Dust of Dreams

by Steven Erikson

  The Wastelands looked forbidding. Perhaps even more lifeless than the worst stretches of Seven Cities—between Aren and Raraku, or that northwest push to the walls of Y’Ghatan. He’d managed to acquire an honest list of warlocks and witches among the ranks, those possessing magics that could conjure forth edible plants, small mammals, insects and such from even the most miserable of lands. And water, as well. To stretch out the supplies they carried, he had them hard at work supplementing daily rations allotted each squad.

  But the complaints had already begun. ‘These Wastelands, Fist, are well named. Damn near sucked lifeless underfoot. Finding stuff is starting to hurt.’

  Do what you can. It’s all I can ask.

  A more useless response from an officer was beyond his imagining, and what soured the most were his own recollections of receiving such inane replies from his commanders all those years ago. At last he understood the helplessness they often suffered, when attempting to deal with something that couldn’t be dealt with; with things and forces beyond any hope of control. Just say what you can, and look confident and reassuring when saying it. Nobody buys it, and both sides know that fact, so what’s really being acknowledged is the motions we both go through.

  Indeed, he was beginning to truly understand the burdens of command, a phrase he used to scoff at and mock derisively. Burden, sir? Try carrying this kit pack on your shoulders all day, up and down hills and worse. What do you know about burdens? Shut that whining, sir, before I slide my knife across your scrawny throat.

  What did Blistig know about the Whirlwind? He’d been cosy behind the walls of Aren, commanding a bored garrison. But I was in the middle of it. Half-dead of wounds before Kalam Mekhar showed up. Sister, where are you now? Was turning your back on him worth it? Keneb shook his head. His thoughts were wandering, exhaustion pulling loose the tethers. What haunts me now? Yes, now I remember. The army.

  Without hate, what army could function? Unquestionably, other things were needed: respect, duty, the slippery notions of honour and courage, and above all of those, the comradeship between soldiers and all the responsibilities that created. But hate had a role, didn’t it? Useless officers, unreasonable orders, the pervasive conviction that the ones in overall command were all incompetent idiots. But then, all of that means we’re all in this together—we’re all trapped in this insane bloated family where every rule of behaviour strains near to snapping.

  And we’re a family bred to answer everything with violence. Is it any wonder we’re all so badly messed up?

  He heard the pounding of horse hoofs and twisted round in his saddle to see a soldier from his staff quickly approaching.

  Now what?

  But then, he didn’t really want to know. Any more desertions, real or otherwise, and he’d start to hear the spine cracking, and he dreaded that sound more than anything else, because it would mean that he had truly failed. The Adjunct set this one task upon him, and he’d proved unequal to it, and as a consequence the entire Bonehunters army was falling apart.

  Blistig needed to be pushed aside. He could think of a number of officers sharp enough to take on the role of Fist. Faradan Sort, Raband, Ruthan Gudd. Kindly. Kindly, now there’s an idea. Has seniority. Instils a healthy dose of terror in his soldiers. Brilliantly unreasonable. Aye, Kindly. Now, all I need to do is convince the Adjunct—

  The rider reined in. ‘Fist, the Adjunct requests your presence in the sub-camp of the Fifth Squad, Ninth Company, Eighth Legion. There has been an incident.’

  ‘What kind of incident?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. Captain Yil didn’t say.’

  Keneb glanced back at the rising sun, and then the stretch below it. Wastelands. Even the name leaves a sick feeling in my gut. ‘Let’s go then, Bulge. On the way, you can amuse me with another story about Master Sergeant Pores.’

  The scarred man’s round, pocked face split into a smile. ‘Aye, sir. Got plenty.’

  They set out at a brisk canter.

  After relaying Fiddler’s orders to the squad, Bottle returned to the Fifth Squad’s camp. He found a solid cordon round it and was forced to use his sergeant’s name to push his way through. The three heavies were sitting close to a weak dung fire, looking morose. Fiddler stood close to the motionless, prostrate body of Quick Ben. Alarmed, Bottle hurried over.

  ‘What happened? He try a quest?’

  ‘You back again? I sent you away, soldier—’

  ‘Not a good idea, Sergeant. You shouldn’t have let Quick try anything—’

  ‘Why?’

  Bottle pointed down. ‘That’s why. He’s still alive, isn’t he? He’d better be.’

  ‘Aye. Now what’s this about avoiding any magics, Bottle?’

