Dust of Dreams

serious.’
    ‘Not really, but I am to accompany you this evening.’
    ‘Why?’
    Faradan Sort did not reply. They’d reached the pair of ornate, red-stained double doors that marked the end of the corridor, and the captain drew them open.
    Lostara Yil strode into the chamber beyond. The ceiling of the Adjunct’s quarters—the command centre in addition to her residence—was a chaotic collection of corbels, vaults and curved beams. Consequently it was enwreathed in cobwebs from which shrivelled moths dangled down, mocking flight in the vague draughts. Beneath a central, oddly misshapen miniature dome stood a huge rectangular table with a dozen high-backed chairs. A series of high windows ran across the wall opposite the door, reached by a raised platform that was lined with a balustrade. In all, to Lostara’s eyes, one of the strangest rooms she had ever seen. The Letherii called it the Grand Lecture Medix, and it was the largest chamber in the college building that temporarily served as the officers’ quarters and HQ.
    Adjunct Tavore stood on the raised walkway, intent on something beyond one of the thick-glassed windows.
    ‘You requested me, Adjunct.’
    Tavore did not turn round as she said, ‘There is a tablet on the table, Captain. On it you will find the names of those who will attend the reading. As there may be some resistance from some of them, Captain Faradan Sort will accompany you to the barracks.’
    ‘Very well.’ Lostara walked over and collected the tablet, scanned the names scribed into the golden wax. Her brows rose. ‘Adjunct? This list—’
    ‘Refusals not permitted, Captain. Dismissed.’
     
    Out in the corridor once again, the two women paused upon seeing a Letherii approaching. Plainly dressed, an unadorned long, thin-bladed sword scabbarded at his hip, Brys Beddict possessed no extraordinary physical qualities, and yet neither Lostara nor Faradan Sort could take their eyes off him. Even a casual glance would slide past only to draw inexorably back, captured by something ineffable but undeniable.
    They parted to let him by.
    He halted to deliver a deferential half-bow. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, addressing Lostara, ‘I would speak with the Adjunct, if that is possible.’
    ‘Of course,’ she replied, reaching to open one of the double doors. ‘Just step inside and announce yourself.’
    ‘Thank you.’ A brief smile, and then he entered the chamber, closing the door behind him.
    Lostara sighed.
    ‘Yes,’ agreed Faradan Sort.
    After a moment they set out once more.
     
    As soon as the Adjunct turned to face him, Brys Beddict bowed, and then said, ‘Adjunct Tavore, greetings and salutations from the King.’
    ‘Be sure to return the sentiments, sir,’ she replied.
    ‘I shall. I have been instructed to deliver a caution, Adjunct, with respect to this session of divination you intend this night.’
    ‘What manner of caution, and from whom, if I may ask?’
    ‘There is an Elder God,’ said Brys. ‘One who traditionally chose to make the court of Letheras his temple, if you will, and did so for an unknown number of generations. He acted, more often than not, as consort to the Queen, and was known to most as Turudal Brizad. Generally, of course, his true identity was not known, but there can be no doubt that he is the Elder God known as the Errant, Master of the Tiles, which, as you know, is the Letherii corollary to your Deck of Dragons.’
    ‘Ah, I begin to comprehend.’
    ‘Indeed, Adjunct.’
    ‘The Errant would view the divination—and the Deck—as an imposition, a trespass.’
    ‘Adjunct, the response of an Elder God cannot be predicted, and this is especially true of the Errant, whose relationship with fate and chance is rather intense, as well as complicated.’
    ‘May I speak with this Turudal Brizad?’
    ‘The Elder God has not resumed that persona since before the Emperor’s reign; nor has he been seen in the palace. Yet I am assured that once more he has drawn close—probably stirred awake by your intentions.’
    ‘I am curious, who in the court of your king is capable of discerning such things?’
    Brys shifted uneasily. ‘That would be Bugg, Adjunct.’
    ‘The Chancellor?’
    ‘If that is the capacity in which you know him, then yes, the Chancellor.’
    Through all of this she had remained standing on the platform, but now she descended the four steps at one end and walked closer, colourless eyes searching Brys’s face. ‘Bugg. One of my High