Dust of Dreams

confusing things, Ublala Pung. Now get digging.’
    ‘I should never have killed you. The ghost, I mean.’
    ‘You had no choice.’
    ‘I hate the way I never get no choice.’
    ‘Just climb into the hole, Ublala Pung.’
    Wiping his eyes, the Tarthenal clambered down into the pit and began tossing out clumps of earth and bones.
     
    Some time later Harlest heard the grinding crunch of shifting stone and drew closer to the edge and looked down. ‘Good, you found it. That’s it, get your hands under that edge and tilt it up. Go on, put your back into it.’
    For all his empty encouragement, Harlest was surprised to see that the giant oaf actually managed to lift that enormous slab of solid stone and push it against one of the pit’s walls.
    The body interred within the sarcophagus had once been as massive as Ublala’s own, but it had mostly rotted away to dust, leaving nothing but the armour and weapons.
    ‘The ghost says there’s a name for that armour,’ said Harlest, ‘even as the mace is named. First Heroes were wont to such affectations. This particular one, a Thelomen, hailed from a region bordering the First Empire—in a land very distant—the same land the first Letherii came from, in fact. A belligerent bastard—his name is forgotten and best left that way. Take that armour, and the mace.’
    ‘It smells,’ complained Ublala Pung.
    ‘Dragon scales sometimes do, especially those from the neck and flanges, where there are glands—and that’s where those ones came from. This particular dragon was firstborn to Alkend. The armour’s name is Dra Alkeleint—basically Thelomen for “I killed the dragon Dralk.” He used that mace to do it, and its name is Rilk, which is Thelomen for “Crush”. Or “Smash” or something similar.’
    ‘I don’t want any of this stuff,’ said Ublala. ‘I don’t even know how to use a mace.’
    Harlest examined his broken nail. ‘Fear not—Rilk knows how to use you. Now, drag it all up here and I can help you get that armour on—provided you kneel, that is.’
    Ublala brought up the mace first. Two-handed, the haft a thick, slightly bent shaft of bone, horn or antler, polished amber by antiquity. A gnarled socket of bronze capped its base. The head was vaguely shaped to form four battered bulbs—the ore was marled mercurial and deep blue.
    ‘Skyfall,’ said Harlest, ‘that metal. Harder than iron. You held it easily, Ublala, while I doubt I could even lift the damned thing. Rilk is pleased.’
    Ublala scowled up at him, and then ducked down once again.
    The armour consisted of shoulder plates, with the chest and back pieces in separate halves. A thick belt joined the upper parts to a waisted skirt. Smaller dragon scales formed the thigh-guards, with knee bosses made of dew-clawsforming deadly spikes. Beneath the knees, a single moulded scale protected each shin. Vambraces of matching construction protected the wrists, with suppler hide covering the upper arms. Gauntlets of bone strips sheathed the hands.
    Time’s assault had failed—the scales were solid, the gut ties and leather straps supple as if new. The armour probably weighed as much as a grown human.
    Last came the helm. Hundreds of bone fragments—probably from the dragon’s skull and jaws—had been drilled and fastened together to form an overlapping skull cap, brow-and cheek-guards, and articulated lobster tail covering the back of the neck. The effect was both ghastly and terrifying.
    ‘Climb out and let’s get you properly attired.’
    ‘I don’t want to.’
    ‘You want to stay in that hole?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, that’s not allowed. The ghost insists.’
    ‘I don’t like Old Hunch any more. I’m glad I killed him.’
    ‘So is he.’
    ‘I change my mind then. I’m not glad. I wish I’d left him alive for ever.’
    ‘Then he would be the one standing here talking to you instead of me. There’s no winning, Ublala Pung. The ghost wants you in this stuff, carrying the mace. You can leave off the helm for now, at least until you’re out of the city.’
    ‘Where am I going?’
    ‘The Wastelands.’
    ‘I don’t like the sound of that place.’
    ‘You have a very important task, Ublala Pung. In fact, you’ll like it, I suspect. No, you will. Come up here and I’ll tell you all about it while we’re getting that armour on you.’
    ‘Tell me now.’
    ‘No. It’s a secret unless you climb out.’
    ‘You’re going to tell me it if I come up there?’
    ‘And get