Memories of Ice (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #3)

by Steven Erikson

Sorry, Treach. Learn to live with the loss. We do.

Quick Ben spoke names in a soft voice as they proceeded. ‘Shank … Toes … Detoran … Aimless … Runter … Mulch … Bucklund … Story … Liss … Dasalle … Trotts – uh, I would’ve thought the Barghast … no, I suppose not. He was as much a Bridgeburner as the rest of us. Behind that lid, Paran, he’s still grinning As they walked, Quick Ben spoke aloud every name of those they passed. Thirty-odd Bridgeburners, Paran’s fallen command.

Paran lifted his gaze to the three sarcophagi. He did not know which one held whom. For some reason, that didn’t matter much. Whiskeyjack and two marines – they were there for Tattersail, at the last.

Whiskeyjack, for all that you have taught me, I thank you. Bridgeburners, I wish I could have done better by you. Especially at the end. At the very least, I could have died with you. All right, it’s probably far too late. But I bless you, one and all. With that, he turned back, stepped through the portal. In the silent chamber, the light faded, the globe flickering, then finally vanishing. But a new glow had come to the chamber. Faint, seeming to dance with the black web on the sarcophagi. A dance of mystery.

‘Go join your fellow Bridgeburners, Ganoes Paran.’ ‘Yes, sir. Goodbye, High Fist.’ ‘Goodbye.’

My fellow Bridgeburners, he said … well, the achievement is shortlived, but even so. I made it.

The man shook his head. ‘I only sought to look upon you, to see that you were well.’ He believes me to be Anaster. A friend of old, perhaps – not one of his lieutenants, though – I would have remembered this one. Well, I’ll not disappoint him. ‘Thank you. I am.’ ‘This pleases me.’ The man smiled, reached up and laid a hand on Toc’s leg. ‘I will go, now, brother. Know that I hold you in my memory.’ Still smiling, he turned and strode away, passing through the midst of curious Grey Swords, heading north towards the forest. Toc stared after him. Something … something about that walk …

The man’s smile made her heart catch. ‘Onos Toolan.’ Hetan strode closer, offering a wink to the dark-haired woman, then settling her eyes once more on the man called Onos Toolan. ‘I see more than you imagine,’ she said in a low voice. The young warrior cocked his head. ‘You do?’ ‘Aye, and what I see tells me you’ve not bedded a woman in a long time.’ The man’s eyes widened – oh, such lovely eyes, a lover’s eyes –‘Indeed,’ he said, his smile broadening. Oh yes, my lover’s eyes …

Picker began to turn back to her companions – when the man began speaking. ‘Very well, permit me, if you will, on this night. To break your hearts once more. This is the story of the Chain of Dogs. Of Coltaine of the Crow Clan, newly come Fist to the 7th Army …’