Memories of Ice

Quick Ben was none the less tentative as he took his first sip. After a moment, he swallowed, then sighed.

Sitting across from him, Bauchelain half smiled. 'Excellent. Now, having made the effort to penetrate this estate's defences, you are here with some purpose in mind. Thus, you have my utmost attention.'

'Demonic summoning. It's the rarest and most difficult discipline among the necromantic arts.'

Bauchelain responded with a modest shrug.

'And the power it draws upon,' Quick Ben continued, 'while from Hood's own warren, is deeply tainted with Chaos. Striding both sides of that border between those warrens. As an aside, why do you think the summoning of demons is death-aspected?'

'The assertion of absolute control over a life-force, Quick Ben. The threat of annihilation is inherently death-aspected. Regarding your observation of the influence of the Warren of Chaos, do go on.'

'The warrens have been poisoned.'

'Ah. There are many flavours to chaotic power. That which assails the warrens has little to do with the elements of the Warren of Chaos with which I am involved.'

'So, your access to your warrens has not been affected.'

'I did not say that,' Bauchelain replied, pausing to drink some wine. 'The … infection … is an irritant, an unfortunate development that threatens to get worse. Perhaps, at some point in the future, I shall find need to retaliate upon whomever is responsible. My companion, Korbal Broach, has communicated to me his own growing concern — he works more directly through Hood's warren, and thus has felt the greater brunt.'

Quick Ben glanced over at the crow on the mantelpiece. 'Indeed. Well,' he added, returning his gaze to Bauchelain, 'as to that, I can tell you precisely who is responsible.'

'And why would you tell us, mage? Unless it be to elicit our help — I am assuming you are opposing this … poisoner. And are in search of potential allies.'

'Allies? Elicit your help? No, sir, you misunderstand me. I offer my information freely. Not only do I expect nothing in return, should you offer I will respectfully decline.'

'Curious. Is yours a power to rival the gods, then?'

'I don't recall referring to gods in this conversation, Bauchelain.'

'True enough; however, the entity responsible for poisoning all the warrens is without doubt a formidable individual — if not a god then an aspirant.'

'In any case,' Quick Ben said with a smile, 'I don't rival gods.'

'A wise decision.'

'But, sometimes, I beat them at their own game.'

Bauchelain studied the wizard, then slowly leaned back. 'I find myself appreciating your company, Quick Ben. I am not easily entertained, but you have indeed proved-a worthy diversion this night, and for that I thank you.'

'You're quite welcome.'

'My companion, Korbal Broach, alas, would like to kill you.'

'Can't please everyone.'

'Very true. He dislikes being confused, you see, and you have confused him.'

'Best he remain perched on the mantelpiece,' Quick Ben quietly advised. 'I don't treat hecklers very well.'

Bauchelain raised a brow.

The shadow of wings spread suddenly vast to Quick Ben's left, as Korbal Broach dropped from his position and began sembling even as he descended.

The Malazan flung his left arm out, waves of layered sorcery sweeping across the intervening space, to strike the necromancer.

Half man, half bedraggled crow, Korbal Broach had not completed his sembling into human form. The waves of power had yet to blossom. The necromancer was lifted from his feet by the magical impact, caught in the crest of that sorcery. It struck the wall above the fireplace, carrying the oddly winged, semi-human figure with it, then detonated.

Painted plaster exploded in a cloud of dust. The wall shook, crumpling inward at the point where Korbal Broach hit — punching a hole through to whatever was on the other side. The last sight Quick Ben had of the man was that of his boots, before the roiling dust and twisting tendrils of power obscured the wall.

There was the sound of a heavy thump beyond, in what was probably a corridor, then the patter of plaster on the hearthstone was all that broke the silence.

Quick Ben slowly settled back into his chair.

'More wine?' Bauchelain asked.

'Please. Thank you. Apologies for the mess.'

'Think nothing of it. I have never before seen — what — six, perhaps seven warrens all unleashed at once, all intricately bound together in such complementary fashion. You, sir, are an artist. Will Korbal Broach recover?'

'I am your guest, Bauchelain. It would be poor form to kill your companion. After all, strictly speaking I am his guest, as well.'

With the chimney thoroughly compromised, the room was slowly filling with smoke.

'True,' Bauchelain admitted. 'Although, I reluctantly point out, he sought to kill you.'

'No need for dismay,' the Malazan responded. 'I was not greatly inconvenienced.'

'And that is what I find most astonishing. There was no sign of chaotic poison in your sorcery, Quick Ben. You can imagine the plethora of questions I would like to ask.'