Memories of Ice

'You might ask the youngest, Toc.'



The scout grinned at Tool. 'Meaning you're as curious as I am. Well, I am afraid I can't do your dirty work for you, since I rank below him. He may choose to speak with me, but I cannot initiate. If you want answers, it is up to you to ask the questions.'



Tool set down the antler and blank, then rose to his feet in a muted clack of bones. He strode towards Senu. Toc followed.



'Warrior,' the T'lan Imass said.



The Seguleh paused in his butchering, dipped his head slightly.



'What has driven you to leave your homeland? What has brought you and your brothers to this place?'



Senu's reply was a dialect of Daru, slightly archaic to Toc's ears. 'Master Stoneblade, we are the punitive army of the Seguleh.'



Had anyone other than a Seguleh made such a claim, Toc would have laughed outright. As it was, he clamped his jaw tight.



Tool seemed as taken aback as was the scout, for it was a long moment before he spoke again. 'Punitive. Whom does the Seguleh seek to punish?'



'Invaders to our island. We kill all that come, yet the flow does not cease. The task is left to our Blackmasks — the First Level Initiates in the schooling of weapons — for the enemy comes unarmed and so are not worthy of duelling. But such slaughter disrupts the discipline of training, stains the mind and so damages the rigours of mindfulness. It was decided to travel to the homeland of these invaders, to slay the one who sends his people to our island. I have given you answer, Master Stoneblade.'



'Do you know the name of these people? The name by which they call themselves?'



'Priests of Pannion. They come seeking to convert. We are not interested. They do not listen. And now they warn of sending an army to our island. To show our eagerness for such an event, we sent them many gifts. They chose to be insulted by our invitation to war. We admit we do not understand, and have therefore grown weary of discourse with these Pannions. From now on, only our blades will speak for the Seguleh.'



'Yet Lady Envy has ensnared you with her charms.'



Toc's breath caught.



Senu dipped his head again, said nothing.



'Fortunately,' Tool continued in his dry, uninflected tone, 'we are now travelling towards the Pannion Domin.'



'The decision pleased us,' Senu grated.



'How many years since your birth, Senu?' the T'lan Imass asked.



'Fourteen, Master Stoneblade. I am Eleventh Level Initiate.'



Square-cut pieces of meat on skewers dripped sizzling fat into the flames. Lady Envy appeared from the gloom with her entourage in tow. She was dressed in a thick, midnight blue robe that hung down to brush the dew-laden grasses. Her hair was tied back into a single braid.



'A delicious aroma — I am famished!'



Toc caught Thurule's casual turn, gloved hands lifting. The unsheathing of his two swords was faster than the scout's eye could track, as was the whirling attack. Sparks flashed as bright steel struck flint. Tool was driven back a half-dozen paces as blow after blow rained down on his own blurred weapon. The two warriors vanished into the darkness beyond the hearth's lurid glow.



Wolf and dog barked, plunging after them.



'This is infuriating!' Lady Envy snapped.



Sparks exploded ten paces away, insufficient light for Toc to discern anything more than the vague twisting of arms and shoulders. He shot a glance at Mok and Senu. The latter still crouched at the hearth, studiously tending to the supper. The twin-scarred eldest stood motionless, watching the duel — though it seemed unlikely he could see any better than Toc could. Maybe he doesn't need to …



More sparks rained through the night.



Lady Envy stifled a giggle, one hand to her mouth.



'I take it you can see in the dark, Lady,' Toc murmured.



'Oh yes. This is an extraordinary duel — I have never… no, it's more complicated. An old memory, dredged free when you first identified these as Seguleh. Anomander Rake once crossed blades with a score of Seguleh, one after the other. He'd paid an unannounced visit to the island — knowing nothing of the inhabitants. Taking human form and fashioning a mask for himself, he elected to walk down the city's main thoroughfare. Being naturally arrogant, he showed no deference to any who crossed his path. '



Another clash lit up the night, the exchange followed by a loud, solid grunt. Then the blades collided once again.



'Two bells. That was the full duration of Rake's visit to the island and its people. He described the ferocity of that short time, and his dismay and exhaustion which led him to withdraw into his warren if only to slow the hammering of his heart.'