Dust of Dreams

The big red-bearded man wheeled on his companion. ‘Aye! You’re the Mortal Sword-these are the questions you need to be asking, not me! Who’s going to command here? You are, you stupid lump of dhenrabi shit! So stop lapdogging me and get on with it!’

Gesler’s hands closed into fists and he took a half-step closer to Stormy. ‘That’s it,’ he growled. ‘I’m going to crush your fat head, Stormy, and then I’m going to walk away-’

Stormy bared his teeth, squaring himself to await Gesler’s charge.

Sag’Churok thumped between the two men, sword blades straightening out to the sides, the motion forcing the men apart, lest those notched edges find them. Snarling, Gesler spun round and marched off a dozen or so paces.

Grinning, Stormy straightened. ‘Give me those flavours, lizard. We got to talk.’

‘Not that one,’ Kalyth said. ‘Gunth Mach is the one without swords. There-not the J’an, this one. Go to her.’

‘Fine, and then what?’

‘Then… nothing. You will see.’

He walked up to stand directly in front of Gunth Mach. Brave or stupid-I think I know which way Gesler would say. But she saw that Gesler, arms crossed, had turned to watch.

‘Well? Gods, she stinks-’ He suddenly recoiled. ‘Sorry, lizard,’ he mumbled, ‘I didn’t mean it.’ He wiped at his face, then held out his hand, scowling. ‘I’m covered in something.’

‘Flavour,’ Kalyth said.

Gesler snorted. ‘The lizard in your head now, Stormy? I don’t believe it-if she’d done that she’d be running for the nearest cliff.’

‘I ain’t the one staying deliberately stupid, Ges.’

Gesler glared over at the approaching legions. ‘Fine, tell me what they can do.’

‘No. Find out for yourself.’

‘I ain’t being nobody’s Mortal Sword.’

‘Whatever. You just going to stand there, Ges?’

Swearing something under his breath, the soldier walked over to Gunth Mach. ‘Fine, do your sweat thing, it’s not like I just had a swim or nothing-’ As soon as he drew close he snapped his head back, and then rubbed at his eyes. ‘Ow.’

Kalyth sensed a presence at her side.

Bre’nigan. The J’an Sentinel’s milky eyes caught the deepening blue of the day’s end. ‘Against two Shi’gal, I could do nothing.’

The voice in her head shocked her. This ancient Che’Malle had seemed beyond any acknowledgement of her whatsoever. The voice trembled.

‘I have failed.’

As you said, you could do nothing against two Shi’gal, Bre’nigan.

‘The Matron is no more.’

That has been true for some time.

‘Destriant, the wisdom in your words is bitter, but I cannot deny what you say. Tell me, these two humans-they seem… wayward. But then, I know little of your kind.’

‘Wayward? Yes. I know nothing of these Malazans-I have never heard of any tribe by that name. They are… reckless.’

‘It does not matter. The battle shall be final.’

‘Then you think we are lost, too. If that is so, why fight at all?’ Why force me and these two men to our deaths. Let us go!

‘We cannot. You, Destriant, and the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil, you are what remains of Gunth’an Acyl’s will. You are the legacy of her mind. Even now, how can we say she was wrong?’

‘You put too much upon us.’

‘Yes.’

She heard Gesler and Stormy arguing again, in their foreign tongue. The Furies were drawing closer, and now two Ve’Gath loped out ahead of the others. Their backs were strangely shaped. ‘There,’ said Kalyth, drawing the attention of the two Malazans. ‘Your mounts.’

‘We’re going to ride those?’

‘Yes, Mortal Sword. They were bred for you and for the Shield Anvil.’

‘The one for Stormy’s got the saddle around the wrong way. How’s he going to stick his head up the Ve’Gath’s ass, where he’ll feel at home?’

Kalyth’s eyes widened.

Stormy laughed. ‘With you in charge, Ges, I’ll hide anywhere. You barely managed a measly squad. Now you got thirty thousand lizards expectin’ you to take charge.’

Gesler looked sick. ‘Got any spare room up that butt hole, Stormy?’

‘I’ll let you know, but just so you’re clear on this, when I shut the door it stays shut.’

‘You always were a selfish bastard. Can’t figure why we ever ended up friends.’

The Ve’Gath lumbered up to them.

Gesler glanced at Stormy and spoke in Falari. ‘All right, I guess this is it.’

