Memories of Ice

Sorcery was building along the top of the city wall.



Korlat saw Artanthos — Tayschrenn — step forward then, to answer it.



A golden wave appeared suddenly behind the K'Chain Che'Malle, rose for a moment, building, then tumbled forward. The ground it rolled over on its way to the wall burned with fierce zeal, then the wave lifted, climbed towards the Pannion mages.



This — this is what was launched against Moon's Spawn. This is what my Lord struggled against. Alone, in the face of such power -The ground trembled beneath her boots as the wave crashed into the top of the wall to the west of the gate. Blinding — this is High Telas, the Warren of Fire — child of Tellann -Chaotic magic exploded from the conflagration like shrapnel. The raging fire then dispersed.



The top third of the city wall, from near the gate and westward for at least forty paces, was simply gone. And with it, at least a dozen Pannion mages.



On the killing field, Trake's Legion was now surrounded by K'Chain Che'Malle, who were a match for the enormous beast's lightning speed. K'ell Hunters were falling, but the tiger was being, literally, cut to pieces.



The Grey Swords, all mounted, were attempting to open an avenue for it on the other side. Long, strangely barbed lances were being driven into Hunters from behind, fouling their steps as they wheeled to lash out at the enemy harrying them. Lassos spun in the air, snapped tight around necks, limbs-A grey wave of sorcery raced out from the mages on the wall east of the gate, swept over the heads of those battling on the killing field, clambered through the air like some multilimbed beast — to strike Artanthos.



Coruscating fire met the assault, and both sorceries seemed to devour each other. When they vanished, Artanthos was on his knees. Soldiers ran towards him from the Malazan lines.



He is done. Too soon -



'Korlat!'



The bellow shook her. Blinking, she turned to Brood. 'What?'



'Call your Lord, Korlat! Call him! '



Call? I cannot. Could not — dare not.



'Korlat! Look to that damned storm-cloud!'



She twisted her head. Beyond the city, rising skyward in a churning, towering column, the storm-cloud was tearing itself apart even as it rose — rose, shreds spinning away, sunlight shafting through-Moon's Spawn. not within — the cloud hid nothing. Nothing but senseless, empty violence. Dissipating.



Call him? Despair ripped through her. She heard her own dull reply, 'Anomander Rake is no more, Warlord.' He is dead. He must be -'Then help your damned brother, woman! He is assailed-'



She looked up, saw Orfantal high above, harried by specks. Sorcery lanced at the black dragon like darts.



Brother. Korlat looked back down, at the Malazan ranks that had now closed with the K'Chain Che'Malle. Darkness shrouded them — Kurald Galain's whisper. A whisper. and no more than a whisper -'Korlat!'



'Move away from me, Warlord. I shall now veer … and join my brother.'



'When you two are done with those condors, will you-'



She turned away from the killing field. 'This battle is lost, Caladan Brood. I fly to save Orfantal.' Without awaiting a reply, she strode down the slope, unfolding the power within her as she did so. Draconian blood, cold as ice in her veins, a promise of murder. Brutal, unwavering hunger.



Wings, into tine. sky.



Wedge-shaped head tilted, fixed on the condors circling her brother. Her talons twitched, then stretched in anticipation.



Caladan Brood stood on the very edge of the slope, the hammer in his hands. K'Chain Che'Malle had pulled away from the assault upon Trake's Legion — the giant tiger was dying, surrounded on all sides by flashing blades — and were now wading through the Malazan press, slaying soldiers by the score. Others pursued the Grey Swords, whose ranks had been scattered by the far too quick Hunters.



Barghast had closed from both flanks, to add their spilled blood to the slaughter.



Slowly, the warlord swung about and surveyed the hilltop behind him. Three bodies. Four Malazan soldiers who had carried an unconscious Kruppe to the summit and were now laying the Daru down.



Brood's eyes held on Kruppe, wondering at the man's sudden, inexplicable collapse, then he turned.



The T'lan Imass, in their tens of thousands, still kneeled, motionless, before Itkovian, who had himself sunk down, a mortal reflection of them. Whatever was happening there had taken them all far away, to a place from which it seemed there would be no return — not, in any case, until it was far too late.



No choice.



Burn. forgive me.



Caladan Brood faced the city once more. Eyes on the masses warring on the killing field below, the warlord slowly raised his hammer-