Memories of Ice

But a strong god could ignore the scavengers that trailed in his wake, and K'rul was a strong god. Temples had been raised in his name. Blood had for generations soaked countless altars in worship of him. The nascent cities were wreathed in the smoke of forges, pyres, the red glow of humanity's dawn. The First Empire had risen, on a continent half a world away from where K'rul now walked. An empire of humans, born from the legacy of the T'lan Imass, from whom it took its name.



But it had not been alone for long. Here, on Jacuruku, in the shadow of long-dead K'Chain Che'Malle ruins, another empire had emerged. Brutal, a devourer of souls, its ruler was a warrior without equal.



K'rul had come to destroy him, had come to snap the chains of twelve million slaves — even the Jaghut Tyrants had not commanded such heartless mastery over their subjects. No, it took a mortal human to achieve this level of tyranny over his kin.



Two other Elder Gods were converging on the Kallorian Empire. The decision had been made. The three — last of the Elder — would bring to a close the High King's despotic rule. K'rul could sense his companions. Both were close; both had been comrades once, but they all — K'rul included — had changed, had drifted far apart. This would mark the first conjoining in millennia.



He could sense a fourth presence as well, a savage, ancient beast following his spoor. A beast of the earth, of winter's frozen breath, a beast with white fur bloodied, wounded almost unto death by the Fall. A beast with but one surviving eye to look upon the destroyed land that had once been its home — long before the empire's rise. Trailing, but coming no closer. And, K'rul well knew, it would remain a distant observer of all that was about to occur. The Elder god could spare it no sorrow, yet was not indifferent to its pain.



We each survive as we must, and when time comes to die, we find our places of solitude …



The Kallorian Empire had spread to every shoreline of Jacuruku, yet K'rul saw no-one as he took his first steps inland. Lifeless wastes stretched on all sides. The air was grey with ash and dust, the skies overhead churning like lead in a smith's cauldron. The Elder God experienced the first breath of unease, sidling chill across his soul.



Above him the god-spawned scavengers cackled as they wheeled.



A familiar voice spoke in K'rul's mind. Brother, I am upon the north shore.



'And I the west.'



Are you troubled?



'I am. All is … dead.'



Incinerated. The heat remains deep beneath the beds of ash. Ash … and bone.



A third voice spoke. Brothers, I am come from the south, where once dwelt the cities. All destroyed. The echoes of a continent's death-cry still linger. Are we deceived? Is this illusion?



K'rul addressed the first Elder who had spoken in his mind. 'Draconus, I too feel that death-cry. Such pain … indeed, more dreadful in its aspect than that of the Fallen One. If not a deception as our sister suggests, what has he done?'



We have stepped onto this land, and so all share what you sense, K'rul, Draconus replied. I, too, am not certain of its truth. Sister, do you approach the High King's abode?



The third voice replied, I do, brother Draconus. Would you and brother K'rul join me now, that we may confront this mortal as one?



'We shall.'



Warrens opened, one to the far north, the other directly before K'rul.



The two Elder Gods joined their sister upon a ragged hilltop where wind swirled through the ashes, spinning funereal wreaths skyward. Directly before them, on a heap of burnt bones, was a throne.



The man seated upon it was smiling. 'As you can see,' he rasped after a moment of scornful regard, 'I have … prepared for your arrival. Oh yes, I knew you were coming. Draconus, of Tiam's kin. K'rul, Opener of the Paths.' His grey eyes swung to the third Elder. 'And you. My dear, I was under the impression that you had abandoned your … old self. Walking among the mortals, playing the role of middling sorceress — such a deadly risk, though perhaps this is what entices you so to the mortal game. You've stood on fields of battles, woman. One stray arrow …' He slowly shook his head.



'We have come,' K'rul said, 'to end your reign of terror.'



Kallor's brows rose. 'You would take from me all that I have worked so hard to achieve? Fifty years, dear rivals, to conquer an entire continent. Oh, perhaps Ardatha still held out — always late in sending me my rightful tribute — but I ignored such petty gestures. She has fled, did you know? The bitch. Do you imagine yourselves the first to challenge me? The Circle brought down a foreign god. Aye, the effort went… awry, thus sparing me the task of killing the fools with my own hand. And the Fallen One? Well, he'll not recover for some time, and even then, do you truly imagine he will accede to anyone's bidding? I would have-'