Dust of Dreams

Kindly arched his back and winced. ‘It was said, back when he was commanding the Aren Garrison, that Blistig was a sharp, competent officer.’

‘Witnessing the slaughter of the Seventh and then Pormqual’s army broke him,’ Faradan Sort said. ‘I am surprised the Adjunct doesn’t see that.’

‘The one thing we can address,’ said Kindly, ‘is how we can help Keneb-we need the best Fist we have, captains, not exhausted, not overwhelmed.’

‘We can’t do a thing without the squad sergeants,’ Faradan Sort said. ‘I suggest we corral our respective noncoms into the effort.’

‘Risky,’ said Kindly.

Ruthan grunted-an unintentional response that drew unwelcome attention.

‘Pray, explain that,’ Kindly asked in a drawl.

He shrugged. ‘Maybe it suits us officers to think we’re the only ones capable of seeing how High Command is falling apart.’ He met Kindly’s gaze. ‘The sergeants see better than we do. Pulling them in sacrifices nothing and may even relieve them, since it’ll show we’re not all a bunch of blind twits, which is probably what they’re thinking right now.’ Having said his piece he subsided once more.

‘ “Who speaks little says a lot,” ’ Faradan Sort said, presumably quoting someone.

Kindly collected his reins. ‘It’s decided, then. Draw in the sergeants. Get them to straighten out their squads-Hood knows what Brys must be thinking right now, but I’m damned sure it’s not complimentary.’

As Kindly and the others rode away, Skanarow angled her mount in front of Ruthan’s, forcing him to halt. He squinted at her.

She surprised him with a grin and it transformed her face. ‘The old ones among my people say that sometimes you find a person with the roar of a sea squall in their eyes, and those ones, they say, have swum the deepest waters. In you, Ruthan Gudd, I now understand what they meant. But in you I see not a squall. I see a damned typhoon.’

He quickly looked away, ran fingers through his beard. ‘Just a spell of gas, Skanarow.’

She barked a laugh. ‘Have it your way, then. Avoid raw vegetables, Captain.’

He watched her ride off. Fisherfolk. You, Skanarow with the lovely smile, I need to avoid. Too bad.

Greymane, you always said that between the two of us I was the luckier one. Wrong, and if your ghost hearkens to its name, spare me any echo of laughter.

He paused, but all he could hear was the wind, and there was no humour in that moan.

‘Walk on, horse.’

Koryk looked a mess, trembling and wild-eyed, as he tottered back to the squad camp. Tarr frowned. ‘You remind me of a pathetic d’bayang addict, soldier.’

‘If paranoia comes with them shakes,’ said Cuttle, ‘he might as well be just that. Sit down, Koryk. There’s room in the wagon for ya come tomorrow.’

‘I was just sick,’ Koryk said in a weak growl. ‘I seen d’bayang addicts at the trader forts and I don’t like being compared to them. I made a vow, long ago, to never be that stupid. I was just sick. Give me a few days and I’ll be right enough to stick my fist in the next face gabbling about d’bayang.’

‘That sounds better,’ said Smiles. ‘Welcome back.’

Corabb appeared from a tent carrying Koryk’s weapon belt. ‘Honed and oiled your blade, Koryk. But it looks like the belt will need another notch. You need to get some meat back on your bones.’

‘Thanks, Mother, just don’t offer me a tit, all right?’ Sitting down on an old munitions box, he stared at the fire. The walk, Tarr judged, had exhausted the man. That boded ill for all the other soldiers who’d come down with the same thing. The tart water had worked, but the victims who’d recovered were wasted one and all, with a haunted look in their eyes.

‘Where’s Fid?’ Koryk asked.

Bottle stirred from where he had been lying, head on a bedroll and a cloth over his eyes. Blinking in the afternoon light he said, ‘Fid’s been listing all our faults. One of those secret meetings of all the sergeants.’

Tarr grunted. ‘Glad to hear it’s secret.’

‘We ain’t got any faults,’ said Smiles. ‘Except for you, Corporal. Hey Bottle, what else were they talking about?’

‘Nothing.’

That snatched everyone’s attention. Even Corabb looked up from the new hole he was driving through the thick leather belt-he’d jammed the awl into the palm of his left hand but didn’t seem to have noticed yet.

‘Hood knows you’re the worst liar I ever heard,’ said Cuttle.

‘Fid’s expecting a fight, and maybe soon. He’s tightening the squads. All right? There. Chew on that for a while.’

‘How hard is he working on that?’ the sapper asked, eyes narrowed down to slits.

Bottle looked ready to spit out something foul. ‘Hard.’

‘Shit,’ said Koryk. ‘Look at me. Shit.’

