Dust of Dreams

for you two. Why are you bringing me this request and not your sergeants?’
    ‘They was going to,’ said Rumjugs, ‘but then me and Sweet here, we pointed out that you’re a man and we’re whores or used to be, and you was more likely to be nice to us than to them. Assuming you prefer women an’ not men.’
    ‘Good assumption and smart thinking. Now, go back there and get everybody on their feet and over here.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    He returned their salute and watched them wheeze and waddle back to the others.
    Bavedict moved up beside him. ‘Maybe there’s hope for them after all.’
    ‘Just needs teasing out, that’s all,’ said Hedge. ‘Now, find a wax tablet or something—I need a list of their names made up—my memory is bad these days, ever since I died and came back, in fact.’
    The alchemist blinked, and then recovered. ‘Right away, Captain.’
    All in all, Hedge concluded, a decent start.
     
    Lostara slammed the knife back into its sheath, then walked to examine an array of tribal trophies lining one wall of the presence chamber. ‘Fist Keneb is not at his best,’ she said. Behind her in the centre of the room, the Adjunct said nothing. After a moment Lostara went on. ‘Grub’s disappearance hit him hard. And the thought that he might have been swallowed up by an Azath is enough to curdle anyone’s toes. It’s not helping that Fist Blistig seems to have decided he’s already good as dead.’
    She turned to see the Adjunct slowly drawing off her gauntlets. Tavore’s face was pale, a taut web of lines trapping her eyes. She’d lost weight, further reducing the few feminine traits she possessed. Beyond grief waited emptiness, a place where loneliness haunted in mocking company, and memories were entombed in cold stone. The woman that was the Adjunct had decided that no one would ever take T’amber’s place. Tavore’s last tie to the gentler gifts of humanity had been severed. Now there was nothing left. Nothing but her army, which looked ready to unravel all on its own—and even to this she seemed indifferent.
    ‘It’s not like the King to keep us waiting,’ Lostara muttered, reaching to unsheathe her knife.
    ‘Leave it,’ the Adjunct snapped.
    ‘Of course. My apologies, Adjunct.’ She dropped her hand and resumed her uninterested examination of the artifacts. ‘These Letherii devoured a lot of tribes.’
    ‘Empires will, Lieutenant.’
    ‘I imagine this Kolanse did the same. It is an empire, is it not?’
    ‘I do not know,’ the Adjunct replied, then added, ‘it does not matter.’
    ‘It doesn’t?’
    But with her next words it was clear that the Adjunct was not interested in elaborating. ‘My predecessor, a woman named Lorn, was murdered in a street in Darujhistan. She had, by that point, completed her tasks, insofar as anyone can tell. Her death seemed to be little more than ill luck, a mugging or something similar. Her corpse was deposited in a pauper’s pit.’
    ‘Forgive me, Adjunct, but what is this story in aid of?’
    ‘Legacies are never what one would hope for, are they, Captain? In the end, it does not matter what was achieved. Fate holds no tally of past triumphs, courageous deeds, or moments of profound integrity.’
    ‘I suppose not, Adjunct.’
    ‘Conversely, there is no grim list of failures, moments of cowardice or dishonour. The wax is smooth, the past melted away—if it ever existed at all.’ Those snared eyes fixed briefly on Lostara before sliding away once more. ‘She died on a street, just one more victim of mischance. A death devoid of magic.’
    Lostara’s attention dropped down to the sword strapped at Tavore’s hip. ‘Most deaths are, Adjunct.’
    Tavore nodded. ‘The wax melts. There is, I think, some comfort to be found in that. A small measure of . . . release.’
    Is that the best you can hope for, Tavore? Gods below.
‘Lorn was not there to gauge the worth of her legacy, if that is what you mean, Adjunct. Which was probably a mercy.’
    ‘I sometimes think that fate and mercy are often one and the same.’
    The notion chilled Lostara.
    ‘The army,’ continued the Adjunct, ‘will sort itself out once on the march. I give them this touch of chaos, of near anarchy. As I do for Fists Keneb and Blistig. I have my reasons.’
    ‘Yes, Adjunct.’
    ‘In the King’s presence, Captain, I expect you to refrain from any undue attention to the knife at your side.’
    ‘As you command, Adjunct.’
    Moments later an inner