Memories of Ice

Paran frowned. 'I was warned that they might ask, but no, I've not been approached.'

The black-armoured warrior was silent for a moment, then he said, 'Yet you acknowledge their place in the pantheon.'

'I don't see why not.'

'Is that a yes, Captain?'

'All right. Yes. Why? What's wrong?'

'Nothing is wrong. I will die soon, and I wish to know what will await my soul.'

'Have the Barghast shouldermen finally acknowledged that the Moranth share the same blood?'

'Their pronouncements one way or the other are without relevance.'

'Yet mine are?'

'You are the Master of the Deck.'

'What caused the schism, Twist? Between the Moranth and the Barghast?'

The achievant slowly raised his withered arm. 'Perhaps, in another realm, this arm is hale, whilst the rest of me is shrunken and lifeless. Perhaps,' he went on, 'it already feels the clasp, firm and strong, of a spirit. Who now but waits for my complete passage into that world.'

'An interesting way of viewing it.'

'Perspective, Captain. The Barghast would see us withered and lifeless. To be cut away.'

'While you see it the other way round?'

Twist shrugged. 'We do not fear change. We do not resist it. The Barghast must accept that growth is necessary, even if painful. They must learn what the Moranth learned long ago, when we did not draw our swords and instead spoke with the Tiste Edur — the grey-skinned wanderers of the seas. Spoke, to discover they were as lost as we were, as weary of war, as ready for peace.'

'Tiste Edur?'

'Children of the Shattered Warren. A fragment had been discovered, in the vast forest of Moranth that would become our new homeland. Kurald Emurlahn, the true face of Shadow. There were so few Tiste Edur left, we chose to welcome them. The last of them are gone now, from Moranth Wood, long gone, but their legacy is what has made us as we are.'

'Achievant, it may take me a while to make sense of what you've just described. I have questions-'

Twist shrugged again. 'We did not slay the Tiste Edur. In Barghast eyes, that is our greatest crime. I wonder, however, if the Elder Spirits — now gods — see it in similar light.'

'They've had a long time to think,' Paran murmured. 'Sometimes, that's all that's needed. The heart of wisdom is tolerance. I think.'

'If so, Captain, then you must be proud.'

'Proud?'

The achievant slowly turned away as soft calls announced the troop was ready. 'I now return to Dujek Onearm.' He paused, then added, 'The Malazan Empire is a wise empire. I think that rare, and precious. And so I wish it — and you — well.'

Paran watched Twist stride away.

It was time to go.

Tolerant, Maybe. Keep that word in mind, Ganoes — there's a whisper that it will prove the fulcrum in what's to come …

Kruppe's mule carried him swiftly up the embankment, through a press of marching marines on the road — who scattered from its path — then down the other side and out onto the plain. Shouts and helpful advice followed him.

'Brainless beast! Blind, stubborn, braying creature of the Abyss! Stop, Kruppe cries! Stop! No, not that way-'

The mule charged a tilting path back round, fast-trotted smartly for the nearest clan of White Face Barghast.

A dozen savagely painted children raced out to meet them.

The mule baulked in sudden alarm, pitching Kruppe forward onto its neck. The animal then wheeled, and slowed to a placid walk, tail switching its rump.

The Daru managed to right himself with a succession of grunts. 'Exercise is madness!' he exclaimed to the children who jogged up alongside. 'Witness these frightening urchins, already so musclebound as to laugh with stupid delight at Kruppe's woeful fate! The curse of vigour and strain has addled them. Dear Kruppe, forgive them as befits your admirable nature, your amiable equanimity, your effortlessly estimable ease among the company of those sadly lacking in years. Ah, you poor creatures, so short of leg yet self-deluded into expressions witlessly wise. You strut in step with this confounded mule, and so lay bare the tragic truth — your tribe is doomed, Kruppe pronounces! Doomed!'

'They understand not a word, Man of Lard!'

Kruppe twisted round to see Hetan and Cafal riding to join him. The woman was grinning.

'Not a word, Daru, and a good thing, too. Else they tear your heart from your chest at such damnations!'

'Damnations? Dear woman, Kruppe's deadly temper is to blame. His white hot rage that so endangers all around him! It is this beast, you see-'

'Not even worth eating,' Hetan noted. 'What think you, brother?'

'Too scrawny,' Cafal agreed.

'None the less, Kruppe pleads for forgiveness on behalf of his worthy self and the conversely worthless beast he rides. Forgive us, somewhat longer-legged spawn of Humbrall Taur, we beg you!'

'We've a question for you, Man of Lard.'