‘Take the wagon bed tomorrow and maybe the next day,’ said Tarr. ‘And then spell yourself for a few days after that. We’ve that long at least until we’re into possibly hostile territory. And eat, Koryk. A lot.’

‘Ow,’ said Corabb, lifting the hand with the awl dangling from the palm.

‘Pull it and see if you bleed,’ said Smiles. ‘If you don’t, go see a healer quick.’ Noticing the others looking at her she scowled. ‘Fish hooks. The, uh, fisherfolk who used to work for my family-well, I’ve seen it go bad, is all. Punctures that don’t bleed, I mean. Oh, piss off, then.’

‘I’m going for a walk,’ said Bottle.

Tarr watched the mage wander off, and then glanced over and found Cuttle staring at him. Aye, it’s looking bad.

Corabb plucked out the awl and managed to squeeze out a few drops of blood. He gave Smiles a triumphant grin, then returned to working on the belt.

Bottle wandered through the encampment, avoiding the disorganized mobs besieging the quartermaster’s HQ, the armourer compound, the leather and cordage workshops, and a host of other areas crowded with miserable, overworked specialists. Even outside the whore tents soldiers were getting into scraps. Gods, where are all the officers? We need military police-this is what happens when there’s no imperial oversight, no Claws, no adjutants or commissars.

Adjunct, why aren’t you doing anything about this? Hold on, Bottle-it ain’t your problem. You’ve got other problems to worry about. He found he was standing in the centre of a throughway, one hand clutching his hair. A storm of images warred in his head-all his rats were out, crouched in hiding in strategic places-but the one in Tavore’s command tent was being assailed by folds of burlap-someone had bagged it! He forced the other ones out of his head. You! Little Koryk! Pay attention! Start chewing as if your life depended on it-because maybe it does-get out of that sack!

‘You. You’re in Fiddler’s squad, right?’

Blinking, Bottle focused on the man standing in front of him. ‘Hedge. What do you want?’

The man smiled, and given the wayward glint in the man’s mud-grey eyes that was a rather frightening expression. ‘Quick Ben sent me to you.’

‘Really? Why? What’s he want?’

‘Never could answer that one-but you’re the one, Bottle, isn’t it?’

‘Look, I’m busy-’

Hedge lifted up a sack. ‘This is for you.’

‘Bastard!’ Bottle snatched the bag. A quick look inside. Oh, stop your chewing now, Koryk. Relax.

‘It was moving,’ said Hedge.

‘What?’

‘The sack. Got something alive in there? It was jumping around in my hand-’ He grunted then as someone collided with him.

An armoured regular, big as a bear, lumbered past.

‘Watch where you’re walking, y’damned ox!’

At Hedge’s snarl, the man turned. His broad, flat face assumed the hue of a beet. He stomped back, lips twisting.

Seeing the man’s huge hands closing into fists, Bottle stepped back in alarm. Hedge simply laughed.

The beet looked ready to explode.

Even as the first fist flew, Hedge was ducking under it, closing tight up against the man. The sapper’s hands shot between the soldier’s legs, grabbed, squeezed and yanked.

With a piercing shriek, the soldier doubled over.

Hedge added a knee to his jaw, flinging the head back upward. Then he drove an elbow into a cheekbone, audibly shattering it.

The huge man crumpled. Hedge stood directly over him. ‘You just went for the last living Bridgeburner. I’m guessing you won’t do that again, huh?’ Hedge then turned back to Bottle and smiled a second time. ‘Quick Ben wants to talk with you. Follow me.’

A few paces along, Bottle said, ‘You’re not, you know.’

‘Not what?’

‘The last living Bridgeburner. There’s Fiddler and Quick Ben, and I even heard about some survivors from Black Coral hiding out in Darujhistan-’

‘Retired or moved on every one of them. Fid said I should do the same and I thought about it, I really did. A new start and all that.’ He tugged at his leather cap. ‘But then I thought, what for? What’s so good about starting all over again? All that ground you covered the first time, why do it a second time, right? No-’ and he tapped the Bridgeburner sigil sewn on to his ratty rain-cape. ‘This is what I am, and it still means something.’

‘I expect that regular back there agrees with you.’

‘Aye, a good start. And even better, I had me a talk with Lieutenant Pores, and he’s giving me command of a squad of new recruits. The Bridgeburners ain’t dead after all. And I hooked up with a Letherii alchemist, to see if we can come up with replacements for the Moranth munitions-he’s got this amazing powder, which I’m calling Blue. You mix it and then get it inside a clay ball which you seal right away. In about half a day the mix is seasoned and set.’

Bottle wasn’t much interested, but he asked anyway. ‘Burns good, does it?’

‘Don’t burn at all. That’s the beauty of Blue, my friend.’ Hedge laughed. ‘Not a flicker of flame, not a whisper of smoke. We’re working on others, too. Eaters,