Memories of Ice

Three squads of Gidrath commanded the gate, fully armoured and with weapons drawn. Recognizing the Destriant, they waved him through.

He dismounted in the courtyard, leaving his horse to a stabler, then made his way to the Great Hall, where he knew he would find Brukhalian.

As he strode down the main aisle towards the double doors he saw that another man was ahead. Robed, hooded, he was without the usual escort provided strangers to the Thrall, yet he approached the entrance with a graceful assurance. Karnadas wondered how he had managed to get past the Gidrath, then his eyes widened as the stranger gestured with one hand and the huge doors swung open before him.

Voices raised in argument drifted out from the Great Hall, quickly falling silent as the stranger entered.

Karnadas increased his pace, and arrived in time to catch the end of a Rath' priest's expostulation.

'-this instant!'

The Destriant slipped through the entrance in the stranger's wake. He saw the Mortal Sword standing near the centre millstone, now turned to regard the newcomer. The Barghast, Hetan and Cafal, were sitting on their rug a few paces to Brukhalian's right. The priests and priestesses of the Mask Council were one and all leaning forward in their seats — their masks conveying caricatures of extreme displeasure — with the exception of Rath'Hood who was standing, the wooden skull visage of his mask arched with outrage.

The stranger, hands clasped within the folds of his dun-coloured robe's sleeves, seemed unperturbed by the hostile welcome.

From where the Destriant stood, he could not see the man's face, but he saw the hood shift as the stranger scanned the masked assembly.

'Will you ignore my command?' Rath'Hood asked, visibly bridling his tone. The priest glared about. 'Where are our Gidrath? Why in the gods' names haven't they heard our summons?'

'Alas,' the stranger murmured in Daru, 'they have for the moment heeded the call of their dreams. Thus, we avoid any unnecessary interruptions.' The man turned to Brukhalian, allowing Karnadas — who now stood at the Mortal Sword's side — to see his face for the first time. Round, strangely unlined, unmemorable barring the expression of calm equanimity. Ah, the merchant retrieved by Itkovian. His name. Keruli. The man's pale eyes fixed on Brukhalian. 'My apologies to the commander of the Grey Swords, but I fear I must make address to the Mask Council. If he would be so kind as to temporarily yield the floor?'

The Mortal Sword tilted his head. 'By all means, sir.'

'We do not agree to this!' Rath'Shadowthrone hissed.

The stranger's eyes hardened as he swung his attention on the priest. 'You, unfortunately, have no choice. I look upon you all, and find the representation woefully inadequate.'

Karnadas choked back a laugh, and recovered in time to meet Brukhalian's raised eyebrow with an expression of innocent enquiry.

'By the Abyss,' Rath'Burn said, 'who are you to make such judgement?'

'I need make no claim as to my true name, Priestess, only to the title I now demand.'

Title?'

'Rath'K'rul. I have come to take my place among the Mask Council, and to tell you this: there is one among you who will betray us all.'

She sat on the flatboard bed, long hair in disarray, hanging down her face. Gruntle reached out and slowly combed the tresses back.

Stonny's sigh was ragged. 'This is stupid. Things happen. There's no rules to battle. I was an idiot, trying to take on a Seerdomin with naught but a rapier — he'd batted it aside with a laugh.' She looked up. 'Don't stay with me, Gruntle. I can see what's there in your eyes. Go.' She glanced around the room. 'I just need to get… to get cleaned up. I don't want you here, not outside the door, either. If you took that position, Gruntle, you'd never leave it. Go. You're the best fighter I have ever seen. Kill some Pannions — Hood take me, kill them all.'

'Are you sure-'

Her laugh was harsh. 'Don't even try.'

He grunted, began checking his armour's straps and fittings. Adjusted the padding beneath. Dropped the visor on his helm. Loosened the heavy cutlasses in their scabbards.

Stonny watched him in silence.

Finally, he was ready. 'All right. Take your time, lass. There'll be plenty left whenever you're done here.'

'Aye, there will.'

Gruntle faced the door.

'Do some damage.'

He nodded. 'I will.'

The Beklites and Scalandi reached the east wall in their thousands. In the face of withering arrow fire, ladders were raised, figures swarmed upward, poured over the battlements. The East Gate was taken yet again, the enemy surging down the passageway to spill out onto the square of New East Market.