Dust of Dreams

Letherii had a lot still to learn. After all, one day the Malazans might be back. Not the Bonehunters, but the imperial armies of the Empress. A new kingdom to conquer, a new continent to subjugate. If King Tehol wanted to hold on to what he had, his brother had better be commanding a savvy, nasty army that knew how to face down Malazan marines, heavies, squad mages, sappers with munitions, and decent cavalry.
    She quietly grunted as she approached the hidden camp.
Poor Brys Beddict. They might as well surrender now.
    ‘If you was any less ugly,’ a voice said, ‘I’d a killed you for sure.’
    She halted, scowling. ‘Took your time announcing yourself, picket.’
    The soldier that edged into view was dark-skinned, barring a piebald blotch of pink disfiguring half his face and most of his forehead. The heavy crossbow in his hands was cocked but no quarrel rested in the slot.
    Smiles pushed past him. ‘Talk about ugly—you live in my nightmares, Gullstream, you know that?’
    The man stepped in behind her. ‘Can’t help being so popular with the ladies,’ he said. ‘Especially the Letherii ones.’
    Despite the blotch, there was indeed something about Gullstream that made women take a second and third look. She suspected he might have some Tiste Andii blood in his veins. The almond-shaped eyes that never seemed to settle on any one colour; his way of moving—as if he had all the time in the world—and the fact that he was, according to rumour, well-hung. Shaking her head to clear away stupid thoughts, she said, ‘Their scouts have gone right past—staying on the track mostly. So the Fist can move us all up. We’ll fall on the main column screaming our lungs out and that will be that.’
    As she was saying this, they entered the camp—a few hundred soldiers sitting or lying quietly amidst the trees, stumps and brush.
    Seeing Keneb, Smiles headed over to make her report.
    The Fist was sitting on a folding camp stool, using the point of his dagger to scrape mud from the soles of his boots. A cup of steaming herbal tea rested on a stump beside him. Sprawled on the ground a few paces away was Sergeant Fiddler, and just beyond him Sergeant Balm sat crosslegged, studying the short sword he was holding, his expression confused. A dozen heavies waited nearby, grouped together and seeming to be engaged in comparing their outthrust hands—
counting knuckle hairs, I bet.
    ‘Fist, Scout Smiles reporting, sir.’
    Keneb glanced up. ‘As predicted?’
    ‘Aye, sir. Can we go kill ’em all now?’
    The Fist looked over at Fiddler, ‘Looks like you lost your bet, Sergeant.’
    Eyes still closed, Fiddler grunted, then said, ‘We ain’t done any killing yet, sir. Brys Beddict’s been fishin in our brains for some time now, he’s bound to have snagged a fin or gill or two. Smiles, how many scouts on the track?’
    ‘Just the one, Sergeant. Picking his nose.’
    Fiddler opened his eyes and squinted over at Keneb. ‘Like that, Fist. Beddict’s reconfigured his scouting patrols—they pair up. If Smiles and Koryk saw only one, then where was the other one?’ He shifted to get more comfortable and closed his eyes again. ‘And he runs five units—five pairs—in advance of his main body. So.’
    ‘So,’ repeated Keneb, frowning. He rose, slipped the dagger into his scabbard. ‘If he’s sent one or two down the track, they were meant to be seen. Sergeant Balm, find me that map.’
    ‘Map, sir? What map?’
    Muttering under his breath, Keneb walked over to the heavies. ‘You there—yes, you—name?’
    ‘Reliko, sir.’
    ‘What are you doing with those heavies, Reliko?’
    ‘Why, cos I am one, sir.’
    Watching this, Smiles snorted. The top of Reliko’s gnarly head barely reached her shoulder. The man looked like a prune with arms and legs.
    ‘Who’s your sergeant?’ Keneb asked the Dal Honese soldier.
    ‘Badan Gruk, sir. But he stayed back sick, sir, along with Sergeant Sinter and Kisswhere. Me and Vastly Blank here, we squadding up with Drawfirst and Shoaly, under Sergeant Primly, sir.’
    ‘Very well. Go into the command tent and bring me the map.’
    ‘Aye sir. You want the table with it?’
    ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’
    As the soldier walked off, Fiddler said, ‘Coulda been there and back by now, sir. All by yourself.’
    ‘I could have, yes. And just for that observation, Sergeant, go and get that map-table for me.’
    ‘Thought it wasn’t necessary, sir?’
    ‘I changed my