Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

'We've had word,' Paran said, accepting the cup of steaming herbal brew from Picker, 'from the Black Moranth.'

'They reconnoitred Setta.'

'Aye. There's no-one there. Not breathing, anyway. The whole city's one big necropolis.'

'So why are we still marching there?' Picker asked. 'Unless we're not…'

'We are, Corporal.'

'What for?'

'We're marching to Setta because we're not marching to Lest.'

'Well,' Blend sighed, 'I'm glad that's been cleared up.'

Paran sipped his tea, then said, 'I have elected a second.'

'A second, sir?' Picker asked. 'Why?'

'Obvious reasons. In any case, I've chosen you, Picker. You're now a lieutenant. Whiskeyjack has given his blessing. In my absence you're to command the Bridgeburners-'

'No thanks, sir.'

'It's not up for discussion, Picker. Your lieutenancy is already inscribed in the rolls. Official, with Dujek's seal on it.'

Blend nudged her. 'Congratulations — oh, I suppose I should have saluted.'

'Shut up,' Picker growled. 'But you're right on one thing — don't ever bump me again, woman.'

'That's a hard order to follow. sir.'

Paran drained the last of his tea and straightened. 'I've only got one order for you, Lieutenant.'

She looked up at him. 'Captain?'

'The Bridgeburners,' Paran said, and his expression was suddenly severe. 'Keep them together, no matter what happens. Together, Lieutenant.'

'Uh, yes, sir.'

They watched Paran return to his horse and lead it away.

Neither woman said much for a while thereafter, then Blend sighed. 'Let's go to bed, Picker.'

'Aye.'

They stamped out the remnants of the fire. Darkness closing around them, Blend stepped closer and hooked her arm around Picker's.

'It's all down,' she murmured, 'to what the night hides …'

To Hood it is. It's all down to what the captain was saying behind what he said. That's what I need to figure out. Something tells me it's the end of sleeping peacefully for Lieutenant Picker.

They strode from the dying embers and were swallowed by darkness.

Moments later, no movement was visible, the stars casting their faint silver light down on the camp of the Bridgeburners. The oft-patched tents were colourless in the dull, spectral glow. A scene that was ghostly and strangely timeless. Revealing its own kind of peace.

Whiskeyjack entered Dujek's command tent. As expected, the High Fist was prepared for him. Hooded lantern on camp table, two tankards of ale and a block of Gadrobi goat cheese. Dujek himself sat in one of the chairs, head lowered in sleep.

'High Fist,' Whiskeyjack said as he removed his gauntlets, eyes on the ale and cheese.

The old commander grunted, sat straighter, blinking. 'Right.'

'We've lost her.'

'Too bad. You must be hungry, so I — oh, good. Keep filling your mouth and leave the talking to me, then.' He leaned forward and retrieved his tankard. 'Artanthos found Paran and delivered the orders. So, the captain will get the Bridgeburners ready — ready for what, they won't know and that's probably for the best. As for Paran himself, all right, Quick Ben convinced me. Too bad, that, though I'll be honest and say as far as I can see we'll miss the wizard more than we will that noble-born lad-'

Holding up one hand to stop Dujek, Whiskeyjack washed down the last of the cheese with a mouthful of ale.

The High Fist sighed, waited.

'Dujek-'

'Comb the crumbs from your beard,' the High Fist growled, 'since I expect you'll want me to take you seriously.'

'A word on Paran. With the loss of Tatter- of Silverfox, I mean, the captain's value to us can't be overestimated. No, not just us. The Empire itself. Quick Ben's been adamant on this. Paran is the Master of the Deck. Within him is the power to reshape the world, High Fist.' He paused, mulling on his own words. 'Now, maybe there's no chance of Laseen ever regaining the man's favour, but at the very least she'd be wise to avoid making the relationship worse.'

Dujek's brows lifted. 'I'll so advise her the next time I see her.'

'All right. Sorry. No doubt the Empress is cognizant-'

'No doubt. As I was saying, however, it's the loss of Quick Ben that stings the most. From my own point of view, that is.'

'Well, sir, what the wizard has in mind … uh, I agree with him that the less Brood and company know of it the better. So long as the division of forces proceeds as planned, they'll have no reason but to believe that Quick Ben marches in step with the rest of us.'

'The wizard's madness-'

'High Fist, the wizard's madness has saved our skins more than once. Not just mine and the Bridgeburners', but yours as well-'

'I am well aware of that, Whiskeyjack. Forgive an old man his fears, please. It was Brood and Rake and the Tiste Andii — and the damned Elder Gods, as well — who were supposed to step into the Crippled God's path. They're the ones with countless warrens and frightening levels of potency — not us, not one mortal squad wizard and a young noble-born captain who's already died once. Even if they don't mess things up, look at the enemies we'll acquire.'

'Assuming our present allies are so short-sighted as to fail to comprehend.'

'Whiskeyjack, we're the Malazans, remember? Nothing we do is ever supposed to reveal a hint of our long-term plans — mortal empires aren't supposed to think that far ahead. And we're damned good at following that principle, you and I. Hood take me, Laseen inverted the command structure for a reason, you know.'

'So the right people would be there at ground level when Shadowthrone and Cotillion made their move, aye.'

'Not just them, Whiskeyjack.'

'This should be made known to Quick Ben — to all of the Bridgeburners, in fact.'

'No. In any case, don't you think your wizard's figured things out yet?'

'If so, then why did he send Kalam after the Empress?'

'Because Kalam needs to be convinced in person, that's why. Face to face with the Empress. Quick Ben knew that.'

'Then I must be the only thick-witted one in this entire imperial game,' Whiskeyjack sighed.

'Maybe the only truly honourable one, at any rate. Look, we knew the Crippled God was getting ready to make a move. We knew the gods would make a mess of things. Granted, we didn't anticipate the Elder Gods getting involved, but that's neither here nor there, is it? The point was, we knew trouble was coming. From more than one direction — but how could we have guessed that what was going on in the Pannion Domin was in any way related to the efforts of the Crippled God?

'Even so, I don't think it was entirely chance that it was a couple of Bridgeburners who bumped into that agent of the Chained One — that sickly artisan from Darujhistan; nor that Quick Ben was there to confirm the arrival of the House of Chains. Laseen has always understood the value of tactical placement yielding results — Hood knows, she taught that to the Emperor, not the other way round. The Crippled God's pocket-warren wanders — it always has. That it wandered to the hills between Pale and Darujhistan was an opportunity the Crippled God could not pass up — if he was going to do anything, he had to act. And we caught him. Maybe not in a way we'd anticipated, but we caught him.'

'Well enough,' Whiskeyjack muttered.

'As for Paran, there's a certain logic there, as well. Tayschrenn was grooming Tattersail to the role of Mistress of the Deck, after all. And when that went wrong, well, there was a residual effect — straight to the man closest to her at the time. Not physically, but certainly spiritually. In all this, Whiskeyjack — if we look on things in retrospect — the only truly thick-witted player was Bellurdan Skullcrusher. We'll never know what happened between him and Tattersail on that plain, but by the Abyss it ranks as one of the worst foul-ups in imperial history. That the role of Master of the Deck fell to a Malazan and not to some Gadrobi herder who'd happened to be nearby, well, Oponn's luck played into our hands there, and that's about all we can say of that, I think.'