Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

Hedge scowled. 'Ha ha.'

'I don't think she's kidding,' Detoran said.

'Fine,' Hedge snapped. 'I got a cusser waiting for it, and damned if I won't make sure I take you all with me.'

'Team spirit,' Trotts said, his smile broadening.

Picker grunted. 'All right, soldiers, let's get out of here.'

Paran and Silverfox stood apart from the others, watching the eastern sky grow light with streaks of copper and bronze. The last of the stars were withdrawing overhead, a cold, indifferent scatter surrendering to the warmth of a blue, cloudless day.

Through the awkwardness of the hours just past, stretching interminable as a succession of pain and discomfort in Paran's mind, emotional exhaustion had arrived, and with it a febrile calm. He had fallen silent, fearful of shattering that inner peace, knowing it to be nothing but an illusion, a pensively drawn breath within a storm.

'Tattersail must be drawn forth.' He had indeed done that. The first meeting of their eyes had unlocked every shared memory, and that unlocking was an explosive curse for Paran. A child. I face a child, and so recoil at the thought of intimacy — even if it had once been with a grown woman. The woman is no more. This is a child. But there was yet more to the anguish that boiled within the man. Another presence, entwined like wires of black iron through all that was Tattersail. Nightchill, the sorceress, once lover to Bellurdan — where she had led, the Thelomen had followed. Anything but an equal relationship, and now, with Nightchill, had come a bitter, demanding presence. Bitter, indeed. With Tayschrenn. with the Empress and the Malazan Empire and Hood knows what or who else. She knows she was betrayed at the Enfilade at Pale. Both her and, out there on the plain, Bellurdan. Her mate.

Silverfox spoke. 'You need not fear the T'lan Imass.'

He blinked, shook himself. 'So you have explained. Since you command them. We are all wondering, however, precisely what you plan with that undead army? What's the significance of this Gathering?'

She sighed. 'It is very simple, really. They gather for benediction. Mine.'

He faced her. 'Why?'

'I am a flesh and blood Bonecaster — the first such in hundreds of thousands of years.' Then her face hardened. 'But we shall need them first. In their fullest power. There are horrors awaiting us all… in the Pannion Domin.'

'The others must know of this, this benediction — what it means, Silverfox — and more of the threat that awaits us in the Pannion Domin. Brood, Kallor-'

She shook her head. 'My blessing is not their concern. Indeed, it is no-one's concern but mine. And the T'lan Imass themselves. As for the Pannion … I myself must learn more before I dare speak. Paran, I have told you these things for what we were, and for what you — we — have become.'

And what have we become? No, not a question for now. 'Jen'isand Rul.'

She frowned. 'That is a side of you that I do not understand. But there is more, Paran.' She hesitated, then said, 'Tell me, what do you know of the Deck of Dragons?'

'Almost nothing.' But he smiled, for he heard Tattersail now, more clearly than at any other time since they'd first met.

Silverfox drew a deep breath, held it a moment, then slowly released it, her veiled eyes once again on the rising sun. 'The Deck of Dragons. A kind of structure, imposed on power itself. Who created it? No-one knows. My belief — Tattersail's belief — is that each card is a gate into a warren, and there were once many more cards than there are now. There may have been other Decks — there may well be other Decks …'

He studied her. 'You have another suspicion, don't you?'

'Yes. I said no-one knows who created the Deck of Dragons. Yet there is another entity equally mysterious, also a kind of structure, focused upon power itself. Think of the terminology used with the Deck of Dragons. Houses … Houses of Dark, of Light, of Life and Death. ' She slowly faced him. 'Think of the word "Finnest". Its meaning, as the T'lan Imass know it, is "Hold of Ice". Long ago, among the Elder races, a Hold was synonymous with a House in its meaning and common usage, and indeed, synonymous with Warren. Where resides a Jaghut's wellspring of power? In a Finnest.' She paused again, searching Paran's eyes. 'Tremorlor is Trellish for "House of Life".'

Firmest. as in Firmest House, in Darujhistan … a House of the Azath. 'I've never heard of Tremorlor.'

'It is an Azath House in Seven Cities. In Malaz City in your own empire, there is the Deadhouse — the House of Death…'

'You believe the Houses of the Azath and the Houses of the Deck are one and the same.'

'Yes. Or linked, somehow. Think on it!'

Paran was doing just that. He had little knowledge of either, and could not think of any possible way in which he might be connected with them. His unease deepened, followed by a painful roil in his stomach. The captain scowled. He was too tired to think, yet think he must. 'It's said that the old emperor, Kellanved, and Dancer found a way into Deadhouse. '

'Kellanved and Dancer have since ascended and now hold the House of Shadow. Kellanved is Shadowthrone, and Dancer is Cotillion, the Rope, Patron of Assassins.'

The captain stared at her. 'What?'

Silverfox grinned. 'It's obvious when you consider it, isn't it? Who among the ascendants went after Laseen. with the aim of destroying her? Shadowthrone and Cotillion. Why would any ascendant care one way or another about a mortal woman? Unless they thirsted for vengeance.'

Paran's mind raced back, to a road on the coast of Itko Kan, to a dreadful slaughter, wounds made by huge, bestial jaws — Hounds. Hounds of Shadow — Shadowthrone's pups… From that day, the captain had begun a new path. On the trail of the young woman Cotillion had possessed. From that day, his life had begun its fated unravelling. 'Wait! Kellanved and Dancer went into Deadhouse — why didn't they take that aspect — the aspect of the House of Death?'

'I've thought about that myself, and have arrived at one possibility. The realm of Death was already occupied, Paran. The King of High House Death is Hood. I believe now that each Azath is home to every gate, a way into every warren. Gain entry to the House, and you may … choose. Kellanved and Dancer found an empty House, an empty throne, and upon taking their places as Shadow's rulers, the House of Shadow appeared, and became part of the Deck of Dragons. Do you see?'

Paran slowly nodded, struggling to take it all in. Tremors of pain twisted his stomach — he pushed them away. But what has this to do with me?

'The House of Shadow was once a Hold,' Silverfox went on. 'You can tell — it doesn't share the hierarchical structure of the other Houses. It is bestial, a wilder place, and apart from the Hounds it knew no ruler for a long, long time.'

'What of the Deck's Unaligned?'

She shrugged. 'Failed aspects? The imposition of chance, of random forces? The Azath and the Deck are both impositions of order, but even order needs freedom, lest it solidify and become fragile.'

'And where do you think I fit in? I'm nothing, Silverfox. A stumble-footed mortal.' Gods, leave me out of all this — all that you seem to be leading up to. Please.

'I have thought long and hard on this, Paran. Anomander Rake is Knight of the House of Dark,' she said, 'yet where is the House itself? Before all else there was Dark, the Mother who birthed all. So it must be an ancient place, a Hold, or perhaps something that came before Holds themselves. A focus for the gate into Kurald Galain … undiscovered, hidden, the First Wound, with a soul trapped in its maw, thus sealing it.'

'A soul,' Paran murmured, a chill clambering up his spine, 'or a legion of souls …'