Memories of Ice

The man's face twisted in a scowl.

A soldier chuckled behind Whiskeyjack.

'Will that funny man come forward, please,' the commander called out without turning.

A rider joined him. Thin, young, an ornate, oversized Seven Cities helmet on his head. 'Sir!' the soldier said.

Whiskeyjack stared at him. 'Gods, man, lose that helm — you'll cook your brains. And the fiddle — the damned thing's broken anyway.'

'The helmet's lined with cold-sand, sir.'

'With what?'

'Cold-sand. Looks like shaved filings, sir, but you could throw a handful into a fire and it won't get hot. Strangest thing, sir.'

The commander's eyes narrowed on the helmet. 'By the Abyss, the Holy Protector wore that!'

The man nodded solemnly. 'And when Dassem's sword clipped it, it went flying, sir. Right into my arms.'

'And the fiddle followed?'

The soldier's eyes thinned suspiciously. 'No, sir. The fiddle's mine. Bought it in Malaz City, planned on learning how to play it.'

'So who put a fist through it, soldier?'

'That would be Hedge, sir — that man over there beside Picker.'

'He can't play the damn thing!' the soldier in question shouted over.

'Well I can't now, can I? It's broke. But once the war's done I'll get it fixed, won't I?'

Whiskeyjack sighed. 'Return to your position, sir Fiddler, and not another sound from you, understood?'

'One thing, sir. I got a bad feeling. about. about all of this.'

'You're not alone in that, soldier.'

'Well, uh, it's just that-'

'Commander!' the soldier named Hedge called out, nudging his mount forward. 'The lad's hunches, sir, they ain't missed yet. He told Sergeant Nubber not to drink from that jug, but Nubber did anyway, and now he's dead, sir.'

'Poisoned?'

'No, sir. A dead lizard. Got stuck in his throat. Nubber choked to death on a dead lizard! Hey, Fiddler — a good name, that. Fiddler. Hah!'

'Gods,' Whiskeyjack breathed. 'Enough.' He faced Kalam again. 'Ride on.'

The man nodded, climbed back in his saddle.

Eleven mages on foot, without supplies, fleeing across a lifeless desert, the hunt should have been completed quickly. Late in the afternoon they came upon another body, as shrivelled as the first one; then, with the sun spreading crimson on the west horizon, a third corpse was found on the trail. Directly ahead, half a league distant, rose the bleached, jagged teeth of limestone cliffs, tinted red with the sunset. The trail of the surviving wizards, Kalam informed the commander, led towards them.