Dust of Dreams

  ‘Aye,’ Stormy said, ‘you looked ridiculous. Lopsided. Like some green recruit ain’t figured out how to wear the slingwork.’

  Gesler glared across at his corporal. ‘And you didn’t say nothing all day—some friend you are. What if I got snot smeared across half my face—you just going to stand there?’

  ‘Count on it,’ Stormy said, ‘assuming I can keep a straight face.’

  ‘Next time I see you with bark-hair hanging from your back end, I ain’t saying a thing.’

  ‘Pays to check twice—I learned that much. Think we should go find Flashwit? She’s way overdue.’

  ‘Send Mayfly and Shortnose.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  Gesler paused in his tugging loose the chewed-through strap. ‘Huh. Right. Off you go, then.’

  ‘Sure you don’t need any help there?’

  ‘Naw, you done too much already.’

  ‘That’s just it—I’m all wore out, Ges. I’m too old to march the way we’re marching right now. I’ll be walking on stumpy knees if this goes on much longer.’

  ‘Thus matching your intellectual height. Know what your problem is, Stormy? You’ve gone all edgy.’

  The huge Falari snorted. ‘Ges, we just saw a hundred or so squad mages fall out of line, leaking every which way, eyes rolling up inside their skulls, kicking and gagging. And our scary High Mage reeled like a damned drunk and nearly brained himself on a wagon’s edge. Fid lost his last five meals.’

  ‘None of that’s got anything to do with you going round saying someone’s spyin’ on us, Stormy.’

  ‘I’m just telling you what I’m feeling, that’s all. Like an itch between my shoulder-blades, you know the kind. And it’s only got worse since whatever happened . . . happened.’

  ‘Fid said you’re just imagining things—’

  ‘No he didn’t. He didn’t say anything—he wouldn’t even meet my eyes—you were there, you saw.’

  ‘Well, maybe he didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t have to.’

  ‘I been having strange dreams, Ges.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Stuff falling out of the sky. I look up and I’m right under it and there’s no way to escape. Can’t run far enough or fast enough, can’t do anything, except watch it come down on me.’ He leaned forward and slapped his hand on the ground, making Gesler jump. ‘Like that. You’d think I’d wake up then. But I don’t. I just lie there, crushed, feeling all that weight. Can’t move a muscle, can’t even breathe.’

  Gesler tossed down his hauberk and harness. ‘Stand up, Stormy, you’re coming with me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Walk, Corporal, it’s an order.’

  Gesler led Stormy through the camp, passing cookfires with their huddled, muttering circles of soldiers. They threaded through the cutters’ station, where weary healers worked on soldiers suffering blistered feet, ankle sprains and whatnot, and then out past the first of the horse corrals. Ahead was a trio of laden wagons, an oversized carriage, and fifteen or so tents.

  Gesler called out as they approached. ‘Hedge?’

  A figure came round one end of the carriage and walked over. ‘Gesler? You deserting the Bonehunters? Come to join the Bridgeburners? Smart lads—the legend’s right here and nowhere else. I got these soldiers stepping smart, but they could do with your learnin’ and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Enough of the rubbish,’ Gesler said. ‘Where’s your two beauties?’

  ‘Aw, Gesler, they’re beat, honest—’

  ‘Wake ’em up, both of them. Stormy here’s got a need.’

  ‘You got a need, you mean—’

  ‘No, both of them for him. By the time I come to collect my corporal, I want this man’s rope so stretched it’s tangled round his ankles. I want to see bludgeoned bliss in his tiny blue eyes and curly black hairs in his beard. Tell the lovelies I’ll pay triple the going rate.’

  ‘Fine, only you got to consider what I said. About deserting, I mean.’

  ‘Capital offence, Hedge.’

  ‘Unofficial transfer, then.’

  ‘Keneb would never allow it.’

  ‘Fine, then just march with my squads for a week or so, alongside like, right? Give ’em advice and stuff—’

  ‘Advice?’ Gesler snorted. ‘Like what? “Don’t die, soldiers.” “First hint of trouble, strap on and belt up.” “Your weapon’s the thing strapped to your web.” How’s that?’

  ‘That’s perfect!’

  ‘Hedge, what in Hood’s name are you doing here?’

