Memories of Ice (Malazan Book of the Fallen, Band 3) - Hardcover

Erikson, Steven

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0765314320 ISBN 13: 9780765314321

Verlag: Tor Books, 2005

Inhaltsangabe

The ravaged continent of Genabackis has given birth to a terrifying new empire: the Pannion Domin. Like a tide of corrupted blood, it seethes across the land, devouring all. In its path stands an uneasy alliance: Onearm's army and Whiskeyjack's Bridgeburners alongside their enemies of old--the forces of the Warlord Caladan Brood, Anomander Rake and his Tiste Andii mages, and the Rhivi people of the plains.
But ancient undead clans are also gathering; the T'lan Imass have risen. For it would seem something altogether darker and more malign threatens this world. Rumors abound that the Crippled God is now unchained and intent on a terrible revenge.
Marking the return of many characters from Gardens of the Moon and introducing a host of remarkable new players, Memories of Ice is both a momentous new chapter in Steven Erikson's magnificent epic fantasy and a triumph of storytelling.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

STEVEN ERIKSON has worked for twenty years as an anthropologist and archaeologist. He is also a graduate of the Iowa Writer's Workshop.

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Book One

The Spark and the Ashes

Five mages, an Adjunct, countless Imperial
Demons, and the debacle that was Darujhistan,
all served to publicly justify the outlawry
proclaimed by the Empress on Dujek Onearm
and his battered legions. That this freed
Onearm and his Host to launch a new
campaign, this time as an independent military
force, to fashion his own unholy alliances which
were destined to result in a continuation of the
dreadful Sorcery Enfilade on Genabackis, is,
one might argue, incidental. Granted, the
countless victims of that devastating time
might, should Hood grant them the privilege,
voice an entirely different opinion. Perhaps the
most poetic detail of what would come to be
called the Pannion Wars was in fact a precursor
to the entire campaign: the casual, indifferent
destruction of a lone, stone bridge, by the
Jaghut Tyrant on his ill-fated march to
Darujhistan …

IMPERIAL CAMPAIGNS (THE PANNION WAR)
1194 – 1195, VOLUME IV, GENABACKIS
IMRYGYN TALLOBANT (B. 1151)

Chapter One

Memories are woven tapestries hiding hard walls—tell me, my friends, what hue your favoured thread, and I in turn, will tell the cast of your soul …

LIFE OF DREAMS
ILBARES THE HAG

1164th Year of Burn’s Sleep (two months after the Darujhistan Fete) 4th Year of the Pannian Domin Tellann Year of the Second Gathering

The bridge’s Gadrobi limestone blocks lay scattered, scorched and broken in the bank’s churned mud, as if a god’s hand had swept down to shatter the stone span in a single, petty gesture of contempt. And that, Gruntle suspected, was but a half-step from the truth.

The news had trickled back into Darujhistan less than a week after the destruction, as the first eastward-bound caravans this side of the river reached the crossing, to find that where once stood a serviceable bridge was now nothing but rubble. Rumours whispered of an ancient demon, unleashed by agents of the Malazan Empire, striding down out of the Gadrobi Hills bent on the annihilation of Darujhistan itself.

Gruntle spat into the blackened grasses beside the carriage. He had his doubts about that tale. Granted, there’d been strange goings on the night of the city’s Fete two months back – not that he’d been sober enough to notice much of anything – and sufficient witnesses to give credence to the sightings of dragons, demons and the terrifying descent of Moon’s Spawn, but any conjuring with the power to lay waste to an entire countryside would have reached Darujhistan. And, since the city was not a smouldering heap – or no more than was usual after a city-wide celebration – clearly nothing did.

No, far more likely a god’s hand, or possibly an earthquake – though the Gadrobi Hills were not known to be restless. Perhaps Burn had shifted uneasy in her eternal sleep.

In any case, the truth of things now stood before him. Or, rather, did not stand, but lay scattered to Hood’s gate and beyond. And the fact remained, whatever games the gods played, it was hard-working dirt-poor bastards like him who suffered for it.

