Memories of Ice

Her eyes found Caladan Brood, soldiers of the Grey Swords, Barghast and others.



Orfantal spoke within her mind. 'Go down, sister. I will guard the skies. I, our Soletaken kin, and Silanah. Look, Crone descends. Join her.'



I would guard you, Brother -



'The enemy is destroyed, Korlat. What you would guard, staying with me, is the heart within you. You would fend it from pain. From loss. Sister, he deserves more. Go down, now. To grieve is the gift of the living — a gift so many of our kin have long lost. Do not retreat. Descend, Korlat, to the mortal realm.'



Korlat crooked her wings, spiralled earthward. Brother, thank you.



She sembled as she landed in the modest concourse onto which the north gate opened. Her arrival had forced soldiers to scatter, if only momentarily. Tiste Andii once more, suddenly weak from the wound that Brood had managed to heal but superficially, she stumbled slightly as she made her way to where the Warlord waited just inside the gate. Crone had reported something to him and now rose once more into the darkness.



She had never seen Brood look so … defeated. The notion of victory seemed. irrevelant, in the face of such personal loss. For us all.



As she drew nearer, a man walked up to the warlord. Lean, slope-shouldered, his long, pale hair a tangled mess that sat strangely high on his head.



Korlat watched the man salute, heard him say, 'High Marshal Stump, sir. Mott Irregulars. About that order-'



'What order?' Brood snapped.



The man's smile revealed long, white teeth. 'Never mind. We were there, you see-'



'Where?'



'Uh, this side of the wall, east of the gate, sir, and there was mages up top. The Bole brothers didn't like that, so they roughed them up some. Ain't none breathing any more. Anyway, what do you want us to do now?'



Caladan Brood stared at the man, expressionless, then he shook his head. 'I have not a clue, High Marshal Stump.'



The man from Mott nodded. 'Well, we could put out some fires.'



'Go to it, then.'



'Yes sir.'



Korlat, who had held back during the exchange, now stepped forward as the High Marshal ambled off.



Brood was staring after the man.



'Warlord?'



'We'd left them behind, I'd thought,' he muttered. 'But then. they were in the city. They were on the other side of the K'Chain Che'Malle — through the gate or over the wall, taking out mages. Now, how did they …'



'Warlord, there are Malazan ships. Approaching.'



Brood slowly nodded. 'So Artanthos informed me, before he travelled by warren to the deck of the command ship. There is an imperial delegation aboard, an ambassador, a legate, a governor-'



'All three?'



'No, just one. Lots of titles, depending on the negotiations to follow.'



Korlat drew a deep breath. Hold hack on the pain, on the loss — just a short while longer. 'With Onearm's Host so badly … damaged … the Malazans won't be bargaining from a position of strength.'



Brood's eyes narrowed on her. 'Korlat,' he said softly, 'as far as I am concerned, the Malazans have earned all they might ask for. If they want it, Coral is theirs.'



Korlat sighed. 'Warlord, the unveiling of Kurald Galain … is a permanent manifestation. The city now lies as much within the Tiste Andii warren as within this world.'



'Aye, meaning the negotiations are properly between Rake and the Malazans. Not me. Tell me, will your Lord claim Coral? Moon's Spawn …'



There was no need to continue. The city within the mountain of rock still held, trapped in its deepest chambers, massive volumes of water, weight that could not be withstood for much longer. Moon's Spawn was dying. It would, she knew, have to be abandoned. A place, our home for so long. Will I grieve? I know not.



'I have not spoken with Anomander Rake, Warlord. I cannot anticipate his disposition.' She turned away, began walking towards the gate.



Brood called after her.



Not yet.



She continued on, beneath the gate's arch, her eyes fixing on the hilltop beyond the shattered corpses carpeting the killing field. Where I will find him. All that is left. His face, gift of memories, now grown cold. I saw the life flee his eyes. That moment of death, of dying. Withdrawing, away from those eyes, withdrawing, back and away. Leaving, leaving me.



Her steps slowed, the pain of loss threatening to overwhelm her.



Dear Mother Dark, do you look down upon me, now? Do you see me, your child? Do you smile, to see me so broken? I have, after all, repeated your fatal errors of old. Yielding my heart, succumbing to the foolish dream — Light's dance, you longed for that embrace, didn't you?