Memories of Ice

He was not looking forward to the parley. Indeed, the truth was, he had no real business attending it. The captain at his side was now the commander of the Grey Swords. His role as her adviser was dubious; she was capable of representing the company's interests without any help from him.



They approached the west gate, which now resembled nothing more than a massive hole in the city's wall.



Leaning against one of the burnt-out, most fallen gate-towers, Gruntle watched them with a half-grin on his barbed face. Stonny Menackis paced nearby, apparently in a temper.



'Now there's only Humbrall Taur to wait for,' Gruntle said.



Itkovian frowned as he reined in. 'Where is the Mask Council's retinue?'



Stonny spat. 'They've gone ahead. Seems they want a private chat first.'



'Relax, lass,' Gruntle rumbled. 'Your friend Keruli's with them, right?'



'That's not the point! They hid. While you and the Grey Swords here kept them and their damned city alive!'



'None the less,' Itkovian said, 'with Prince Jelarkan dead and no heir apparent, they are Capustan's ruling body.'



'And they could damn well have waited!'



Captain Norul twisted in her saddle to look back up the avenue. 'Humbrall Taur's coming. Perhaps, if we rode fast enough, we could catch them.'



'Is it important?' Itkovian asked her.



'Sir, it is.'



He nodded. 'I concur.'



'Let's ready our horses, Stonny,' Gruntle said, pushing himself from the wall.



They set out across the plain, Humbrall Taur, Hetan and Cafal equally awkward on their borrowed mounts. The Barghast had been none too pleased by the Mask Council's attempted usurpation — old enmities and mistrust had flared to life once more. By all reports, the approaching armies were still a league, perhaps two, distant. Keruli, Rath'Hood, Rath'Burn and Rath'Shadowthrone were in a carriage, drawn by the three horses of the Gidrath that had not been butchered and eaten during the siege.



Itkovian recalled the last time he had ridden this road, recalled faces of soldiers now dead. Farakalian, Torun, Sidlis. Behind the formality imposed by the Reve, these had been his friends. A truth I dared not approach. Not as Shield Anvil, not as a commander. But that has changed. They are my own grief, as difficult to bear as those tens of thousands of others.



He pushed the thought away. Control was still necessary. He could afford no emotions.



They came within sight of the priests' carriage.



Stonny snarled in triumph. 'Won't they be delighted!'



'Ease on the gloating, lass,' Gruntle advised. 'We reach them now in all innocence-'



'Do you think me an idiot? Do you think me incapable of subtlety? I'll have you know-'



'All right, woman,' her companion growled. 'Forget I spoke-'



'I always do, Gruntle.'



The Gidrath driver drew the carriage to a halt as they rode up. A window shutter slid to one side and Rath' Shadowthrone's masked face appeared, the expression neutral. 'How fortunate! The rest of our honourable entourage!'



Itkovian sighed under his breath. There was nothing subtle in that tone, alas.



'Honourable?' Stonny queried, brows lifting, 'I'm surprised you recognize the concept, Priest.'



'Ah.' The mask swivelled to her. 'Master Keruli's wench. Shouldn't you be on your knees?'



'I'll give you a knee, runt — right between the-'



'Well now!' Gruntle said loudly. 'We're all here. I see outriders ahead. Shall we proceed?'



'We're early,' Rath'Shadowthrone snapped.



'Aye, and that's unfortunately unprofessional of us. Never mind. We can continue at the slowest pace possible, to give them time to prepare.'



'A wise course, in the circumstances,' Rath' Shadowthrone conceded. The mask's hinged lips twisted into a broad smile, then the head withdrew and the shutter slid back in place.



'I am going to cut that man into very small pieces,' Stonny said in a bright tone.



'We all appreciated your sense of subtlety, lass,' Gruntle muttered.



'And well you should, oaf.'



Itkovian stared at the woman, then at the caravan captain, wondering.



Corporal Picker sat on the dusty steps of what had once been a temple. Her back and shoulders ached from throwing chunks of masonry since dawn.



Blend must have been hovering nearby for she appeared with a waterskin. 'You look thirsty.'



Picker accepted it. 'Funny how you do your vanishing act whenever there's hard work to be done.'