Memories of Ice

'To which your god can attest,' Keruli smiled, then turned back to Brood. 'Sufficient answers to warrant the like in return. As you point out, the Mask Council's overriding concern is with the reparation of Capustan. None the less, my companions here are all — beyond impromptu governors — servants to their respective gods. No-one here can be entirely unaware of the tumultuous condition of the pantheon. You, Caladan Brood, carry Burn's hammer, after all, and continue to struggle with the responsibilities that entails. Whilst the Grey Swords, bereft of one god, have chosen to kneel before two others — a mated, if riven, pair. My once-caravan captain, Gruntle, is reborn as a new god's Mortal Sword. The Barghast gods have been rediscovered, and so represent an ancient horde of untested power and disposition. Indeed, in surveying those gathered here, the only truly unaspected agents at this table are High Fist Dujek and his second, Whiskeyjack. The Malazans.'

Itkovian saw the suddenly closed expression of the warlord, Caladan Brood, and wondered at the hammer's responsibilities that Keruli had so blithely mentioned.

The standing, grey-haired warrior broke the ensuing silence with a barking laugh. 'You conveniently forgot yourself, Priest. Of the Mask Council, yet unmasked. Indeed, unwelcome in their company, it seems. Your companions make their gods plain, but not you, and why is that?'

Keruli's smile was benign, unperturbed. 'Dear Kallor, how you've withered under your curse. Do you still cart that meaningless throne with you? Yes, I had guessed as much-'

'I thought it was you,' Kallor hissed. 'Such a paltry disguise-'

'Issues of physical manifestation have proved problematic.'

'You've lost your power.'

'Not entirely. It has … evolved, and so I am forced to adjust, and learn.'

The warrior reached for his sword. 'In other words, I could kill you now-'

'I am afraid not,' Keruli sighed. 'Only in your dreams, perhaps. But then, you no longer dream, do you, Kallor? The Abyss takes you into its embrace each night. Oblivion, your own personal nightmare.'

Without turning, Brood rumbled, 'Remove your hand from your weapon, Kallor. My patience with you has stretched to its limit.'

'This is no priest sitting before you, Warlord!' the warrior rasped. 'It is an Elder God! K'rul himself.'

'I had gathered as much,' Brood sighed.

For a half-dozen heartbeats no-one spoke, and Itkovian could almost hear the grating, jarring shift of power. An Elder God was among them. Seated, expression benign, at this table.

'A limited manifestation,' Keruli said, then, 'to be more precise.'

'It had better be,' Gruntle interjected, his feline eyes fixed squarely on him, 'given Harllo's fate.'

Sorrow flitted across the Elder God's smooth, round features. 'Profoundly so, at the time, I am afraid. I did all that I could, Gruntle. I regret that it proved insufficient.'

'So do I.'

'Well!' Rath'Shadowthrone snapped. 'You can hardly sit on the Mask Council, then, can you?'

The Malazan named Whiskeyjack burst out laughing, the sound startling everyone at the table.

Stonny twisted in her seat to the High Priest of Shadow. 'Does your god truly know how small your brain really is? What is the issue? Elder Gods don't know the secret handshake? His mask is too realistic?'

'He's immortal, you slut!'

'Kind of guarantees seniority,' Gruntle commented. 'Eventually…'

'Do not make light of this, eater of rats!'

'And if you dare throw that word again at Stonny, I will kill you,' the Daru said. 'As for making light, it is hard not to. We're all trying to swallow the implications of all this. An Elder God has stepped into the fray … against what we'd thought to be a mortal empire — by the Abyss, what have we got ourselves into? But you, your first and solitary thought is fixated on membership in your paltry, over-inflated council. Shadowthrone must be cringing right now.'

'He's likely used to it,' Stonny grated, sneering at the High Priest, 'when it comes to this bag of slime.'

Rath'Shadowthrone gaped at her.

'Let's get back to the task before us,' Brood said. 'Your words are accepted, K'rul. The Pannion Domin concerns all of us. As gods and priests, no doubt you can find your own roles in countering whatever threats are manifesting against the pantheon and the warrens — though we both know that the source of those threats is not directly associated with the Pannion Seer. My point is, we are here to discuss the organization of the forces that will now march with us south of the river, into the heart of the Domin. Mundane considerations, but essential none the less.'

'Accepted,' K'rul replied. 'Provisionally,' he added.

'Why provisionally?'

'I anticipate a few masks coming off in these proceedings, Warlord.'

Humbrall Taur cleared his throat. 'The course is simple enough,' he growled. 'Cafal.'