Dust of Dreams

Fiddler swung round, stared down at the card on the table. ‘He is awakened.’ He faced the Elder God. ‘It may be too late… for you.’

And Brys saw the Errant suddenly step back, once, twice, the third time taking him through the doorway. A moment later and he vanished from sight.

Bodies were sliding slowly towards the floor. As far as Brys could see, not one was conscious. Something eased in the chamber like the release of a breath held far too long.

‘Adjunct.’

Tavore’s attention snapped from the empty doorway back to the sapper.

Spring the ambush. Find your enemy.

‘This wasn’t a reading,’ Fiddler said. ‘No one here was found. No one was claimed. Adjunct, they were marked. Do you understand?’

‘I do,’ she whispered.

‘I think,’ Fiddler said, as grief clenched his face, ‘I think I can see the end.’

She nodded.

‘Tavore,’ said Fiddler, his voice now ragged. ‘I am so sorry.’

To that, the Adjunct simply shook her head.

And Brys knew that, while he did not understand everything here, he understood enough. And if it could have meant anything, anything at all, he would have repeated Fiddler’s words to her. To this Adjunct, this Tavore Paran, this wretchedly lonely woman.

At that moment, the limp form of Banaschar settled on to the tabletop, like a corpse being lowered on a noose. As he came to rest, he groaned.

Fiddler walked over and collected the card called the Master of the Deck. He studied it for a moment, and then returned it to the deck in his hands. Glancing over at Brys, he winked.

‘Nicely played, Sergeant.’

‘Felt so lifeless… still does. I’m kind of worried.’

Brys nodded. ‘Even so, the role did not feel… vacant.’

‘That’s true. Thanks.’

‘You know this Master?’

‘Aye.’

‘Sergeant, had the Errant called your bluff-’

Fiddler grinned. ‘You would’ve been on your own, sir. Still, you sounded confident enough.’

‘Malazans aren’t the only ones capable of bluffing.’

And, as they shared a true smile, the Adjunct simply stared on, from one man to the other, and said nothing.

Bugg stood at the back window, looking out on Seren Pedac’s modest garden that was now softly brushed with the silvery tones reflected down from the dusty, smoky clouds hanging over the city. There had been damage done this night, far beyond one or two knocked-down buildings. The room had been silent behind him for some time now, from the moment that the reading had ended a short while ago. He still felt… fragile, almost fractured.

He heard her stir into motion behind him, the soft grunt as she climbed upright, and then she was beside him. ‘Are they dead, Bugg?’

He turned and glanced at the now conjoined, colourless puddles on the floor beneath the two chairs. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, and then added, ‘I think so.’

‘Th-that was not… expected-please tell me, Ceda, that such a fate was not in the plans tonight.’

‘No, Acquitor.’

‘Then… what happened?’

He rubbed at the bristles on his chin, and then sighed and shook his head. ‘She chooses a narrow path-gods, the audacity of it! I must speak with the King. And with Brys-we need to decide-’

‘Ceda! Who killed Pinosel and Ursto?’

He faced her, blinked. ‘Death but passed through. Even the Errant was… dismissed.’ He snorted. ‘Yes. Dismissed. There is so much power in this Deck of Dragons. In the right hands, it could drain us all dry. Every god, new and elder. Every ascendant cast into a role. Every mortal doomed to become a face on a card.’ He resumed his gaze out the window. ‘He dropped one on to the table. Your son’s. The table would hold it, he said. Thus, he made no effort to claim your son. He let it be. He let him be.’ And then he shivered. ‘Pinosel and Ursto-they just sat too close to the fire.’

‘They… what?’

‘The caster held back, Acquitor. No one attacked Ursto and Pinosel. Even your unborn son’s card did not try for him. The caster locked it down. As would a carpenter driving a nail through a plank of wood. Abyss take me, the sheer brazen power to do that leaves me breathless. Acquitor, Ursto and Pinosel were here to defend you from the Errant. And yes, we felt him. We felt his murderous desire. But then he was thrown back, his power scattered. What arrived in its place was like the face of the sun, ever growing, becoming so vast as to fill the world-they were pinned there, trapped in those chairs, unable to move…’ He shook himself. ‘We all were.’ He looked down at the puddles. ‘Acquitor, I truly do not know if they are dead. The Lord of Death fed on no one this night, beyond a few hapless souls in a destroyed inn. They may be simply… reduced… and after a time they will reconstitute themselves, find their shapes-their flesh and bone-once more. I do not know, yet I will hope.’

