Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

— then releasing it, to fall to the ground at his feet.

She frowned down at the weapon, wondering at the significance of the gesture — from the warrior who was called the First Sword.

Slowly, as comprehension filled her, her eyes widened.

What, after all, I was fashioned to do.

'The time has come.'

Coll started. He had been dozing. 'What? What time?'

Murillio rushed over to the Mhybe.

The Knight of Death continued, 'She is ready for interment. My Lord has avowed his eternal protection.'

The Elder God, K'rul, was studying the huge, undead warrior. 'I remain bemused. No — astonished. Since when has Hood become a generous god?'

The Knight slowly faced K'rul. 'My Lord is ever generous.'

'She's still alive,' Murillio pronounced, straightening to place himself between the Mhybe and the Knight of Death. 'The time has not come.'

'This is not a burial,' K'rul said to him. 'The Mhybe now sleeps, and will sleep for ever more. She sleeps, to dream. And within her dream, Murillio, lives an entire world.'

'Like Burn?' Coll asked.

The Elder God smiled in answer.

'Wait a moment!' Murillio snapped. 'Just how many sleeping old women are there?'

'She must be laid to rest,' the Knight of Death pronounced.

Coll stepped forward, settled a hand on Murillio's shoulder. 'Come on, let's make sure she's comfortable down there — furs, blankets …'

Murillio seemed to shiver under Coll's hand. 'After all this?' He wiped at his eyes. 'We just. leave her? Here, in a tomb?'

'Help me with the bedding, my friend,' Coll said.

'There is no need,' the Knight said. 'She will feel nothing.'

'That's not the point,' Coll sighed. He was about to say something more, then he saw that Rath'Fanderay and Rath'Togg had both removed their masks. Pallid, wrinkled faces, eyes closed, streaming with tears. 'What's wrong with them?' he demanded.

'Their gods have finally found each other, Coll. Within the Mhybe's realm, home now to the Beast Thrones. You do not witness sorrow, but joy.'

After a moment, Coll grunted. 'Let's get to work, Murillio. Then we can go home.'

'I still want to know about these old women dreaming up worlds like this!'

The warren flared, the three figures emerging from it spilling onto dusty grey earth in a tangle.

Paran rolled clear of Quick Ben and the Seer as sorcery roiled around the two grappling men. As the captain drew his sword, he heard the Jaghut shriek. Black webs raced, wrapped tight about the thrashing Seer.

Gasping, Quick Ben kicked himself away, the Finnest in his hands.

Crouched on the Jaghut's chest was a tiny figure of twigs and knotted grasses, cackling with glee.

'Who in Hood's name-'

A massive black shape exploded from the portal with a hissing snarl. Paran cried out, wheeled, sword swinging in a desperate horizontal slash.

Which bit muscle then bone.

Something — a paw — hammered Paran's chest, throwing him from his feet.

'Stop — you damned cat!'

Quick Ben's frantic shout was punctuated by a sorcerous detonation that made the panther scream in pain.

'On your feet, Paran!' the wizard gasped. 'I've nothing left.'

On my feet? Gods, I feel broken into a thousand pieces, and the man wants me on my feet. Somehow, he pushed himself upright, tottering as he faced the beast once more.

It crouched six paces away, tail thrashing, coal-lit eyes fixed on his own. It bared its fangs in a silent snarl.

From somewhere within the captain emerged an answering growl. Deeper than a human throat could manage. A brutal strength flowed into him, stealing from him all awareness of his own body — except that now, he realized, he was — somehow — on eye-level with the gigantic panther.

He heard Quick Ben's ragged whisper behind him: 'Abyss below! '

The cat, ears laid back flat, was clearly hesitating.

What in Hood's name is it seeing?

'Bonecaster!' Quick Ben snapped. 'Hold. Look around you — see where we are! We're not your enemies — we seek what you seek. Here. Right now.'

The panther drew back another step, and Paran saw it tensing for a charge.

'Vengeance is not enough!' the wizard cried.

The cat flinched. A moment later, Paran saw its muscles relax, then the entire beast blurred, changed shape — and a small, dark, heavy-boned woman stood before them. On her right shoulder was a deep gash, the blood freely flowing down to paint her arm, dripping from her fingertips to the dusty ground. Black, extraordinarily beautiful eyes regarded him.

Paran slowly sighed, felt something subside within him — and he could sense his own body once more, limbs trembling, sword-grip slick in his hand.

'Who are you?' she asked.

The captain shrugged.

Her gaze dismissed him, lifted past him. 'Morn,' she said.

Paran slowly turned.

He felt the rent like a physical blow against his heart. A welt in the air, almost within reach of the ragged roof of an abandoned tower. A wound, bleeding pain — such pain. an eternity — gods below, there is a soul within it. A child. Trapped. Sealing the wound. I remember that child — the child of my dreams …

Quick Ben had regained his feet, stood looking down on the magically imprisoned Seer, the sticksnare crouched on the man's chest.

The Jaghut, unhuman eyes filled with terror, stared back up at him.

The wizard smiled. 'You and I, Seer. We are going to come to an arrangement.' He still held the Finnest and now slowly raised it. 'The Matron's power … resides within this egg. Correct? A power unable to sense itself, yet alive none the less. Torn from the body that once housed it, presumably it feels no pain. It simply exists, here in this Finnest, for anyone to use it. Anyone at all.'

'No,' the Jaghut rasped, eyes widening with fear. 'The Finnest is aspected to me. To me alone. You foolish-'

'Enough of the insults, Seer. Do you want to hear my proposal? Or will Paran and I simply step back and leave you to this Bonecaster's tender talons?'

The dark-haired woman approached them. 'What do you plan, Wizard?'

Quick Ben glanced back at her. 'An arrangement, Bonecaster, where everyone wins.'

She sneered. 'No-one wins. Ever. Leave him to me now.'

'The T'lan Vow is that important to you? I think not. You are flesh and blood-you did not participate in that ritual.'

'I am not bound to any vow,' she replied. 'I act now for my brother.'

'Your brother?' Paran asked, sheathing his sword and joining them.

'Onos T'oolan. Who knew a mortal, and called him kin.'

'I imagine such an honour is … rare,' Paran acknowledged, 'but what has that to do with the Seer?'

She looked down at the bound Jaghut. 'To answer the death of Toc the Younger, brother to Onos T'oolan, I must kill you, Seer.'

Paran stared, disbelieving the name he had just heard.

The Jaghut's response was a grim unsheathing of his lower tusks. Then he said, 'You should have killed us the first time. Yes, I remember you. Your lies.'

'Toc the Younger?' Quick Ben asked. 'From Onearm's Host? But-'

'He was lost,' Paran said. 'Thrown into a chaotic warren by Hairlock.'

The wizard was scowling. 'To land in the Seer's lap? That hardly seems-'

'He appeared here,' the woman cut in. 'At Morn. The Seer interrupted his journey north to rejoin his people, a journey that, for a time, he shared with Onos T'oolan. The Seer tortured the mortal, destroyed him.'

'Toc's dead?' Paran asked, his mind feeling rocked in every direction.

'I saw his body, yes. And now, I will deliver unto this Jaghut pain to match.'

'Have you not already done so?' the Jaghut hissed.

The Bonecaster's face tightened.

'Wait,' Quick Ben said, looking now to both her and Paran. 'Listen to me. Please. I knew Toc as well, and I grieve for the loss. But it changes nothing, not here, not now.' He turned once more back to the Seer. 'She is still in there, you know.'