  The sapper glanced round, and then grasped Stormy by an arm. ‘See those tents, those big ones there? Go on, Corporal, tell the lasses it’s a special order.’

  Stormy scowled across at Gesler, who scowled back.

  ‘I never rolled with real fat women before—’

  ‘Nothing like it,’ Hedge said. ‘Get one under ya and one over ya and it’s all pillows. Go on, Stormy, me and Ges got to talk.’

  ‘Pillows, huh?’

  ‘Aye. Nice warm pillows. Step smartly now, Corporal. There you go.’

  As the Falari trundled off, Hedge looked round suspiciously once more, and then gestured for Gesler to follow.

  ‘Bottle’s using bats,’ Hedge muttered as they walked away from the firelight. ‘Almost skewered one of his rats, y’see, so now he’s gone more cagey.’

  ‘What’re you up to that’s got him so curious, Hedge?’

  ‘Nothing. Honest.’

  ‘Gods below, you’re a bad liar.’

  ‘Just comes from being a legend, Ges, all that fawning and spying. Y’get used to it, so the precautions, they come natural now. All right, this will do.’

  They had walked a dozen or so paces past the ornate carriage, out beyond the faint glows from the fires, and then Hedge had led him into a circle of low stones which Gesler assumed was an old tipi ring. They now stood within it.

  ‘Bottle could use anything out here, Hedge—’

  ‘No he can’t. I got my company mage to seal this circle. We do this every night, for our staff meetings.’

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘Me, my sergeants, corporals and Bavedict. Daily reports, right? To stay on top of things.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Things. Now, listen, you heard anything yet about what happened earlier?’

  Gesler shrugged. ‘Some. There was a gate and someone came through it. Someone stinking with power.’

  Hedge was nodding and then he changed it to shaking his head. ‘That’s nothing—so some nasty’s shown up—that means he’s here, in the real world. Anyone here in the real world can die from a damned rotten tooth, or a knife, or whatever. I ain’t shaking in my boots, and if I have to, I’ll kiss a quarrel’s point and whisper the fool’s name. A bolt in the eye can fuck up even a god’s day. No, what really matters is what happened before he showed up.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s Hood.’

  ‘What about him? Oh, right, you and he are best friends these days—or bitter enemies—how does he take you coming back, anyway?’

  ‘Probably not well, but it don’t matter any more. I won.’

  ‘You won what?’

  ‘I won! The Harrower’s gone and gotten killed! The God of Death is dead! Head chopped right off! A carcass but no grin, a bouncer down the hill, a roll and wobble and blink, a mouth mover, a hat stand—’

  ‘Hold on, Hedge! What—who—but that doesn’t make sense! How—’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care! Details? Squat and shit on ’em! Hood’s dead! Gone!’

  ‘But then, who’s taking the Throne?’

  ‘Nobody and everybody!’

  Gesler’s right hand twitched. Gods, how he wanted to punch this grinning fool! But that nose had seen a few dozen breaks already—he doubted Hedge would even notice. ‘What,’ he said carefully, ‘do you mean, Hedge?’

  ‘I mean, there’s a whole crew of ’em. Holding the gate. Nothing’s shaken out yet. It?
??s all hazy. But one thing I can tell you—and you can ask Fid if you want—he won’t say any different unless he lies to you. One thing, Ges. I can feel them. I can feel him.’

  Gesler stared at the man’s glittering eyes. ‘Who?’

  ‘The Fallen Bridgeburners, Ges. And aye, Whiskeyjack. It’s him—I’d know that sour look anywhere, no matter how dark it is around him. He’s astride a horse. He’s in the Gate, Gesler.’

  ‘Wait. That’s who stepped through?’

  ‘Naw, never mind that one. That one ain’t got a thought that ain’t ten thousand years outa touch. Different gate, anyway. I’m talking about Whiskeyjack. Go and die, Ges, and who’d you rather meet at the Gate? Hood or Whiskeyjack?’

  ‘So why ain’t you cut your own throat, if you’re so excited about it all?’

  Hedge frowned. ‘No reason t’get all edgy. I was a sapper, remember. Sappers understand the importance of patience.’

  Gesler choked back a laugh. From the tents someone squealed. He couldn’t tell who.

  ‘Laugh all you want. You’ll be thankful enough when it’s your head rolling up to that gate.’

