Memories of Ice

'Do you think me an idiot? Do you think me incapable of subtlety? I'll have you know-'

'All right, woman,' her companion growled. 'Forget I spoke-'

'I always do, Gruntle.'

The Gidrath driver drew the carriage to a halt as they rode up. A window shutter slid to one side and Rath' Shadowthrone's masked face appeared, the expression neutral. 'How fortunate! The rest of our honourable entourage!'

Itkovian sighed under his breath. There was nothing subtle in that tone, alas.

'Honourable?' Stonny queried, brows lifting, 'I'm surprised you recognize the concept, Priest.'

'Ah.' The mask swivelled to her. 'Master Keruli's wench. Shouldn't you be on your knees?'

'I'll give you a knee, runt — right between the-'

'Well now!' Gruntle said loudly. 'We're all here. I see outriders ahead. Shall we proceed?'

'We're early,' Rath'Shadowthrone snapped.

'Aye, and that's unfortunately unprofessional of us. Never mind. We can continue at the slowest pace possible, to give them time to prepare.'

'A wise course, in the circumstances,' Rath' Shadowthrone conceded. The mask's hinged lips twisted into a broad smile, then the head withdrew and the shutter slid back in place.

'I am going to cut that man into very small pieces,' Stonny said in a bright tone.

'We all appreciated your sense of subtlety, lass,' Gruntle muttered.

'And well you should, oaf.'

Itkovian stared at the woman, then at the caravan captain, wondering.

Corporal Picker sat on the dusty steps of what had once been a temple. Her back and shoulders ached from throwing chunks of masonry since dawn.

Blend must have been hovering nearby for she appeared with a waterskin. 'You look thirsty.'

Picker accepted it. 'Funny how you do your vanishing act whenever there's hard work to be done.'

'Well, I brought you water, didn't I?'

Picker scowled.

Across the street Captain Paran and Quick Ben were saddling horses, preparing to head out to the reunion with Onearm's Host and Brood's army. They'd been uncommonly cosy since meeting up once more, making Picker suspicious. Quick Ben's schemes were never pleasant.

'I'd rather we were all going,' she muttered.

'To the parley? Why? This way everyone else does the walking.'

'Easier to be lurking about, is it? Weighed down with a half-full waterskin. You'd be saying different if you'd been tossing rocks with the rest of us, Blend.'

The lean woman shrugged. 'I've been busy enough.'

'Doing what?'

'Gathering information.'

'Oh yeah. Whose whispering you been listening in on, then?'

'People. Us and them, here and there.'

'Them? Who's them?'

'Uhm, let's see. Barghast. Grey Swords. A couple of loose-lipped Gidrath from the Thrall. Three acolytes from the temple behind you-'

Picker flinched, swiftly rose to cast a nervous eye on the fire-scorched building behind her. 'Which god, Blend? No lies-'

'Why would I lie, Corporal? Shadowthrone.'

Picker grunted. 'Spyin' on the sneaks, was you? And what were they talking about?'

'Some bizarre plan of their master's. Vengeance against a couple of necromancers holed up in an estate just up the street.'

'The one with all the bodies out front and the smelly guards on the walls?'

'Presumably the same and none other.'

'All right, so let's hear the report on the rest of them.'

'The Barghast are crowing. Agents of the Mask Council are buying food to feed the citizens. The Grey Swords are buying food, too, to feed a fast-growing camp of Tenescowri refugees outside the city. The White Faces are getting rich.'

'Hold on, Blend. Did you say Tenescowri refugees? What are the Grey Swords up to? Hood knows there's enough corpses lying around for those cannibals, why give 'em real food? Why feed the evil bastards at all?'

'Sound questions,' Blend agreed. 'Certainly, I admit my own curiosity was piqued.'

'No doubt you've come up with a theory, too.'

'I have assembled the puzzle, to be more precise. Disparate facts. Observances. Offhand comments believed to be uttered in private, overheard by none other than the faithful servant standing before you-'

'Oponn's quivering knees, woman, get on with it!'

'You never did appreciate a good gloat. All right. The Grey Swords were sworn to Fener. They weren't just a mercenary company, more like damned crusaders to the holy cause of war. And they took it seriously. Only something's happened. They've lost their god-'

'No doubt there's a tale there.'

'Indeed, but it's not relevant.'

'Meaning you don't know it.'

'Precisely. The point is, the company's surviving officers rode off to the Barghast camps, found a gaggle of tribal witches waiting for them, and together they all arranged a reconsecration.'

'You mean they switched gods. Oh no, don't tell me Treach-'

'No, not Treach. Treach already has his crusaders.'

'Oh, right. Must be Jhess, then. Mistress of Weaving. They're all taking up knitting, but fiercely-'

'Not quite. Togg. And Fanderay, the She-Wolf of Winter — Togg's long lost mate. Recall the story? You must have heard it when you were a child, assuming you were ever a child-'

'Careful, Blend.'