Tribute to Hell by Ian Irvine Page B

the matter?’
    â€˜Frostbite.’
    Roget chuckled. ‘Even for you, that’s a new one.’
    Greave’s chattering teeth broke a wedge of glass from the rim. He spat it out, gulped the liquor and wiped his bloody mouth. ‘More!’
    Roget cantilevered a wire-thin eyebrow but poured another large measure. After drinking it from the whole side of the glass, Greave’s eyes met his friend’s.
    â€˜I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.’
    â€˜Take your time. Was it Satima?’
    Greave nodded stiffly.
    â€˜I warned you,’ said Roget. ‘What insane folly sent you after a god’s month-bride? And K’nacka is the most jealous of all the gods. But that’s why you seduced her, isn’t it?’
    Greave did not reply.
    â€˜You’ve had the most beautiful women in the land yet you’re never satisfied. I hate to say this, but it’s time you settled down.’
    â€˜What for? The ice advances across land and sea. Soon it will crush Hightspall out of existence.’
    â€˜Not in our lifetime.’
    â€˜And our gods are declining; they’ve abandoned us.’
    â€˜Don’t speak heresy,’ said Roget, uneasily. ‘Greave, you live for pleasure, but do you ever find it?’
    â€˜Life is empty,’ Greave muttered. ‘The harder I go after anything, the quicker it turns into a mirage.’
    â€˜Like I say—’
    â€˜All I have left is the hunt. I can’t give it up.’
    â€˜And every time you take greater risks.’
    â€˜I only feel alive when I risk everything. The pursuit is bliss, the act anti-climactic; the hangover, worse each time. I’m like a reluctant drunk — remorseful in the morning but back in the bar every night.’ Greave picked up the flagon of raw spirits and, his teeth chattering on the neck, drained it.
    â€˜Hey!’ cried Roget. ‘That’s enough liquor to kill a stallion.’
    â€˜Yet I’m stone-sober,’ said Greave. ‘And freezing inside.’
    Now Roget was shivering. ‘What did the month-bride do to you?’
    â€˜The moment I mounted her, she went cold.’
    â€˜Probably afraid, poor girl. I hope you took pity and sent her—’
    â€˜ Dead cold. K’nacka froze her solid under me.’
    Roget gaped. ‘He appeared in person ?’
    Greave dabbed at his bleeding lip. ‘And then—’
    â€˜No, you’ve gone too far this time,’ Roget grated.
    â€˜ I didn’t kill her.’
    â€˜The moment you seduced the month-bride of a god, you doomed her.’
    â€˜The wench is dead; what does it matter?’ Greave said carelessly.
    Roget shoved his chair back and stood up. ‘You were always reckless and self-centred, but you used to care, deep down. Who will you destroy next?’ he said disgustedly. ‘My sister? My mother? ’
    A deep, inner pain jagged through Greave; he clutched at his friend’s coat. ‘Don’t go, please. I — I’m desperate.’
    Roget sat down. ‘You must be, to admit to it. Is there more?’
    â€˜ Her fate will be echoed by every woman you touch, K’nacka said. On the way here, I glanced at a pretty girl in the street — just for a second, I swear — and frost appeared all over her clothes. If I lust after a woman, any woman, she’ll be frozen to death. And there’s worse.’ He told Roget the rest.
    Roget paled, glancing over his shoulder. ‘The Graven Casket! Greave, I’m not a devout man; my sins are as numberless as the souls screaming in Perdition. But this is too much.’
    â€˜What can I do?’ said Greave. ‘A god has ordered me to open the casket —’
    â€˜Which is sealed until the End of Days.’
    â€˜Maybe these are the End of Days.’
    â€˜He’s a trickster. It’s a trap.’
    â€˜I know, but if I don’t do it, my little sister dies. Roget, help