Dust of Dreams

any given mortal’s life, much less the millions of useless ones. Learn patience, healer.’
    ‘Where one yields,’ continued the bearded soldier, ‘we shall stand in his stead.’
    ‘In times of war,’ growled the barbaric warrior—who seemed preoccupied with braiding the ratty tatters of his dead horse’s mane.
    ‘Life itself is a war, one it is doomed to lose,’ retorted the bearded man. ‘Do not think, Trotts, that our rest will come soon.’
    ‘He was a god!’ barked another soldier, baring teeth above a jet-black forked beard. ‘We’re just a company of chewed-up marines!’
    Trotts laughed. ‘See how high you’ve climbed, Cage? At least you got your head back—I remember burying you in Black Dog—we looked for half the night and never found it.’
    ‘Got ett by a frog,’ another suggested.
    The dead soldiers laughed, even Cage.
    Kalyth saw the grey-bearded soldier’s faint smile and it transformed his falcon’s eyes into something that seemed capable of holding, without flinching, the compassion of an entire world. He leaned forward on his saddle, the horn creaking as it bent on its hinge. ‘Aye, we’re no gods, and we’re not going to attempt to replace him beneath that rotted cowl. We’re Bridgeburners, and we’ve been posted to Hood’s Gate—one last posting—’
    ‘When did we agree to that?’ Mallet demanded, eyes wide.
    ‘It’s coming. In any case, I was saying—and gods below you’re all getting damned insubordinate in your hoary deadness—we’re Bridgeburners. Why are any of you surprised to find that you’re still saluting? Still taking orders? Still marching out in every miserable kind of weather you can imagine?’ He glared left and right, but it was softened by the wry twist of his lips. ‘Hood knows, it’s what we do.’
    Kalyth could hold back no longer. ‘What do you want with me?’
    The grey eyes settled on her once more. ‘Destriant, by that title alone you must now consort with the likes of us—in Hood’s—your Reaper’s—stead. You see us as Guardians of the Gate, but we are more than that. We are—or will become—the new arbiters, for as long as is necessary. Among us there are fists, mailed gauntlets of hard violence. And healers, and mages. Assassins and skulkers, sappers andhorse-archers, lancers and trackers. Cowards and brave, stolid warriors.’ He hitched a half-smile. ‘And we’ve found all manner of unexpected . . . allies. In all our guises, Destriant, we shall be more than the Reaper ever was. We are not distant. Not indifferent. You see, unlike Hood, we remember what it was to be alive. We remember each and every moment of yearning, of desperate need, the anguish that comes when no amount of beseeching earns a single instant’s reprieve, no pleading yields a moment’s mercy. We are here, Destriant. When no other choice remains, call upon us.’
    The ice of this realm seemed to shatter all around Kalyth and she staggered as warmth flooded through her. Blessed—no, the
blessing
of warmth. Gasping, she stared up at the unnamed soldier as tears filled her eyes. ‘This . . . this is not the death I imagined.’
    ‘No, and I give you this. We are the Bridgeburners. We shall sustain. But not because we were greater in life than anyone else. Because, Destriant,
we were no different.
Now, answer me as a Destriant, Kalyth of Ampelas Rooted, do we suffice?’
    Does
anything
suffice? No, that is too easy. Think on your answer, woman. He deserves that much at least.
‘It is a natural thing to fear death,’ she said.
    ‘It is.’
    ‘And so it should be,’ grunted the one named Cage. ‘It’s miserable—look at my company—I can’t get rid of these ugly dogs. The ones you leave behind, woman, they’re waiting for you.’
    ‘But without judgement,’ said the grey-eyed soldier.
    The one-armed one was nodding, and he added, ‘Just don’t expect any of ’em to have lost their bad habits—like Cage and his eternally sour bile. It’s all what you knew—who you knew, I mean. It’s all that and nothing more.’
    Kalyth did not know these people, yet already they felt closer to her than anyone she had ever known. ‘I am becoming a Destriant in truth,’ she said in wonder.
And I no longer feel so . . . alone.
‘I fear death still, I think, but not as much as I once did.’
And I once flirted with suicide, but I have left that behind, for ever. I am not ready to embrace an end to things. I am the last Elan. And my