?'

Moments passed, the healer motionless above the woman. Then she stirred on her pallet, softly moaned.

The tent was torn from around them, guidewires snapping. Paran's head jerked up in surprise. To see Gruntle, chest heaving, standing above them.

'What?' the Daru gasped. 'What-' He staggered back a step, was brought up by Trotts's firm hands on his shoulders.

'No such thing,' the Barghast growled, 'as too late.'

Approaching, Antsy grinned. 'Hello, Capustan. The Bridgeburners have arrived.'