Dust of Dreams

still have been an illusion, though,’ Sinter said. ‘Sometimes, Dal Honese curses edge close to Mockra—that’s how it sneaks into the victim’s thoughts.’
    ‘You seem to know something about all that,’ observed Gesler.
    ‘I’m not a mage,’ she replied. ‘But I can smell magics.’
    ‘Who’s our nastiest all-weapons-out fighter?’ Cord asked.
    ‘Skulldeath,’ said Sinter and Badan Gruk simultaneously.
    Fiddler grunted and added, ‘Koryk and Smiles would agree with you. Maybe reluctantly from Koryk, but that’s just jealousy.’
    Hellian laughed. ‘Glad t’hear he’s good f’something,’ and she drank from her cup and then wiped her mouth.
    When it became obvious she wasn’t going to elaborate, Fiddler resumed. ‘We can throw forward a solid line of heavies if we need to. While we’re not short on sappers we are on munitions, but there’s nothing to be done for that. They’re good for night work, though. And they can crew the heavier weapons we got from the Letherii.’
    The discussion went on, but Throatslitter was distracted by a faint scuffling sound beside his head. He turned to find himself eye to eye with a rat.
    One of Bottle’s. That bastard.
    But that’s a point, isn’t it? Fiddler’s not talked about him. He’s holding him back.
    Now, that’s interesting.
    He bared his teeth at the rat.
    It returned the favour.
     
    Riding along the well-beaten track leading to the Bonehunter encampment, Ruthan Gudd saw five other captains, all mounted, cantering to a rise between the Malazan and Letherii contingents. Grimacing, he angled his horse to join them. Palavers of this sort always depressed him. Captains got stuck from both ends, not privy to what the Fists knew and despised by their underlings. Lieutenants were usually either ambitious backstabbers or butt-licking fools. The only exception he’d heard about was Pores. Kindly was lucky having a rival like that, someone to match wits with, someone with enough malicious evil going on in his head to keep his captain entertained. Ruthan’s own lieutenant was a sullen Napan woman named Raband, who might be incompetent or potentially murderous. He’d lost his other two in Y’Ghatan.
    The others had reined in and were eyeing Ruthan as he rode up, an array of expressions unified in their disapproval. Seniority put Kindly in charge. Below him was a black-haired Kanese, Skanarow, a woman of about forty, uncharacteristically tall and lean-limbed for a Kanese—probably from the southern shore-folk who had originally been a distinct tribe. Her features were harsh, seamed in scars as if she’d suckled among wildcats as a child.
    Next was Faradan Sort, who’d served all over the place and maybe even stood the Stormwall—Ruthan, who knew more about that than most, suspected it was true. She held herself like someone who’d known the worst and never wanted to know it again. But there were experiences that a person could never leave behind, could never, ever forget. Besides, Ruthan had seen the etching on Sort’s sword, and that kind of damage could only come from the deadly touch of wand-magic.
    Ruthan was next, followed by the two in-field promotions, a Hengian named Fast who was already taking aim on a fisthood, and an island-born ferret of a man named Untilly Rum, who’d been busted over from the marines after his soldiershad set a deathmark on him—for reasons unknown to any but them. Despite his background, Untilly could ride a horse like a damned Wickan, and so he was now commanding the light lancers.
    ‘Considerate of you to show up,’ said Kindly.
    ‘Thank you, Captain,’ Ruthan replied, combing fingers through his beard as he studied the chaos that was the Malazan encampment. ‘We’ll be lucky to get away by tomorrow.’
    ‘My company’s ready,’ said Fast.
    ‘Maybe the last time you saw them,’ Skanarow said with a tight smile. ‘Probably scattered to a dozen whore tents by now.’
    Fast’s pinched face darkened. ‘Sit and wait, was my order, so that’s what they’re doing. My lieutenants are making sure of it.’
    ‘If they’re any good then I doubt it,’ Skanarow replied. ‘They’ve been watching the soldiers getting bored, listening to the bickering get worse and worse, and maybe pulling a few off each other. If they got any wits in them, they’ll have cut them loose by now.’
    ‘Skanarow’s point, Captain Fast,’ said Faradan Sort, ‘is this: it doesn’t pay to get your squads up and ready