  ‘Small stuff is fine. Food, water, all that. But I wouldn’t even think of doing anything bigger. First off, the Wastelands might as well be dusted in otataral. Attempting sorcery here is like pulling teeth. Most places, that is. But there’s other, uh, places, where it’s the damned opposite.’

  ‘Back up, soldier. You’re saying there’s areas out there where magic comes easy? Why didn’t you mention this before? Our warlocks and witches are half-dead right now—’

  ‘No no, it’s not like that, Sergeant. It’s not areas, it’s people. Or, more accurately, things. Ascendants, stinking with power.’ Bottle waved one hand eastward. ‘Out there, just . . . I don’t know, just walking around. And they bleed, uh, energies. Sure, we could feed on them, Sergeant, but that would mean getting close to them, and close is probably a bad idea.’

  Quick Ben groaned.

  Bottle frowned down at the High Mage. ‘Is that a welt on the side of his head?’

  ‘How close to us is the nearest thing, Bottle?’

  ‘I know the smell of one of them. T’lan Imass.’

  ‘Really.’ The word was flat, dangerous.

  ‘Still far away,’ Bottle hastily added. ‘There’s nothing within twenty leagues of us. That I know of—some ascendants are good at hiding—’

  ‘You winging out there, Bottle? How often?’

  ‘Hardly at all, Sergeant. It’s scary out there. In the dark, I mean.’ Bottle was beginning to regret coming back here. What’s with me, anyway? Sticking my nose into every damned thing, and if it stinks real bad what do I do? I go find something else to stick my nose in. And they all stink—you’d imagine, wouldn’t you, I might quit the habit. But no, of course not. Gods, Bottle, listen to yourself—

  Quick Ben sat up, cradling his head. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What?’

  ‘Took a fall there, High Mage,’ said Fiddler.

  ‘A fall?’

  ‘Aye, I’m thinking you was struck with a thought.’

  Quick Ben spat, gingerly probing the side of his head. ‘Must have been some thought,’ he muttered. ‘Hit so hard I can’t even remember it.’

  ‘Happens,’ said Fiddler. ‘Listen, Bottle. Wasn’t a T’lan Imass who kidnapped Gesler and Stormy. It was what we talked about before: K’Chain Che’Malle.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Quick Ben. ‘Who said anything about T’lan Imass?’

  ‘I did,’ Bottle replied. ‘You were the one talking about winged K’Chain Che’Malle.’

  Fiddler snorted. ‘No doubt the Adjunct will talk to us about the fucking Forkrul Assail. Who’s left? Oh, the Jaghut—’

  ‘Still days away—’ said Bottle and Quick Ben in unison, and then glared at each other.

  Fiddler’s face reddened. ‘You bastards,’ he hissed under his breath. ‘Both of you! We’ve got a Jaghut tracking us?’

  ‘Not one,’ admitted Bottle. ‘I counted fourteen. Each one a walking armoury. But I don’t think they’re actually following us, Sergeant—unless our High Mage knows more about it, which is possible.’

  Fiddler had buried the fingers of one hand in his beard and looked ready to start tearing loose handfuls. ‘You reporting all this to the Adjunct, Quick?’

  The High Mage scowled and looked away. ‘I’ve given up. Nothing surprises her, F
id. It’s as if she already knows.’

  ‘Bottle, any hint of K’Chain Che’Malle? Your nightly explorations go out how far?’

  ‘Depends on how crowded it is out there,’ Bottle admitted. ‘But, thinking on it, there’s plenty of agitation going on, especially among the winged stuff—the rhinazan, the capemoths. The scaled rats keep massing and setting off on wild paths, as if trying to follow something. Oh, and I’ve caught the occasional scent on the winds, but I took those to be draconic. I don’t even know what a K’Chain Che’Malle smells like.’

  Quick Ben flung the scrap of canvas at Bottle. ‘Yes you do.’

  It dropped at Bottle’s feet. ‘Right,’ he said, looking down at it. ‘Oily lizards.’

  ‘Draconic,’ said Fiddler. ‘Forgot about those. Anyone we know, Quick?’

  ‘You’re asking me? Bottle’s the one smelling them.’

  ‘I am. Well?’

  The wizard hesitated, and then said, ‘Aye, we bloodied him at Letheras.’

