Dust of Dreams

The other marines sat motionless on their horses, but their tension was a stink in Badan’s nostrils, and under his hauberk sweat ran in streams. No, he’d not wanted any sort of trouble. Especially not a bloodbath. But this damned shrew-brained Preda had made it close. His heart thumped loud in his chest and he forced himself to glance back at his soldiers. Ruffle’s round face was pink and damp, but she offered him a wink before angling her crossbow upward and resting the stock’s butt on one soft thigh. Reliko was cradling his own crossbow in one arm while the other arm was stretched out to stay Vastly Blank, who’d evidently realized-finally-that there’d been trouble here in the compound, and now looked ready to start killing Letherii-once he was pointed in the right direction. Skim and Honey were side by side, their heavy assault crossbows aimed with unwavering precision at the Preda’s chest-a detail the man seemed too stupid to comprehend. The other heavies remained in the background, in ill mood for having been rousted from another drunken night in Letheras.

Badan Gruk’s scan ended on the face of Corporal Pravalak Rim, and sure enough, he saw in that young man’s features something of what he himself felt. A damned miracle. Something that’d seemed impossible to ever have believed-they’d all seen-

A heavy door clunked from the direction of the gaol.

Everyone-Malazan and Letherii-now fixed gazes on the four figures slowly approaching. Skulldeath was half-carrying his charge, and the same was true of the Letherii guard, Spanserd. The prisoners they’d just helped from their cells were in bad shape.

‘Easy, Blank,’ muttered Reliko.

‘But that’s-they-but I know them two!’

‘Aye,’ the heavy infantryman sighed. ‘We all do, Vastly.’

Neither prisoner showed any signs of having been beaten or tortured. What left them on the edge of death was simple neglect. The most effective torture of all.

‘Preda,’ said Badan Gruk, in a low voice.

Norlo Trumb turned to face him. ‘What is it now?’

‘You don’t feed them?’

‘The condemned received reduced rations, I am afraid-’

‘How long?’

‘Well, as I said, Sergeant, we have been awaiting the officer of the Royal Advocate for some time. Months and-’

Two quarrels skimmed past the Preda’s head, one on either side, and both sliced the man’s ears. He shrieked in sudden shock and fell back, landing heavily on his behind.

Badan pointed at the now cowering garrison guards. ‘No move now.’ And then he twisted in his saddle to glare at Honey and Skim. In Malazan he said, ‘Don’t even think about reloading! Shit-brained sappers!’

‘Sorry,’ said Skim, ‘I guess we both just sort’ve… twitched.’ And she shrugged.

Honey handed her his crossbow and dropped down from his horse. ‘I’ll retrieve the quarrels-anybody see where they ended up?’

‘Bounced and skittered between them two buildings there,’ Reliko said, pointing with his chin.

The Preda’s shock had shifted into fury. Ears streaming blood, he now staggered to his feet. ‘Attempted murder! I will see those two arrested! You’ll swim the canal for this!’

‘No understand,’ said Badan Gruk. ‘Pravalak, bring up the spare horses. We should’ve brought Dreader. I don’t think they can even ride. Flank ’em close on the way back-we’ll take it slow.’

He studied the stumbling figures leaning on their escorts. Sergeant Sinter and her sister, Kisswhere. Looking like Hood’s own soiled loincloth. But alive. ‘Gods below,’ he whispered. They are alive.

‘Aaii! My leg’s fallen off!’

Banaschar sat motionless in the chair and watched the small skeletal lizard lying on its side and spinning now in circles on the floor, one leg kicking.

‘Telorast! Help me!’

The other reptile perched on the window sill and looked down, head tilting from one side to the other, as if seeking the perfect angle of regard. ‘It’s no use, Curdle,’ it finally replied. ‘You can’t get anywhere like that.’

‘I need to get away!’

‘From what?’

‘From the fact that my leg’s fallen off!’

Telorast scampered along the sill until it was as close as it could get to Banaschar. ‘Sodden priest of wine, hssst! Look over here-the window! It’s me, the clever one. Stupid one’s down on the floor there, see her? She needs your help. No, of course you can’t make her any less stupid-we’re not discussing that here. Rather, it’s one of her legs, yes? The gut binding or whatever has broken. She’s crippled, helpless, useless. She’s spinning in circles and that’s far too poignant for us. Do you understand? O Wormlet of the Worm Goddess, O scurrier of the worship-slayer eyeless bitch of the earth! Banaschar the Drunk, Banaschar the Wise, the Wisely Drunk. Please be so kind and nimble as to repair my companion, my dear sister, the stupid one.’