‘I can taste their thoughts-all of them,’ said Stormy. ‘Even these two.’

‘Aye.’

‘Gesler, these Ve’Gath-they ain’t nasty-looking horses-they’re smart. We’re the beasts of burden here.’

‘And we’re supposed to be commanding them. The Matron got it all wrong, didn’t she.’

Stormy shook his head. ‘No point in arguing, though. The One Daughter told me-’

‘Aye, me too. A bloody coup. I imagine those Assassins figured out-and rightly so-just how redundant we are. Kalyth too. Stormy, I can reach out to them all. I can see through the eyes of any one of them. Except Gunth Mach.’

‘Aye, she’s built thick walls. I wonder why. Listen, Ges, I really have no idea what it is a Shield Anvil’s supposed to do.’

‘You’re a giant pit everybody bleeds into, Stormy. Funny your dreams didn’t mention that bit. But for this battle, I need you to command the Ve’Gath directly-’

‘Me? What about you?’

‘The K’ell Hunters. They’re fast, they can get in and out and with their speed they will be the deadliest force on the field.’

‘Ges, this is a stupid war, you know. The world’s not big enough for Long-Tails and Short-Tails both? Stupid. There’s barely any left as it is. Like the last two scorpions busy killing each other, when the desert covers a whole damned continent.’

‘The slaves are loose,’ Gesler replied. ‘With a few hundred generations of repressed hate to feed off. They won’t be satisfied until the last Che’Malle is a chopped- up carcass.’

‘And then?’

Gesler met the man’s eyes. ‘That’s what scares me.’

‘We’re next, you mean.’

‘Why not? What’s to stop them? They fucking breed like ants. They’re laying waste to warrens. Gods below, they’re hunting down and killing dragons. Listen, Stormy, this is our chance. We’ve got to stop the Nah’ruk. Not for the Che’Malle-I don’t care a whit for the Che’Malle-but for everyone else.’

Stormy glanced over at the Che’Malle. ‘They don’t expect to survive this battle.’

‘Aye, bad attitude.’

‘So fix it.’

Gesler glared, and then looked away.

The two Ve’Gath waited. Their backs were malformed, the bones twisted and lifted taut beneath the hide to form high saddles. Something like elongated fingers-or the stretched wings of a bat-slung down the beast’s flanks, the finger-ends and talons curling to form stirrups. Plates of armour ridged the shoulders. Lobster-tail scales encased the forward-thrusting necks. Their helms wrapped about the flattened skulls, leaving only the snouts free. They could look down upon a Toblakai. The damned things were grinning at their riders.

Gesler faced Gunth Mach. ‘One Daughter. The last Assassin-the one that escaped-I need him.’

Kalyth said, ‘We do not know if Gu’Rull even lives-’

Gesler’s eyes remained on Gunth Mach. ‘She knows. One Daughter, I ain’t going to fight a battle I can’t win. If you want us leading you, well, one thing us humans don’t understand, and that’s giving up. We fight when the fight’s been thumped out of us. We rebel when all we got left that’s not in chains is inside our skulls. We defy when the only defiance we got left is up and dying. Aye, I seen people bow their heads, waiting for the axe. I seen people standing in a row in front of fifty crossbows, and doing nothing. But they’ve all made dying their weapon, the last one left, and they are nightmare’s soldiers for ever afterwards. Is this getting through to you? I’m not one for inspiring crap. I need that Assassin, Gunth Mach, because I need his eyes. Up there, high overhead. With those eyes, I can win this battle.

‘You say Matrons never produce more than a hundred Ve’Gath. But your mother made fifteen thousand. Do you really think the Nah’ruk have any idea of what they’re getting into? You’ve filled my head with scenes of past battles-all your pathetic losses-and it’s no wonder you’re all ready to give up. But you’re wrong. The Matron-was she insane? Maybe. Aye. Insane enough to think she could win. And to plan for it. Mad? Mad genius, I’d say. Gunth Mach, One Daughter, summon your Shi’gal-he is yours now, isn’t he? Not ready to give up, not ready to surrender to the fatalism of his brothers. Summon him.’

Silence.

Gesler stared up into the Che’Malle’s eyes. Like staring into a crocodile’s. It’s the game of seeing all but reacting to nothing. Until necessity forces the issue. It’s the game of cold thoughts, if thoughts there are. It’s what makes a man’s balls crawl up looking for somewhere to hide.