Memories of Ice

'Well, I brought you water, didn't I?'

Picker scowled.

Across the street Captain Paran and Quick Ben were saddling horses, preparing to head out to the reunion with Onearm's Host and Brood's army. They'd been uncommonly cosy since meeting up once more, making Picker suspicious. Quick Ben's schemes were never pleasant.

'I'd rather we were all going,' she muttered.

'To the parley? Why? This way everyone else does the walking.'

'Easier to be lurking about, is it? Weighed down with a half-full waterskin. You'd be saying different if you'd been tossing rocks with the rest of us, Blend.'

The lean woman shrugged. 'I've been busy enough.'

'Doing what?'

'Gathering information.'

'Oh yeah. Whose whispering you been listening in on, then?'

'People. Us and them, here and there.'

'Them? Who's them ?'

'Uhm, let's see. Barghast. Grey Swords. A couple of loose-lipped Gidrath from the Thrall. Three acolytes from the temple behind you-'

Picker flinched, swiftly rose to cast a nervous eye on the fire-scorched building behind her. 'Which god, Blend? No lies-'

'Why would I lie, Corporal? Shadowthrone.'

Picker grunted. 'Spyin' on the sneaks, was you? And what were they talking about?'

'Some bizarre plan of their master's. Vengeance against a couple of necromancers holed up in an estate just up the street.'

'The one with all the bodies out front and the smelly guards on the walls?'

'Presumably the same and none other.'

'All right, so let's hear the report on the rest of them.'

'The Barghast are crowing. Agents of the Mask Council are buying food to feed the citizens. The Grey Swords are buying food, too, to feed a fast-growing camp of Tenescowri refugees outside the city. The White Faces are getting rich.'

'Hold on, Blend. Did you say Tenescowri refugees? What are the Grey Swords up to? Hood knows there's enough corpses lying around for those cannibals, why give 'em real food? Why feed the evil bastards at all?'

'Sound questions,' Blend agreed. 'Certainly, I admit my own curiosity was piqued.'

'No doubt you've come up with a theory, too.'

'I have assembled the puzzle, to be more precise. Disparate facts. Observances. Offhand comments believed to be uttered in private, overheard by none other than the faithful servant standing before you-'

'Oponn's quivering knees, woman, get on with it!'

'You never did appreciate a good gloat. All right. The Grey Swords were sworn to Fener. They weren't just a mercenary company, more like damned crusaders to the holy cause of war. And they took it seriously. Only something's happened. They've lost their god-'

'No doubt there's a tale there.'

'Indeed, but it's not relevant.'

'Meaning you don't know it.'

'Precisely. The point is, the company's surviving officers rode off to the Barghast camps, found a gaggle of tribal witches waiting for them, and together they all arranged a reconsecration.'

'You mean they switched gods. Oh no, don't tell me Treach-'

'No, not Treach. Treach already has his crusaders.'

'Oh, right. Must be Jhess, then. Mistress of Weaving. They're all taking up knitting, but fiercely-'

'Not quite. Togg. And Fanderay, the She-Wolf of Winter — Togg's long lost mate. Recall the story? You must have heard it when you were a child, assuming you were ever a child-'

'Careful, Blend.'

'Sorry. Anyway, the Grey Swords were virtually wiped out. They're looking for recruits.'

Picker's brows rose. 'The Tenescowri? Hood's breath!'

'Makes sense, actually.'

'Sure. If I needed an army I'd look first to people who eat each other when things get tough. Absolutely. In an instant.'

'Well, that's an unfortunate angle to take. It's more a question of finding people with no lives-'

'Losers, you mean.'

'Uh, yes. No ties, no loyalties. Ripe for arcane rituals of induction.'

Picker grunted again. 'Mad. Everyone's gone mad.'

'Speaking of which,' Blend murmured.

Captain Paran and Quick Ben rode up.

'Corporal Picker.'

'Aye, Captain?'

'Do you know where Spindle is right now?'

'No idea, sir.'

'I'd suggest you keep better track of your squad, then.'