He saw her studying his face, and wondered if he’d managed to hide any of his anxiety, his grief. The look in her eyes spoke of his failure.

‘Speak with this caster,’ she said. ‘And… ask him… to refrain. Never again in this city. Please.’

‘He was unwilling, Acquitor. He did what he could. To protect… everyone.’ Except, I think, himself. ‘I do not think there will be another reading.’

She stared out the window. ‘What awaits him? My… son,’ she asked in a whisper.

He understood her question. ‘He will have you, Seren Pedac. Mothers possess a strength, vast and strange-’

‘Strange?’

Bugg smiled. ‘Strange to us. Unfathomable. Also, your son’s father was much loved. There will be those among his friends who would not hesitate-’

‘Onrack T’emlava,’ she said.

Bugg nodded. ‘An Imass.’

‘Whatever that is.’

‘Acquitor, the Imass are many things, and among those things, one virtue stands above all the others. Their loyalty cannot be sundered. They feel such forces with a depth vast and-’

‘Strange?’

Bugg said nothing for a moment, knowing that he could, if he so chose, be offended by the implication in that lone word she had added to his sentence. Instead, he smiled. ‘Even so.’

‘I am sorry, Ceda. You are right. Onrack was… remarkable, and a great comfort to me. Still, I do not expect him to visit again.’

‘He will, when your son is born.’

‘How will he know when that happens?’

‘Because his bonecaster wife, Kilava, set a blessing upon you and your child. By this means she remains aware of you and your condition.’

‘Oh. Would she have sensed tonight, then? The risk? The danger?’

‘Perhaps,’ Bugg replied. ‘She would have been… attentive. And had some form of breach occurred to directly threaten you, then I suspect that yes, she would have… intervened.’

‘How could she have hoped to defend me,’ Seren said, ‘if three ancient gods had already failed?’

Bugg sighed. ‘A conviction I am slowly coming to accept. People do not understand power. They view it exclusively as a contest, this against that; which is the greater? Which wins, which fails? Power is less about actual conflict-recognizing as it does the mutual damage conflict entails, with such damage making one vulnerable-less about actual conflict, then, than it is about statements. Presence, Acquitor, is power’s truest expression. And presence is, at its core, the occupation of space. An assertion, if you will. One that must be acknowledged by other powers, lesser or greater, it matters not.’

‘I am not sure I understand you.’

‘Kilava would have invoked her presence, Acquitor. One that embraced you. Now, if you still insist on simplistic comparisons, then I tell you, she would have been as a stone in a stream. The water may dream of victory, may even yearn for it, but it had best learn patience, yes? Consider every dried stream bed you have seen, Acquitor, and judge who was the ultimate victor in that war of patience.’

The woman sighed, and Bugg heard her exhaustion.

He bowed to her. ‘I shall leave-matters remain pressing for me-but the danger to you and your unborn son has passed.’

She glanced back at the puddles. ‘Do I just… mop that up?’

‘Leave it for the morning-it may be that you will find little more than a stain by then.’

‘I can point to it when I have guests and say: “This is where two gods melted.” ’

Yes, she had need to defend herself against the events of this night. No room in her thoughts, for the moment, for anything but the child within her. Despite her words, she was not indifferent to the sundering of Pinosel and Ursto. Everything right now was about control-and this, Bugg understood, came from that ineffable strength within a woman who was or would be a mother. ‘They are stubborn, those two. I would not discount them quite yet.’

‘I hope you are right. Thank you, Ceda-even if the threat did not come to pass, I do appreciate your willingness to protect us. Please do not be offended if I add that I hope I never experience another night like this.’

‘I take no offence. Goodnight, Acquitor.’

Beyond the moment’s heat, in the cool trickle that was the aftermath of a confrontation, bleak realizations shook free in the mind of the Errant. While he did not know if indeed the Master of the Deck had awakened-as the Malazan had claimed-the risk of such a premature clash had been too great. As for Brys Beddict and his bold arrogance, ah, that was a different matter.