Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

After some confusion, the stablers found Paran another mount. He wearily swung himself into the saddle and guided the animal out of the compound. The afternoon sun had begun to throw cooling shadows onto the city's bleached streets. Pale's denizens began emerging, though few lingered anywhere near the Malazan headquarters. The guards held a finely honed sense of suspicion for anyone who hovered overlong, and the assault-issue heavy crossbows cradled in their arms were kept locked back.

Blood had been spilled at the headquarters entrance, and within the building itself. A Hound of Shadow had attacked, not so long ago, leaving a score dead. Paran's memories of that event were still fragmentary. The beast had been driven off by Tattersail… and the captain himself. For the soldiers on guard at the headquarters, however, a peaceful posting had turned into a nightmare. They'd been caught woefully unprepared, a carelessness that would not be repeated. Such a Hound would still scythe through them almost effortlessly, but at least they would go down fighting, not staring slack-jawed.

Paran found Quick Ben, Mallet and Spindle awaiting him astride their own horses. Of the three, the captain knew Spindle the least. The short, bald man's skills ranged from sorcery to sapping, or so he'd been told. His eternally sour disposition did not invite conversation, nor did the foul-smelling thigh-length black and grey hairshirt he wore — woven from his dead mother's hair, if the rumour held any truth. As Paran pulled in alongside the man, he glanced at that shirt. Hood's breath, that could be an old woman's hair! The realization made him even more nauseous.

'Take point, Spindle.'

'Aye, Captain — we'll have a real crush to push through when we hit North Market Round.'

'So find us a way round the place.'

'Them alleys ain't safe, sir-'

'Access your warren, then, and let it bleed enough to make hairs stand on end. You can do that, can't you?'

Spindle glanced at Quick Ben. 'Uh, sir, my warren. triggers things.'

'Serious things?'

'Well, not really-'

'Proceed, soldier.'

'Aye, Captain.'

Expressionless, Quick Ben took rear position, whilst an equally silent Mallet rode alongside Paran.

'Any idea what's going on at Brood's camp, Healer?' the captain asked.

'Not specifically, sir,' Mallet replied. 'Just… sensations.' He continued after an enquiring glance from Paran. 'A real brew of powers over there, sir. Not just Brood and the Tiste Andii — I'm familiar with those. And Kallor's, too, for that matter. No, there's something else. Another presence. Old, yet new. Hints of T'lan Imass, maybe …'

'T'lan Imass?'

'Maybe — I'm just not sure, truth to tell, Captain. It's overpowering everyone else, though.'

Paran's head turned at that.

A cat yowled nearby, followed by a flash of grey as the creature darted along a garden wall then vanished from sight. More yowls sounded, this time from the other side of the narrow street.

A shiver danced up Paran's spine. He shook himself. 'The last thing we need is a new player. The situation's tense enough as it is-'

Two dogs locked in a vicious fight tumbled from an alley mouth just ahead. A panicked cat zigzagged around the snarling, snapping beasts. As one, the horses shied, ears flattening. In the drain gutter to their right the captain saw — with widening eyes — a score of rats scampering parallel to them.

'What in Hood's name-'

'Spindle!' Quick Ben called from behind them. The lead sorcerer twisted in his saddle, a miserable expression on his weathered face.

'Ease off some,' Quick Ben instructed, not unkindly.

Spindle nodded, turned back.

Paran waved buzzing flies from his face. 'Mallet, what warren does Spindle call upon?' he asked quietly.

'It's not his warren that's the problem, sir, it's how he channels it. This has been mild so far, all things considered.'

'Must be a nightmare for our cavalry-'

'We're foot soldiers, sir,' Mallet pointed out, with a dry grin. 'In any case, I've seen him break up an enemy charge all by himself. Needless to say, he's useful to have around …'

Paran had never before seen a cat run head first into a wall. The dull thud was followed by a crazed scraping of claws as the animal bounced away in stunned surprise. Its antics were enough to attract the attention of the two dogs. A moment later they set off after the cat. All three vanished down another alley.

The captain's own nerves were jittering, adding to the discomfort in his belly. I could call Quick Ben to point and have him take over, but his is a power that would get noticed — sensed from afar, in fact — and I'd rather not risk that. Nor, I suspect, would he.

Each neighbourhood they passed through rose in cacophony — the spitting of cats, the howling and barking of dogs and the braying of mules. Rats raced round the group on all sides, as mindless as lemmings.

When Paran judged that they had circumvented the market round, he called forward to Spindle to yield his warren. The man did so with a sheepish nod.

A short while later they reached North Gate and rode out onto what had once been a killing field. Vestiges of that siege remained, if one looked carefully amidst the tawny grasses. Rotting pieces of clothing, the glint of rivets and the bleached white of splintered bones. Midsummer flowers cloaked the flanks of the recent barrows two hundred paces to their left in swathes of brittle blue, the hue deepening as the sun sank lower behind the mounds.

Paran was glad for the relative quiet of the plain, despite the heavy, turgid air of restless death that he felt seeping into his marrow as they crossed the scarred killing field. It seems I am ever riding through such places. Since that fated day in Itko Kan, with angry wasps stinging me for disturbing their blood-drenched feast, I have been stumbling along in Hood's wake. I feel as if I've known naught but war and death all my life, though in truth it's been but a scant few years. Queen of Dreams, it makes me feel old … He scowled. Self-pity could easily become a well-worn path in his thoughts, unless he remained mindful of its insipid allure.

Habits inherited from my father and mother, alas. And whatever portion sister Tavore received she must have somehow shunted onto me. Cold and canny as a child, even more so as an adult. If anyone can protect our House during Laseen's latest purge of the nobility, it will be her. No doubt I'd recoil from using whatever tactics she's chosen, but she's not the type to accept defeat. Thus, better her than me. None the less, unease continued to gnaw Paran's thoughts. Since the outlawing, they'd heard virtually nothing of events occurring elsewhere in the empire. Rumours of a pending rebellion in Seven Cities persisted, though that was a promise oft whispered but yet to be unleashed. Paran had his doubts.

No matter what, Tavore will take care of Felisin. That, at least, I can take comfort from …

Mallet interrupted his thoughts. 'I believe Brood's command tent is in the Tiste Andii camp, Captain. Straight ahead.'

'Spindle agrees with you,' Paran observed. The mage was leading them unerringly to that strange — even from a distance — and eerie encampment. No-one was visible mantaining vigil at the pickets. In fact, the captain saw no-one at all.

'Looks like the parley went off as planned,' the healer commented. 'We haven't been cut down by a sleet of quarrels yet.'

'I too take that as promising,' Paran said.

Spindle led them into a kind of main avenue between the tall, sombre tents of the Tiste Andii. Dusk had begun to fall; the tattered strips of cloth tied to the tent poles were losing their already-faded colours. A few shadowy, spectral figures appeared from the various side trackways, paying the group little heed.