  ‘I thought you hated worshipping anyone, Hedge.’

  ‘This is different.’

  ‘If you say so. Now, anything else you wanted to tell me about?’

  ‘Nothing you’d care about either way. You can hand over the coins now, though. Triple the going rate, right? Dig it out, Ges, it’s getting late.’

  ______

  Commander Brys threw on his cloak and fastened the breast clasp. ‘I walk through camp before settling in, Atri-Ceda. Join me, if you please.’

  ‘Honoured, my Prince.’

  He stepped out of the command tent and she followed. They set out for the nearest row of legionaries’ tents. ‘That title just won’t sit comfortably, Atri-Ceda,’ he said after a moment. ‘ “Commander” or “sir” will do. In fact, when it’s just the two of us, “Brys” ’.

  She wondered if he caught her faint gasp, or noted the momentary wobble in her knees as she moved up alongside him.

  ‘Assuming,’ he continued, ‘you will permit me to call you Aranict.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ She hesitated, could feel him waiting, and then said, ‘Brys.’ A wave of lightheadedness followed, as if she’d quaffed a tumbler of brandy. Her mind spun wildly for a moment and she drew a deep breath to calm herself.

  This was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Infuriating. She itched to light a smoker, but that would likely breach protocol.

  ‘At ease, Aranict.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Relax. Please—you’re starting to make me jumpy. I don’t bite.’

  Try the right nipple. Oh gods, shut up, woman. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I was hoping your stay with the Malazan High Mage might have calmed you some.’

  ‘Oh, it has, sir. I mean, I’m better.’

  ‘No more fainting?’

  ‘No. Well, almost once.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘At day’s end, I made the mistake of being in his tent when he pulled off his boots.’

  ‘Ah.’ And then he shot her a startled look, his face lighting in a sudden smile. ‘Remind me to send you out before I do the same.’

  ‘Oh, sir, I’m sure you don’t—uh, that is, it’s not the same—’

  But he was laughing. She saw soldiers round campfires turn, looking over at the two of them. She saw a few mutter jests and there were grins and nods. Her face burned hot as coals.

  ‘Aranict, I assure you, after a day’s fast march as we’ve been experiencing since the landing, my socks could stun a horse. None of us are any different in such matters.’

  ‘Because you choose to march alongside your soldiers, Brys. When you could ride or even sit in one of the grand carriages, and no one would think ill of you—’

  ‘You would be wrong in that, Aranict. Oh, they might not seem any different, outwardly, saluting as smartly as ever and all the rest. Certain to follow every order I give, yes. But somewhere deep inside every one of them, there’s a stone of loyalty—when it comes to most of those giving them orders, that stone stays smooth and nothing sticks, it all washes off. And so it would be with me as well, were I to take any other path than the one they happen to be on. But, you see, there may come a time when I must demand of my soldiers something . . . impossible. If the stone was still smooth—if it did not have my name carved deep into it—I could lose them.’

  ‘Sir, they would never mutiny—’

  ‘Not as such. But in asking for the impossible, I would intend that they succeed in achieving it. The impossible is not the same as sending them to their deaths. That I would never do. But if I am to ask more of them than any commander has even the right to ask of his or her soldiers, then I must be with them, and be seen to be with them.

  ‘Tonight,’ he continued, ‘you must become my Atri-Ceda again for a time, and I your commander. When we speak with our soldiers. When we ask them how they fared on this day. When we endeavour to answer their questions and concerns, as best we can.’ He paused, his steps slowing. They were in a gap of relative darkness between two cookfires. ‘Especially on this night,’ he said, his tone low. ‘They are shaken—word’s come of the affliction striking the Malazan mages.’

  ‘Yes, Commander. I understand. In fact, High Mage Delat wondered, er, rather, he asked me. About you. Said that you may seem . . . different now . . . sir.’

  ‘And what will you tell him, when next you two meet?’

  ‘I—I am not sure, sir. I think so. Maybe . . .’

  ‘He is a clever man,’ Brys said. ‘This evening, Aranict, I felt as if . . . well, as if I had awakened, stepped out from a dark, cold place. A place I’d thought was the real world, the honest world—the coldness, I’d thought, was simply what I had never before noticed—before my death and resurrection, I mean. But I understand, now, that the cold and darkness were within me, death’s own touch upon my soul.’

