Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

'Not for you,' the warrior rumbled. 'Her spirit awaits. And those of her gathered kin. And the beasts whose hearts are empty. All await. Not for you.'

The air in the alley had grown bitter cold.

'Oh, all right, then,' the attacker sighed. 'What of this driver and his guard? I could use so many pieces of them-'

'No. Korbal Broach, hear the words of my master. You are to release the undead who guard your compound. You and the one named Bauchelain are to leave the city. This night.'

'We'd planned on a morning departure, Knight of Death — for you are the Knight, yes? High House Death stirs to wakefulness, I now sense. A morning departure, yes? To follow these fascinating armies southward-'

'This night, or I shall descend upon you, and claim your souls. Do you realize the fate my master has in store for you two?'

Coll watched as the bald, pallid-faced man atop the wagon raised his arms — which then blurred, broadened into midnight wings. He giggled. 'You will have to catch us first!' The blurring became a smear, then where the man had stood there was only a bedraggled crow, cawing sharply as it rose upward, wings thrumming, and was swallowed by darkness.

The warrior walked to where Murillio lay.

Coll drew a deep breath, seeking to slow his hammering heart, then climbed painfully to his feet. 'My thanks to you, sir,' he grunted, wincing at what in the morning would be fierce bruising on his right shoulder and hip. 'Does my companion live?'

The warrior, who Coll now saw was wearing the remnants of Gidrath armour, swung to face him. 'He lives. Korbal Broach requires that they be alive … for his work. At least at first. You are to come with me.'

'Ah, when you said hunting, that sorcerer assumed it was him you were hunting. But it wasn't, was it?'

'They are an arrogant pair.'

Coll slowly nodded. He hesitated, then said, 'Forgive me if I am being rude, but I would know what you — what your Lord — would do with us? We've an elderly woman to care for-'

'You are to have my master's protection. Come, the Temple of Hood has been prepared for your residence.'

'Not sure how I should take that. The Mhybe needs help.'

'What the Mhybe needs, Coll of Darujhistan, is not for you to give.'

'Is it for Hood to give?'

'The woman's flesh and bone must be maintained. Fed, given water, cared for. That is your responsibility.'

'You did not answer.'

'Follow me. We have not far to go.'

'At the moment,' Coll said quietly, 'I am inclined otherwise.' He reached for his sword.

The Knight of Death cocked his head. 'Tell me, Coll of Darujhistan, do you sleep?'

The Daru frowned. 'Of course. What-'

'I did once, too. I must have, yes? But now, I do not. Instead, I pace. You see, I cannot remember sleep. I cannot remember what it was like.'

'I–I am sorry for that.'

'Thus, one who does not sleep … and, here in this wagon, one who will not awaken. I believe, Coll of Darujhistan, that we will have need of each other. Soon. This woman and I.'

'What kind of need?'

'I do not know. Come, we've not far.'

Coll slowly resheathed his sword. He could not have explained why he did so; none of his questions had been answered to his satisfaction, and the thought of entering Hood's protection chilled his skin. None the less, he nodded and said, 'A moment, if you will. I have to lift Murillio onto the bed.'

'Ah, yes. That is true. I would have done so but, alas, I find myself unable to release my swords from my own hands.' The warrior was silent a moment longer, then he said, 'Korbal Broach saw into me. His words have made my mind … troubled. Coll of Darujhistan, I think I am dead. Am I? Am I dead?'

'I don't know,' the Daru replied, 'but… I think so.'

'The dead, it is said, do not sleep.'

Coll well knew the saying, and knew that it had originally come from Hood's own temple. He knew, as well, the wry observation that closed the quote.' "While the living do not live." Not that that makes much sense.'

'It does to me,' the warrior said. 'For I now know that I have lost what I did not know I once possessed.'

Coll's mind stumbled through that statement, then he sighed. 'I'd be a fool not to take your word for it… have you a name?'

'I believe so, but I have forgotten it.'

'Well,' Coll said as he crouched down over Murillio and gathered the man into his arms, 'Knight of Death won't do, I'm afraid.' He straightened, grunting at the weight in his arms. 'You were a Gidrath, yes? And a Capan — though I admit, with that bronze hue to your skin, you've more the colouring of-'

'No, I was not Gidrath. Not Capan. I am not, I think, from this continent at all. I do not know why I appeared here. Nor how. I have not been here long. This is as my master wills. Of my past, I recall but one thing.'

Coll carried Murillio to the back of the wagon and laid the man down. 'And what's that?'

'I once stood within fire.'

After a long moment, Coll sighed roughly. 'An unfortunate memory. '

'There was pain. Yet I held on. Fought on. Or so I believe. I was, I think, sworn to defend a child's life. But the child was no more. It may be … that I failed.'

'Well, we still need a name for you.'

'Perhaps one will come to you eventually, Coll of Darujhistan.'

'I promise it.'

'Or perhaps one day my memories will return in full, and with them my name.'

And if Hood has any mercy in him that day will never come, friend. For I think there was nothing easy in your life. Or in your death. And it seems he does possess mercy, for he's taken you far away from all that you once knew, for if I'm not mistaken, if only by your features and never mind that strange skin, you're Malazan.

Itkovian had crossed on the last barge, beneath a vast spread of spearpoint stars, in the company of Stonny Menackis and Gruntle and his score of barbed followers, along with a hundred or so Rhivi — mostly elders and their dogs. The animals snapped and squabbled in the confines of the flat, shallow craft, then settled down for the journey's second half once they'd managed to fight their way to the gunnels and could look out over the river.

The dogs were the first off when the barge ground ashore on the south side, barking wildly as they splashed through the reeds, and Itkovian was glad for their departure. Only half listening to Gruntle and Stonny exchanging insults like a husband and wife who had known each other far too long, Itkovian readied his horse to await the laying down of planks, and watched with mild interest the Rhivi elders following in the wake of their dogs without heed to the shore's churned mud and matted reeds.

The low, worn-down hills on this side of the river still held a haze of dust and dung-smoke, draped like a mourner's veil over the army's score thousand or more tents. Apart from a few hundred Rhivi herders and the bhederin herd they were tasked to drive across come the dawn, the entire force of the invaders was now on Pannion territory.

No-one had contested the landing. The low hills to the south seemed devoid of life, revealing naught but the worn tracks left behind by Septarch Kulpath's besieging army.

Gruntle moved up alongside him. 'Something tells me we'll be marching through razed land all the way down to Coral.'

'That seems likely, sir. It is as I would have done, were I the Seer.'

'I sometimes wonder if Brood and Dujek realize that the army that besieged Capustan was but one among at least three of comparable size. And while Kulpath was a particularly effective Septarch, there are six others competent enough to cause us grief.'

Itkovian pulled his gaze from the encampment ahead to study the hulking warrior at his side. 'We must assume our enemy is preparing for us. Yet, within the Domin, the last grains of the bell-glass are even now trickling down.'