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Book Information:
Genre: Epic Fantasy
Author: Steven Erikson
Name: Memories of Ice
Series: A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen 3
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Memories of Ice
A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen 3
Steven Erikson



Prologue
The ancient wars of the T'lan Imass and the Jaghut saw the world torn asunder. Vast armies contended on the ravaged lands, the dead piled high, their bone the bones of hills, their spilled blood the blood of seas. Sorceries raged until the sky itself was fire...
----Ancient Histories, Vol. I Kinicik Karbar'n

I

Maeth'ki Im (Pogrom of the Rotted Flower), the 33rd Jaghut War 298,665 years before Burn's Sleep

SWALLOWS DARTED THROUGH THE CLOUDS OF MIDGES DANCING OVER the mudflats. The sky above the marsh remained grey, but it had lost its mercurial wintry gleam, and the warm wind sighing through the air above the ravaged land held the scent of healing.
What had once been the inland freshwater sea the Imass called Jaghra Til - born from the shattering of the Jaghut ice-fields - was now in its own death-throes. The pallid overcast was reflected in dwindling pools and stretches of knee-deep water for as far south as the eye could scan, but none the less, newly birthed land dominated the vista.
The breaking of the sorcery that had raised the glacial age returned to the region the old, natural seasons, but the memories of mountain-high ice lingered. The exposed bedrock to the north was gouged and scraped, its basins filled with boulders. The heavy silts that had been the floor of the inland sea still bubbled with escaping gases, as the land, freed of the enormous weight with the glaciers' passing eight years past, continued its slow ascent.
Jaghra Til's life had been short, yet the silts that had settled on its bottom were thick. And treacherous.
Pran Chole, Bonecaster of Cannig Tol's clan among the Kron Imass, sat motionless atop a mostly buried boulder along an ancient beach ridge. The descent before him was snarled in low, wiry grasses and withered driftwood. Twelve paces beyond, the land dropped slightly, then stretched out into a broad basin of mud.
Three ranag had become trapped in a boggy sinkhole twenty paces into the basin. A bull male, his mate and their calf, ranged in a pathetic defensive circle. Mired and vulnerable, they must have see...

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