  She stared at him, adoring, eyes bright. ‘And it is gone now, sir?’

  His returning smile was all the answer she needed.

  ‘Now, Atri-Ceda, let us speak with our soldiers.’

  ‘Carving the stone, sir.’

  ‘Just that.’

  No need to worry about mine. I am yours. That stone, it’s all melted, reshaped—Errant save me, it’s got your face now. Oh, and about that biting—

  As they stepped into the firelight, Brys chanced to glance across at his Atri-Ceda, and what he saw in her expression—quickly veiled but not quickly enough—almost took his breath away.

  Lascivious hunger, a half-smile upon her lips, a fancy snared in the reflecting flames in her eyes. For an instant, he was at a loss for words, and could only smile his greeting as the soldiers turned and voiced their heartfelt welcome.

  Aranict. I truly was half-dead inside, to have so thoroughly missed what is now so obvious. The question now is, what am I to do about it? About you?

  That look, there was a darkness upon it—not cold as I found in myself—but hot as a burning ember. Is it any wonder I so often see you standing inside swirls of smoke?

  Atri-Ceda, what am I to do?

  But he knew he would have no answer to that question, not until he knew his own feelings. It all seemed so new, so peculiar, so unfamiliar. All at once—and he felt the shift with a grinding lurch—she was the one standing so self-possessed and content inside her own inner world’s visions—whatever they happened to be—while he stood awkwardly at her side, flustered, dumbstruck.

  Ridiculous. Set it aside for later, Brys.

  This soldiering business was getting easier, Sunrise decided. Plenty of marching, and marching fast at that, but the soles of his feet had toughened, he’d got his wind back, and even carrying his armour, shield and weapons wasn’t proving so hard any more. They’d even found time for some sword practice. Duck and stab, duck and stab—hold the shield up, soldier! Hold the line—no one breaks in the Bridgeburners. You stand and take the shock
and then you step forward. Stand, take, step—it’s like felling a forest, soldiers, tree by tree. Duck and stab!

  Couldn’t help but be a bit of a challenge, of course, living up to the legend that was the Bridgeburners, but then they had themselves a real one looking on, all sharp-eyed and stern, and that kept everyone trying and trying hard. High standards, aye, the highest.

  The Bridgeburners had singlehandedly won the Blackdog Campaign. Sent the Crimson Guard and the Mott and Genabarii legions reeling in retreat. Kicked in the front gates of a dozen cities from Nathilog to One Eye Cat. And before that, they’d conquered all of Seven Cities. He’d never heard of any of these places but he liked the names. Seven Cities sounded simple and obvious. Place got seven cities? Call it Seven Cities. Straight thinking, that was. And all that Genabackan stuff, well, those names were amazing and exotic. Cities called Pale and Greydog, Tulips and Bulge. And then there were the wonderful beasts in those distant lands. Dragonflies big enough to ride—imagine whizzing through the clouds, looking down on everything! Seeing how beautiful it all was, and then dropping hundreds of bombs on it.

  And the Bridgeburners had done all that and, more importantly, they weren’t done yet. More adventures were coming. Glories and heroic defences, monsters in the sky and flooded deserts and ghosts with sharp swords and warriors made of dust. Moranth and Barghast and Tiste Andii and Jaghut tyrants and all the rest.

  Sunrise couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait to get to the legendary stuff. It’s what he was meant for, what his whole life was heading towards—as if he’d only been waiting for these foreign soldiers to arrive. To sweep him up and carry him along and now he was one of them. And he knew the others felt the same. We’re Bridgeburners now. They’ll look to us when things get desperate, too desperate for the others to handle. We’ll march forward, shields locked, faces cold and with hearts of iron. We’ll prove we’re worthy of the legend.

  Wait and see, just wait and see.

  Two women stood well away from the fires, waiting for a third.

  There was nothing sure in this. In fact, Sinter reminded herself, it was almost guaranteeing trouble. There wasn’t much sisterhood among the Dal Honese. Scarce any brotherhood either, come to that. Tribes get left behind, and with them ties of the blood, feuds and all the rest. That was how it should be and mostly they held to it, since to do otherwise could rip a company apart. Squad’s the new kin, company’s the tribe, army’s the people—the kingdom, the damned empire. What are you, soldier?