Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

'There's a rug-seller's shop,' Gruntle said, 'in Darujhistan. To cross its floor is to scale layer upon layer of woven artistry. Thus are the lessons of mortals laid down before the gods. Pity that they keep stumbling so — you'd think they'd have learned by now.'

Rath'Burn wheeled on him. 'Silence! You know nothing of this! If Brood does not act, Burn will die! And when she dies, so too does all life on this world! That is the choice, you fool! Topple a handful of corrupt civilizations or absolute annihilation — what would you choose?'

'Well, since you're asking-'

'I withdraw the question, for you are clearly as insane as the warlord here. Caladan Brood, you must yield the hammer. To me. Here and now. In the name of Burn, the Sleeping Goddess, I demand it.'

The warlord rose, unslung the weapon. 'Here, then.' He held it out in his right hand.

Rath'Burn's eyes blinked, then she shot upright, strode round the table.

She grasped the hammer's copper-wrapped handle in both hands.

Brood released it.

The weapon plunged earthward. The snaps of the woman's wrist bones cut through the air. Then she screamed, even as the hill trembled to the impact of the hammer's massive head. Cups bounced on the table, splashed red wine across its surface. Rath'Burn had fallen to her knees, no longer holding the weapon, her broken arms cradled on her lap.

'Artanthos,' Dujek said, his eyes on Brood — who looked down on the woman with a dispassionate regard — 'find us a healer. A good one.'

The soldier standing behind the High Fist headed off.

The warlord addressed the High Priestess. 'The difference between you and your goddess, woman, is faith. A simple thing, after all. You see only two options open to me. Indeed, so did the Sleeping Goddess, at first. She gave to me the weapon, and gave to me the freedom to choose. It has taken a long while for me to understand what else she gave to me. I have withheld acting, withheld making that choice, and thought myself a coward. Perhaps I still am, yet a small measure of wisdom has finally lodged itself in my head-'

'Burn's faith,' K'rul said. 'That you would find a third choice.'

'Aye. Her faith.'

Artanthos reappeared with another Malazan, but Brood held out a hand to halt them. 'No, I will heal her myself. She was not to know, after all'

'Too generous,' K'rul murmured. 'She abandoned her goddess long ago, Warlord.'

'No journey is too long,' Brood replied, lowering himself to kneel before Rath'Burn.

Itkovian had last seen High Denul unveiled by Destriant Karnadas, and that fraught with the infection poisoning the warrens. What he saw now was … clean, unaffected, and appallingly powerful.

K'rul rose suddenly, looked around.

Rath'Burn gasped.

The Elder God's odd actions drew Itkovian's attention, and he followed K'rul's gaze. To see that another group had arrived on the hilltop, standing at a distance to the right of the tarp. Captain Paran was the only one among the four newcomers that Itkovian recognized, and he was not the man at whom the Elder God was looking.

A dark-skinned, tall and lean man, faintly smiling, was watching the proceedings from the back of the group, focused, it seemed, on Brood. After a moment, some instinct made him glance at K'rul. The man answered the Elder God's rapt attention with a slight, strangely uneven shrug — as if some invisible weight burdened his left shoulder.

Itkovian heard K'rul sigh.

Rath'Burn and Caladan Brood rose together, then. Her bones had been knitted. No swelling or bruising marred her bared forearms. She stood as if in shock, leaning against the warlord.

'What is this?' Kallor demanded. 'That warren bore no sign of poison.'

'Indeed,' K'rul smiled. 'It seems the illness has been pushed back from this location. Temporary, yet sufficient. Perhaps this is another lesson in the powers of faith … which I shall endeavour to heed …'

Itkovian's eyes narrowed. He speaks with two meanings. One, for us. A deeper second meaning, for that man standing over there.

A moment later the large, heavy-set woman standing beside Captain Paran approached the table.

Seeing her, Kallor backed off a step.

'Careless,' she drawled to the warlord, who spun at her words, 'dropping your hammer like that.'

'Silverfox. We'd wondered if we would see you again.'

'Yet you sent Korlat out to track me, Warlord.'

'Only to ascertain your whereabouts and direction of travel. It appears she got lost, for she has yet to return.'

'A temporary misdirection. My T'lan Ay now surround her and are guiding her back here. Unharmed.'

'I am relieved to hear that. By your words, I assume that the Second Gathering has taken place.'

'It has.'

Whiskeyjack had seen Captain Paran and was approaching him for a private word. The tall, dark-skinned man moved to join them.

'Tell us, then,' the warlord continued, 'has another army joined in the proceedings?'

'My T'lan Imass have tasks before them that will require a journey to the Pannion Domin. To your advantage, should there be more K'Chain Che'Malle K'ell Hunters, for we will deal with them.'

'Presumably, you've no intention of elaborating on these tasks that you mentioned.'

'Warlord, they are private matters, and have no bearing on you or your war.'

'Don't believe her,' Kallor growled. 'They want the Seer, for they know what he is — a Jaghut Tyrant.'

Silverfox faced Kallor. 'And should you capture the Pannion Seer, what would you do with him? He is insane, his mind twisted by the taint of the Warren of Chaos and the Crippled God's manipulations. Execution is the only option. Leave that to us, for we exist to kill Jaghut-'

'Not always,' Dujek interjected.

'What do you mean?'

'Did not one of your T'lan Imass accompany the Adjunct Lorn when she freed the Jaghut Tyrant south of Darujhistan?'

Silverfox looked troubled. 'The Clanless One. Yes. An event I do not as yet understand. None the less, that Tyrant was awakened from a cursed sleep, only to die in truth-'

A new voice spoke. 'Actually, while a little worse for wear, Raest was admirably animate the last time I saw him.'

Silverfox spun. 'Ganoes, what do you mean? The Tyrant was slain.'

The small, round man now standing beside Captain Paran drew a handkerchief from a sleeve and mopped his brow. 'Well, as to that … not quite, Kruppe reluctantly advises. Matters were somewhat confused, alas-'

'A House of the Azath took the Jaghut Tyrant,' K'rul explained. 'The Malazan plan, as I understand it, was to force Anomander Rake's hand — a confrontation that was intended to weaken him, if not see him slain outright. Raest never did come face to face with the Lord of Moon's Spawn, as it turned out-'

'I see little relevance in all this,' Silverfox cut in. 'If the Clanless One has indeed broken his vow, then he will have to answer to me.'

'My point was,' Dujek said, 'you make a claim that the T'lan Imass and what they do or don't do is separate from everyone and everything else. You insist on detachment, but, as a veteran of the Malazan campaigns, I tell you that what you assert is patently untrue.'

'Perhaps indeed the Logros T'lan Imass grew … confused. If so, such ambivalence is past. Unless, of course, you would challenge the authority that I was born to.'

No-one spoke in answer to that.

Silverfox nodded. 'Very well. You have been told of the position of the T'lan Imass. We will have this Jaghut Tyrant. Does anyone here wish to counter our claim?'

'From the implicit threats in your tone, woman,' Brood grated, 'that would be a foolhardy position to take. I for one will not squabble and tug the Seer's limbs.' He swung to Dujek. 'High Fist?'

The one-armed soldier grimaced, then shook his head.