Memories of Ice

Almost. Don't fool yourself, Quick. This thing could gobble you up in one bite. 'Well?'



The Sirinth slithered sideways, stretched its neck.



Sorcery glowed from the collar and chain, the iron crowded with carved glyphs.



'I'll need to take a closer look,' Quick Ben told the demon. 'Know that Hood's warren remains with us-'



'Not well enough!' Talamandas hissed. 'Those undead guards have seen us!'



'We've a few moments yet,' Quick Ben replied. 'If you shut up, that is. Sirinth, if you attack me when I come close, I'll reveal for you another chain about your neck — Hood's. Dead but not dead, trapped in the in-between. For ever. Understand me?'



The creature squealed again, but made no other move.



'Good enough.'



'You fool-'



Ignoring the sticksnare, Quick Ben stepped to the side of the huge demon. He knew that head could snap round, fast enough to be nothing more than a blur, the jaws opening to swallow head, shoulders — Talamandas included — and torso down to hips.



He studied the glyphs, then grunted. 'Accomplished indeed. The key, however, to breaking this chaining lies in unravelling but a single thread. The challenge is finding the right one-'



'Will you hurry! Those undead are converging! On us!'



'A moment, please.' Quick Ben leaned closer, squinting at the sigils. 'Curious,' he murmured, 'this is Korelri script. High Korelri, which hasn't been used in centuries. Well, easy enough then.' He reached out, muttering a few words, and scored one glyph with the nail of his thumb. 'Thus, changing its meaning-' Gripping the chain on either side of the marred sigil, Quick Ben gave a quick yank.



The chain snapped.



The Sirinth lunged forward, then spun, jaws wide.



Talamandas screamed.



Quick Ben was already in the air, through the warren's gate, back into Hood's own, where he dipped a shoulder as he struck the flagstones, rolling over then back onto his feet — with Talamandas still clinging to his tunic. The wizard then froze.



They were surrounded by dark, insubstantial figures, now motionless as their quarry was no longer visible.



Wisely, Talamandas said nothing. Still crouching, Quick Ben slowly, silently edged between two undead guards, then padded clear, approaching the double doors.



'Gods,' the sticksnare moaned in a whisper, 'why are we doing this?'



'Because it's fun?'



The doors were unlocked.



Quick Ben slipped inside and shut the door behind them, the soft click of the latch seeming over-loud in the alcove.



'So,' Talamandas breathed, 'which warren now?'



'Ah, do I sense you're getting into the spirit of the thing?'



'Bad word to choose, mortal.'



Smiling, Quick Ben closed Hood's own. It should be clear why I'm doing this, Sticksnare. I've been without warrens for too long. I need the practice. More, I need to know just how efficacious you are. And so far, so good. The poison is held at bay, unable to close on me. I'm pleased. He strode to the nearest wall, set both hands against the cool stone.



Talamandas chuckled. 'D'riss. The Path of Stone. Clever bastard.'



Quick Ben pushed the warren open, slid into the wall.



There was nothing easy in this. Stone could be traversed easily enough — its resistance no more than water — but mortar was less yielding, tugging at his passage like the strands of a particularly stubborn spider's web. Worse, the walls were thin, forcing him to edge along sideways.



He followed the wall's course from room to room, working his way ever inward. Daru-style architecture was predictable and symmetrical. The main chamber of the ground floor would be central. Upper levels were more problematic, but more often than not the ground floor's main chamber was vaulted, pushing the upper rooms to the building's sides.



The rooms were visible to him, but just barely. Grainy, grey, the furniture smudged and indistinct. But living flesh positively glowed. 'Stone knows blood, but cannot hold it. Stone yearns for life, yet can only mimic it.' The words were ancient ones, a mason and sculptor who'd lived centuries ago in Unta. Appropriate enough when on the Path of D'riss. When in the flesh of the Sleeping Goddess.



Slipping round a corner, Quick Ben caught his first sight of the main chamber.



A figure reclined on some kind of divan near the fireplace. He seemed to be reading a book. Another man stoked the fire's faintly pink, dull flames, muttering under his breath. Pacing back and forth on the mantel was a small creature, a crow or raven perhaps.



The man on the divan was speaking even as he flipped parchment pages in his book, his words made muted and brittle-sounding by the stone. 'When you're done there, Emancipor, return the guards to their positions on the wall. Having them standing in the courtyard all facing inward on nothing is suggestive of the ridiculous. Hardly a scene to inspire fear in potential intruders.'