  ‘Can’t keep a fly from buzzing your shit,’ said Bottle, earning hard looks from both men. ‘Look, the Wastelands may be all wastes, but they ain’t empty, Sergeant. I’m wagering the High Mage here suspects why it’s so crowded. In fact,’ he added, ‘I think you know too, Sergeant. That pig of a reading you did—and then what hit you a few days back—someone showed up, and you probably know who—’

  ‘Bottle,’ cut in Fiddler. ‘Just how much do you really want to know? I told you to keep your head down, didn’t I? Now here you are, and here comes the Adjunct and Yil. I sent you back to the squad for a reason, soldier. You should’ve listened. Now it’s too late.’

  Keneb sent Bulge off to finish striking his command tent and rode through the breaking camps of the Ninth Company. Soldiers stopped talking to watch him ride past. There was none of the usual banter, suggesting to Keneb that the tale of the ‘incident’ at Gesler’s camp had bled out among the ranks. Whatever had happened, it looked bad.

  It’d be nice to get some good news. For a change. ‘The High Mage has opened us a warren that’ll take us right to wherever it is the Adjunct wants us. A lovely warren, rolling fields of flowers and gambolling deer that fall dead at our feet whenever we get hungry. Water? No, the rivers are rivers of wine. Ground’s soft as pillows every night, too. It’s great! Oh, and when we get there, the enemy take one look at us and drop their weapons and send for wagons loaded with the booty of a king’s vault. And the women! Why—’

  ‘Keneb!’

  He turned in his saddle to see Blistig riding up from a side avenue. The man fell in alongside him.

  ‘The morning’s turned into Hood’s hole, Keneb. What else did you hear?’

  ‘About what? Got called to the Ninth, Fifth Squad. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Gesler and Stormy have deserted.’ There was a glint in Blistig’s eyes.

  ‘Ridiculous.’

  ‘The word’s gone out, right out—the whole damned army knows it now. She’s losing it, Keneb, and none too soon as far as I’m concerned. We ain’t gonna hold for this march across the Wastelands. She’ll have to disband us. I liked the look of Letheras—how about you?’

  ‘Gesler and Stormy have not deserted, Blistig.’

  ‘You said you knew nothing—’

  ‘I don’t have to. I know those two. They’re solid as mountains.’

  ‘They’re gone, Keneb. Simple as that—’

  ‘You were summoned to this meeting?’

  ‘Not officially. But it sounds to be army’s business.’

  ‘It concerns a squad in one of my companies, Blistig. Do me a favour, ride the fuck back to your Legion and get them in order. If new commands are going to come down, leave it to the Adjunct’s staff. If she wanted you she’d have invited you.’

  The man’s face darkened. ‘You’ve turned into a real shit, Keneb. Don’t settle in Letheras—the city ain’t big enough for both of us.’

  ‘Go away, Blistig.’

  ‘Once we’re disbanded, I’m coming looking for you, Keneb.’

  ‘The day that happens, Blistig, you won’t make it out of your Legion’s camp. They’ll cut you down not two steps from your tent.’

  ‘Shows what you know. I got rapport. They’ll be at my back when I go for you.’

  Keneb glanced over, brows lifting. ‘Rapport? You’re a joke, Blistig. You’re their joke. Now get out of my face—’

  ‘Not a chance. I’m off to talk with the Adjunct.’

  ‘Talk? About what?’

  ‘My business.’

  They drew closer to a cordon of soldiers. That ring parted as they rode in. Within the circle waited an ominous gathering. Keneb saw Tavore and Yil along with Quick Ben, Fiddler and Bottle. His gaze then found the destroyed tent. That doesn’t look good. He reined in, dismounted. A soldier from the Eighteenth Squad came forward and took the reins. ‘Thank you, Corporal Rib.’ Keneb paused. ‘Think we still need this cordon?’

  ‘Only the inner ring’s doing that, Fist,’ Rib replied. ‘The rest are just gawking.’

  ‘Get me your sergeant,’ Keneb said.

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Smirking, Blistig moved past, heading for the Adjunct.

  The Eighteenth’s sergeant pushed through. ‘Fist. Bad news, this.’

  ‘So I hear, Gaunt-Eye. Now, round up the other sergeants all these soldiers belong to. I want them out of here. I want them all getting ready for the day’s march. Tell them if I look up in a hundred heartbeats and still see this mob, Hood’s heel is coming down. Am I understood, Sergeant?’

  The Genabackan blinked. ‘Aye, Fist.’ He saluted and then plunged back into the crowd. Almost at once, he started barking orders.

  Corporal Rib grinned. ‘He don’t need the other sergeants, Fist. I ain’t never known a meaner sergeant.’

