Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

'Gentlemen, the horror was of course the Fallen One's fateful descent. And whatever healing was demanded of the surviving powers proved a difficult, burdensome task. The Elder Gods did what they could, but understand, they were themselves younger than the two wolf-gods, and, more significantly, they did not find ascendancy walking in step with humans — or those who would one day become humans, that is-'

'Stop, please!' Paran snapped.

'Kruppe cannot! To pause here would be to lose all that must be said! The dimmest of memories are all that remain, and even they are succumbing to the gathering gloom! Frail fragments come as fraught dreams, and the promise of reunion and rebirth are lost, unrecognized, the redemption promised wandering a tundra alone, howling with the wind — yet salvation is at hand! Disparate spirits are united in their resolve! A spirit of hard edges, to hold the others to their course despite all the pain that others must bear. Another spirit, to clasp hard the hurt of abandonment until it can find proper answer! And yet a third spirit, filled with love and compassion — if somewhat witless, granted — to so flavour the pending moment. And a fourth, possessing the power to achieve the necessary reparation of old wounds-'

'Fourth?' Quick Ben sputtered. 'Who's the fourth in Silverfox?'

'Why, the seed-child of a T'lan Imass Bonecaster, of course. Pran Chole's daughter, the one whose true name is indeed the one by which we all know her!'

Itkovian's gaze flicked past Kruppe, to see Korlat and Whiskeyjack twenty paces off, standing in front of a large tent, looking back at the group. No doubt curious, yet maintaining a respectful distance.

'Thus, Kruppe advises one and all,' the Daru resumed after a moment, his tone deeply satisfied, pudgy fingers lacing together to rest on his paunch, 'faith. Patience. Await what must be awaited.'

'And you call that an explanation?' Paran demanded, scowling.

'The very paradigm of explication, dear friends. Cogent, clear, if somewhat quaintly couched. Precision is a precise art. Poignancy is pre-eminent and precludes prevarication. Truths are no trivial thing, after all-'

Itkovian swung towards Whiskeyjack and Korlat and set off.

Paran called out, 'Itkovian?'

'I was reminded of that Gredfallan ale,' he replied over a shoulder. 'It has been years, yet I find the need suddenly overwhelming, sir.'

'I concur. Wait up.'

'Wait, indeed, you three! What of Kruppe's own prodigious thirst?'

'By all means,' Quick Ben replied, setting off in the wake of Itkovian and Paran, 'quaintly quench it — just do so somewhere else.'

'Oh ho! But is that not Whiskeyjack waving Kruppe hence? Generous, kindly soldier, is Whiskeyjack! A moment! Kruppe would catch up!'

The two marines sat on boulders that were part of an old tipi ring, fifteen paces from where Silverfox stood. Shadows were stretching as the day closed over the prairie.

'So,' one of them muttered, 'how long do you think?'

'I'd guess she's communing with them T'lan Imass. See the swirls of dust around her? Could be all night.'

'I'm hungry.'

'Yeah, well, I admit I've been eyeing your leather straps, darling.'

'Problem is, they've forgotten about us.'

'That's not the problem. It's maybe we ain't needed no more. She doesn't need bodyguards. Not dirt-nosed mortals like us, anyway. And we've already seen what we were supposed to see, meaning we're overdue on making a report.'

'We weren't supposed to report, love. Remember? Anyone wants news from us they come by for a conversation.'

'Right, only nobody's come by for a while now. Which was my point in the first place.'

'Doesn't mean we should up and walk away. Besides, here's somebody coming now …'

The other marine twisted in her seat. After a moment, she grunted. 'Nobody we're supposed to report to. Hood knows, I don't even recognize 'em.'

'Sure you do. One, anyway. That's the Trygalle trader-sorceress, Haradas.'

'The other's a soldier, I'd say. An Elin lass, nice sway to the hips-'

'Hard face, though.'

'Eyes fulla hurt. Could be one of them Grey Swords — saw her at the parley.'

'Yeah, well, they're coming our way.'

'So am I,' a voice spoke from a few paces to their left. The marines turned to see that Silverfox was joining them. 'This is a fell thing,' she murmured.

'Oh, what's that?' one of the marines asked her.

'A gathering of women.'

The soldier grunted. 'We ain't gonna gossip, are we?'

Silverfox smiled at the facetious tone. 'Among the Rhivi, it's the men who do all the gossiping. The women are too busy giving them things to gossip about.'

'Huh. That's a surprise. I would've thought there'd be all kind of ancient laws against adultery and such. Banishment, stoning, it's what tribes do, ain't it?'

'Not the Rhivi. Bedding the wrong husbands is great sport. For the women, that is. The men take it all too seriously, of course.'

'They take everything too seriously, if you ask me,' the marine muttered.

'Self-importance will do that,' Silverfox replied, nodding.

Haradas and her companion arrived. In their wake, still sixty paces distant, a Barghast was approaching as well.

The trader-sorceress bowed to Silverfox, then the two Malazans. 'Dusk is a magical time, is it not?'

'What would you ask?' Silverfox drawled.

'A question born of a thought, Bonecaster, that but recently came to me, hence my coming to you.'

'You've been around Kruppe too long, Haradas.'

'Perhaps. Issues of supply continue to plague these armies, as you well know. At the parley, the White Face Barghast offered to provide a fair portion of what will be required. Despite their confidence, I believe that they too will find their resources stretched before long-'

'You would enquire of Tellann,' Silverfox said.

'Ah, indeed, I would. The warren of the T'lan Imass must surely remain … uninfected, after all. Could our guild respectfully employ its path-'

'Uninfected. Yes, it so remains. None the less, there is within Tellann the potential for violence, for risk to your caravans.'

Haradas's brows rose. 'It is assailed?'

'In a fashion. The Throne of the Beast Hold is … contested. There are renegades among the T'lan Imass. The Vow is weakening.'

The sorceress sighed. 'I thank you for the warning, Bonecaster. Risk, of course, is factored in when it comes to the Trygalle Trade Guild. Thus, the usurious fees we charge for our services. Will you then permit us the use of Tellann?'

Silverfox shrugged. 'I see no reason why not. Have you the means to fashion a portal into our warren? If not, I can-'

'No need, Bonecaster,' Haradas said with a faint smile. 'We have long since found such means, yet in respect to the T'lan Imass, and given the accessibility of less … uncivilized. warrens, such portals were never employed.'

Silverfox studied the sorceress for a long moment. 'Remarkable. I can only conclude that the Trygalle Trade Guild is run by a cabal of High Mages, of singular prowess. Do you know that not even the Malazan Empire's most powerful, most knowledgeable mages were ever successful in penetrating the secrets of Tellann? I would like to meet your guild's founders one day.'

Haradas's smile broadened. 'I am sure they would be delighted and indeed honoured by your company, Bonecaster.'

'You are perhaps too generous on their behalf, Sorceress.'

'Not in the least, I assure you. I am pleased that the matter has been concluded so effortlessly-'

'We're a fell gathering indeed,' Silverfox murmured.

Haradas blinked, then recovered and continued, 'So that I may now introduce you to the new Shield Anvil of the Grey Swords, Captain Norul.'

The soldier bowed. 'Bonecaster.' The woman hesitated, then her expression hardened with resolve. 'The Grey Swords are sworn to Togg, Wolf of Winter, and to Fanderay, She-Wolf of Winter.'