Dust of Dreams

would be out of commission.
    Brys Beddict made an appearance in the midst of Letherii catcalls and cheering, walking up to Fist Keneb and painting with one dripping finger a red slash across his boiled-leather cuirass.
    ‘Sorry, Fist, but you have just been wiped out.’
    ‘Indeed, Commander,’ Keneb acknowledged. ‘Three hundred dead Bonehunters, cut down in a pocket. Very well done, although I suspect it highlights a lesson as yet undiscovered.’
    The smile on Brys’s face faded slightly. ‘Fist? I’m afraid I don’t understand you.’
    ‘Sometimes, one’s tactics must prove brutal in the execution, Commander. Especially when the timing’s off and nothing can be done for it.’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    Horns sounded suddenly, from the ridge lines beyond the Letherii units—on all sides, in fact.
    Keneb said, ‘Three hundred dead Bonehunters, Commander, and eight hundred dead Letherii, including their supreme commander. Not an ideal exchange for either side, but in a war, probably one the Adjunct could stomach.’
    Brys sighed, his expression wry. ‘Lesson delivered, Fist Keneb. My compliments to the Adjunct.’
    At that moment, Fiddler walked up to them. ‘Fist, you owe me and my squad two nights’ leave, sir.’
    Keneb grinned at Brys Beddict. ‘As much as the Adjunct would appreciate the compliments, Commander, they in fact belong to this sergeant here.’
    ‘Ah, I see.’
    ‘That’s another lesson to mull over,’ Keneb said, ‘the one about listening to your veterans, regardless of rank.’
    ‘Well,’ mused Brys, ‘I may have to go hunting for my few surviving veterans, then. None the less, Fist, the sacrifice of three hundred of your soldiers strikes me as a loss you can ill afford, regardless of the battle’s outcome.’
    ‘True. Hence my comment about timing, Commander. I sent a rider to Fist Blistig but we could not respond in time to your ambush. Obviously, I would rather have avoided all contact with your troops. But since I know we’d all prefer to sleep in real beds tonight, I thought it more instructive to invite the engagement. Now,’ he added, smiling, ‘we can all march back to Letheras.’
    Brys drew out a handkerchief, wetted it from his canteen, and then stepped up to Fist Keneb, and carefully cleaned off the streak of red paint.
     
    Captain Faradan Sort entered Kindly’s office to find her counterpart standing to one side of his desk and staring down at an enormous mound of what looked like hair heaped on the desktop.
    ‘Gods below, what is that?’
    Kindly glanced over. ‘What does it look like?’
    ‘Hair.’
    ‘Correct. Animal hair, as best as I can determine. A variety of domestic beasts.’
    ‘It reeks. What is it doing on your desk?’
    ‘Good question. Tell me, was Lieutenant Pores in the outer office?’
    She shook her head. ‘No one there, I’m afraid.’
    He grunted. ‘Hiding, I expect.’
    ‘I doubt he’d do something like this, Kindly—’
    ‘Oh, never directly. No, but I would wager a wagonload of imperials he’s had a hand in it. He imagines himself very clever, does my lieutenant.’
    ‘If he owns anything he values greatly,’ she said, ‘crush it under a heel. That’s how I took care of the one I sensed was going to give me trouble. That was back in Seven Cities, and to this day he looks at me with hurt in his eyes.’
    He glanced at her. ‘Hurt? Truly?’
    ‘Truly.’
    ‘That’s . . . exceptional advice, Faradan. Thank you.’
    ‘You’re welcome. Anyway, I was coming by to see if you’d had any better luck finding our two wayward mages.’
    ‘No. We need to get High Mage Quick Ben involved in the search, I believe. Assuming,’ he added, ‘they’re worth finding.’
    She turned away, walked to the window. ‘Kindly, Sinn saved many, many lives at Y’Ghatan. She did so the night of the assault and again with the survivors under the city. Her brother, Corporal Shard, is beside himself with worry. She is precipitous, yes, but I do not consider that necessarily a fault.’
    ‘And the Adjunct has, it seems, desperate need for mages,’ said Kindly. ‘Why is that?’
    She shrugged. ‘I know as little as you, Kindly. We will march soon, away from the comforts of Letheras.’
    The man grunted. ‘Never let a soldier get too comfortable. Leads to trouble every time. She’s right in kicking us into motion. Still, it’d be a comfort to know what we’re heading into.’
    ‘And a greater comfort to have more than one half-mad