  ‘Carry on, Corporal.’

  ‘Aye, Fist.’

  Keneb walked over to the motley gathering—these damned all-too-familiar faces, the miserable expressions, the Adjunct’s flat eyes and thin, straight mouth as she stood listening to whatever Blistig was saying. As Keneb reached them Tavore lifted a gauntleted hand, cutting Blistig off.

  ‘Fist Blistig,’ she said, ‘is this the time to petition for an increase in the rum ration?’

  ‘Adjunct, the Eighth Legion may be about to crumble. I’m just wanting to make sure my own legion—’

  ‘That will be enough, Blistig. Return to your legion immediately.’

  ‘Very well, Adjunct. Still, who’d have thought those two would desert.’ He saluted and was forced to hold it while Tavore stood motionless, her regard level and lifeless. As the moment grew uncomfortable, the Adjunct returned the salute, converting it into a dismissive gesture—as if brushing lint from her cloak.

  Face paling, Blistig wheeled and marched back to his horse, only to find that the animal had wandered off—no one had taken the reins from him.

  As he hesitated, Keneb grunted and said, ‘Rapport, aye.’

  ‘Not my legion,’ he snapped. ‘You might want a word or two about courtesy with your soldiers, Keneb.’

  ‘The Malazan military demands courtesy first and expects respect to follow. Lose respect and the courtesy usually goes with it.’

  ‘Remember, I’ll be looking for you.’

  ‘Best find your horse first, Blistig.’

  The Adjunct gestured Keneb over.

  ‘Fist. Our camp security seems to have been breached.’

  ‘They are truly missing, Adjunct?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I cannot see how anyone managed to penetrate this deep into our camp,’ Keneb said. ‘Unless they were our own—but then, where are the bodies? I don’t understand this, Adjunct.’

  ‘The High Mage suggests the attacker was a Shi’gal K’Chain Che’Malle.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Quick Ben said, ‘those ones grow wings. They’re the Matron’s own assassins, Fist. And one dropped down out of the night and stole them both.’

&
nbsp; ‘To do what with them? Eat them? Why did neither man make a sound?’

  ‘They were selected,’ said the High Mage, ‘and no, I have no idea why.’

  Keneb struggled to make sense of all this. He glanced at Fiddler. The sergeant looked miserable. Well, nothing new there. ‘Gesler and Stormy,’ he slowly ventured, ‘were anything but average marines.’

  ‘As close to ascendants,’ said Quick Ben, ‘as anyone in this army.’

  ‘Will this winged assassin come back for more of us?’ Keneb asked, offering the question to any one of the five soldiers standing opposite him.

  Fiddler grunted. ‘Damn, that’s the first time the question’s come up—you got a point. Why stop with just them?’

  ‘The problem is,’ said Quick Ben, ‘we have no idea what the Che’Malle want with Gesler and Stormy.’

  ‘And no real way to find out,’ added Bottle.

  ‘I see,’ said Keneb. ‘Well, how can we defend against such future attacks? High Mage?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can think up, Fist.’

  ‘One squad member with a crossbow stays awake at all times at night,’ said Keneb. ‘Maybe that won’t help, but it’s a start. Adjunct, if the soldiers begin thinking people can go missing at any time and we can do nothing about it, we’ll end up facing a mutiny.’

  ‘You are correct, Fist. I will see to it that the order goes out.’ She turned. ‘Captain Yil, ride to the Letherii camp and report our losses—you need hold nothing back from Commander Brys Beddict. Include in your report our conjectures.’

  As Lostara made to leave, Quick Ben said, ‘Captain, be sure that Atri-Ceda Aranict is present.’

  She nodded and then departed.

  The Adjunct stepped close to Keneb. ‘Fist. We have suffered a wound here. It may prove deeper and more serious than any of us presently believe. You may be assured that I will do all that is in my power to find and retrieve Gesler and Stormy—but understand, we must continue the march. We must hold this army together.’

  ‘Aye, Adjunct. To that end, we have another problem. He was just here, in fact.’

  She held his gaze. ‘I am aware of that, Fist. I am also aware of the additional burdens you have been forced to carry as a consequence. I will deal with this matter shortly. In the meantime, we need to make certain that the rumour of Gesler and Stormy deserting is laid to rest. The truth is unpleasant enough in its own right that none will think us dissembling. Summon your officers, Fist.’ She then turned to her High Mage. ‘Do what you can to protect us.’