The old ford was back in use, thirty paces upriver from where the bridge had been built. It hadn’t seen traffic in centuries, and with a week of unseasonal rains both banks had become a morass. Caravan trains crowded the crossing, the ones on what used to be ramps and the ones out in the swollen river hopelessly mired down; while dozens more waited on the trails, with the tempers of merchants, guards and beasts climbing by the hour.

Two days now, waiting to cross, and Gruntle was pleased with his meagre troop. Islands of calm, they were. Harllo had waded out to a remnant of the bridge’s nearside pile, and now sat atop it, fishing pole in hand. Stonny Menackis had led a ragged band of fellow caravan guards to Storby’s wagon, and Storby wasn’t too displeased to be selling Gredfallan ale by the mug at exorbitant prices. That the ale casks were destined for a wayside inn outside Saltoan was just too bad for the expectant innkeeper. If things continued as they did, there’d be a market growing up here, then a Hooddamned town. Eventually, some officious planner in Darujhistan would conclude that it’d be a good thing to rebuild the bridge, and in ten or so years it would finally get done. Unless, of course, the town had become a going concern, in which case they’d send a tax collector.

Gruntle was equally pleased with his employer’s equanimity at the delay. News was, the merchant Manqui on the other side of the river had burst a blood vessel in his head and promptly died, which was more typical of the breed. No, their master Keruli ran against the grain, enough to threaten Gruntle’s cherished disgust for merchants in general. Then again, Keruli’s list of peculiar traits had led the guard captain to suspect that the man wasn’t a merchant at all.

Not that it mattered. Coin was coin, and Keruli’s rates were good. Better than average, in fact. The man might be Prince Arard in disguise, for all Gruntle cared.

‘You there, sir!’

Gruntle pulled his gaze from Harllo’s fruitless fishing. A grizzled old man stood beside the carriage, squinting up at him. ‘Damned imperious of you, that tone,’ the caravan captain growled, ‘since by the rags you’re wearing you’re either the world’s worst merchant or a poor man’s servant.’

‘Manservant, to be precise. My name is Emancipor Reese. As for my masters’ being poor, to the contrary. We have, however, been on the road for a long time.’

‘I’ll accept that,’ Gruntle said, ‘since your accent is unrecognizable, and coming from me that’s saying a lot. What do you want, Reese?’

The manservant scratched the silvery stubble on his lined jaw. ‘Careful questioning among this mob had gleaned a consensus that, as far as caravan guards go, you’re a man who’s earned respect.’

‘As far as caravan guards go, I might well have at that,’ Gruntle said drily. ‘Your point?’

‘My masters wish to speak with you, sir. If you’re not too busy – we have camped not far from here.’

Leaning back on the bench, Gruntle studied Reese for a moment, then grunted. ‘I’d have to clear with my employer any meetings with other merchants.’

‘By all means, sir. And you may assure him that my masters have no wish to entice you away or otherwise compromise your contract.’

‘Is that a fact? All right, wait there.’ Gruntle swung himself down from the buckboard on the side opposite Reese. He stepped up to the small, ornately framed door and knocked once. It opened softly and from the relative darkness within the carriage’s confines loomed Keruli’s round, expressionless face.

‘Yes, Captain, by all means go. I admit as to some curiosity about this man’s two masters. Be most studious in noting details of your impending encounter. And, if you can, determine what precisely they have been up to since yesterday.’

The captain grunted to disguise his surprise at Keruli’s clearly unnatural depth of knowledge – the man had yet to leave the carriage – then said, ‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Oh, and retrieve Stonny on your way back. She...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Tor Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2005
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0765314320
• ISBN 13: 9780765314321
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 781
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Procter & Gamble Service GmbH, Braun; https://in.pg.com/contact-us/; ; Sulzbacher Str. 40-50; Schwalbach/Ts.; 65824; Deutschland