Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

'Is it?'

'Please, sir, permit me to continue.'

'Very well.'

'The man, Anaster, might well view what we seek for him as torture, but that is a fear born of ignorance. He will not be harmed. Indeed, my Shield Anvil seeks the very opposite for the unfortunate man.'

'She would take the pain from him.'

The Destriant nodded.

'That spiritual embrace — such as Itkovian did to Rath'Fener.'

'Even so, sir.'

Paran was silent a moment, then he said, 'The notion terrifies Anaster?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because he knows of nothing else within him. He has equated his entire identity with the pain of his soul. And so fears its end.'

Paran turned towards the Malazan camp. 'Follow me,' he said.

'Sir?' she asked behind him.

'He is yours, Destriant. With my blessing.'

She staggered then, against her horse, which grunted and sidestepped.

Paran spun. 'What-'

The woman righted herself, lifted a hand to her brow, then shook her head. 'I am sorry. There was … weight… to your use of that word.'

'My use — oh.'

Oh. Hood's breath, Ganoes — that was damned careless. 'And?' he reluctantly asked.

'And … I am not sure, sir. But I think you would be well advised to, uh, exercise caution in the future.'

'Aye, I think you're right. Are you recovered enough to continue?'

She nodded, collecting the reins of her horse.

Don't think about it, Ganoes Paran. Take it as a warning and nothing more. You did nothing to Anaster — you don't even know the man. A warning, and you'll damn well heed it.

Glass is sand and sand is glass!

The ant dancing blind as blind ants do

on the lip of the rim and the rim of the lip.

White in the night and grey in the day —

smiling spider she never smiles but smile she does

though the ant never sees, blind as it is — and now was!

Tales to Scare Children

Malesen the Vindictive (b.?)

'Mindless panic, alas, makes her twitch.'

The Seerdomin's voice above him said, 'I believe it has grown … excessive of late, Holy One.'

The Pannion Seer's reply was a shriek: 'Do you think I can't see that? Do you think I'm blind?'

'You are all wise and all knowing,' the Seerdomin officer rumbled. 'I was simply expressing my concern, Holy One. He can no longer walk, and his breath seems so laboured within that malformed chest.'

'He'. crippled. crumpled ribs like skeleton hands closing tighter on lungs, ever tighter. Seerdomin. This is me you describe.

But who am I?

I'd felt power once, Long ago.

There is a wolf.

A wolf. Trapped in this cage — my chest, these bones, yes, he cannot breathe. It hurts so to breathe.

The howls are gone. Silenced. The wolf cannot call. call.

To whom?

I'd rested my hand, once, on her furred shoulder. Near the neck. We'd not yet awakened, she and I. So close, travelling in step, yet not awakened. such tragic ignorance. Yet she'd gifted me her mortal visions, her only history — such as she knew it to be, whilst deep in her heart slept.

. slept my beloved.

'Holy One, your mother's embrace will kill him, should he be returned to it-'

'You dare order me?' the Seer hissed, and there was trembling in his voice.

'I do not command, Holy One. I state a fact.'

'Ultentha! Dearest Septarch, come forward! Yes, look upon this man at your Seerdomin's feet. What think you?'

'Holy One,' a new voice, softer, 'my most trusted servant speaks true. This man's bones are so mangled-'

'I can see! ' the Seer screamed.

'Holy One,' the Septarch continued, 'relieve him from his horror.'

'No! I will not! He is mine! He is Mother's! She needs him — someone to hold — she needs him!'

'Her love is proving fatal,' the Seerdomin said.

'You both defy me? Shall I gather my Winged Ones? To send you to oblivion? To fight and squabble over what's left? Yes? Shall I?'

'As the Holy One wills.'

'Yes, Ultentha! Precisely! As I will!'

The Seerdomin spoke. 'Shall I return him to the Matron, then, Holy One?'

'Not yet. Leave him there. I am amused by the sight of him. Now, Ultentha, your report.'

'The trenches are completed, Holy One. The enemy will come across the flats to face the city wall. They'll not send scouts to the forested ridge on their right — I will stake my soul on that.'

'You have, Ultentha, you have. And what of those damned Great Ravens? If but one has seen 'Your Winged Ones have driven them off, Holy One. The skies have been cleared, and so the enemy's intelligence is thus thwarted. We shall permit them to establish their camps on the flats, then we shall rise from our hidden positions and descend upon their flank. This, in time with the assault of the Mage Cadres from the walls and the Winged Ones from the sky, as well as Septarch Inal's sortie from the gates — Holy One, victory will be ours.'

'I want Caladan Brood. I want his hammer, delivered into my hands. I want the Malazans annihilated. I want the Barghast gods grovelling at my feet. But most of all, I want the Grey Swords! Is that understood? I want that man, Itkovian — then I will have a replacement for my mother. Thus, hear me well, if you seek mercy for Toc the Younger, bring to me Itkovian. Alive.'

'It will be as you will, Holy One,' Septarch Ultentha said.

It will be as he wills. He is my god. What he wills, all that he wills. The wolf cannot breathe. The wolf is dying.

He — we are dying.

'And where is the enemy now, Ultentha?'

'They have indeed divided, two days past, since they crossed the river.'

'Yet are they not aware that the cities they march towards are dead?'

'So their Great Ravens must have reported, Holy One.'

'Then what are they up to?'

'We are unsure. Your Winged Ones dare not draw too close — their presence is yet to be noted, I believe, and best we keep it that way.'

'Agreed. Well, perhaps they imagine we have set traps — hidden troops, or some such thing — and fear a surprise attack from behind should they simply ignore the cities.'

'We are granted more time by their caution, Holy One.'

'They are fools, swollen with the victory at Capustan.'

'Indeed, Holy One. For which they will dearly pay.'

Everyone pays. No-one escapes. I thought I was safe. The wolf was a power unto himself, stretching awake. He was where I fled to.

But the wolf chose the wrong man, the wrong body. When he came down to take my eye — that flash of grey, burning, that I'd thought a stone — I'd been whole, young, sound.

But the Matron has me now. Old skin sloughing from her massive arms, the smell of abandoned snakepits. The twitch of her embrace — and bones break, break and break again. There has been so much pain, its thunder endless of late. I have felt her panic, as the Seer has said. This is what has taken my mind. This is what has destroyed me.

Better I had stayed destroyed. Better my memories never returned. Knowledge is no gift.

Cursed aware. Lying here on this cold floor, the softly surging waves of pain receding — I can no longer feel my legs. I smell salt. Dust and mould. There is weight on my left hand. It is pinned beneath me, and now grows numb.

I wish I could move.

'… salt the bodies. There's no shortage. Scurvy's taken so many of the Tenescowri, it's all our troops can do to gather the corpses, Holy One.'

'Mundane diseases will not take the soldiers, Ultentha. I have seen this in a dream. The mistress walked among the Tenescowri, and lo, their flesh swelled, their fingers and toes rotted and turned black, their teeth fell out in streams of red spit. But when she came upon my chosen warriors, I saw her smile. And she turned away.'