Dust of Dreams

Dead Rider? I stand here, yet not here. No, in the living world I am huddled beneath furs, sleeping under bright stars—’
    ‘You have no need of sleep.’
    She laughed. ‘Guarded well by a young warrior—one you knew well, yes? One you chase at night, there behind his eyes—and yes, when I saw the truth of that, why, he proved my path to you. And you spoke to me, begging for his life, which I accepted into my care. It has all led . . . to this.’
    ‘And here,’ Toc muttered, ‘I’d given up believing in evil. How many others do you plan to abuse?’
    ‘As many as I need, Herald.’
    ‘I will find you. When my other tasks are finally done, I swear, I will find you.’
    ‘To achieve what? Onos Toolan is severed from you. And, more importantly, from your kind.’ She paused, and then added with a half-snarl, ‘I don’t know what you meant by that rubbish you managed to force out, about Tool finding his children. I need him for other things.’
    ‘I was fighting free of you, bonecaster. He saw—he heard—’
    ‘And failed to understand. Onos Toolan hates you now—think on that, think on the deepness of his love, and know that for an Imass hatred runs deeper still. Ask the Jaghut! It is done, and can never be mended. Ride away from this, Herald. I now release you.’
    ‘I look forward,’ said Toc, gathering the reins, ‘to the next time we meet, Olar Ethil.’
     
    Torrent’s eyes snapped open. Stars in blurred, jade-tinged smears spun overhead. He drew a deep but ragged breath, shivered beneath his furs.
    Olar Ethil’s crackling voice cut through the darkness. ‘Did he catch you?’
    He was in no hurry to reply to that. Not this time. He could still smell the dry, musty aura of death, could still hear the drumbeat of hoofs.
    The witch continued, ‘Less than half the night is done. Sleep. I will keep him from you now.’
    He sat up. ‘Why would you do that, Olar Ethil? Besides,’ he added, ‘my dreams belong to me, not you.’
    Rasping laughter drifted across to him. ‘Do you see his lone eye? How it glitters in darkness like a star? Do you hear the howl of wolves echoing out from the empty pit of the one he lost? What do the beasts want with him? Perhaps he will tell you, when at last he rides you down.’
    Torrent bit down one reply, chose another: ‘I escape. I always do.’
    She grunted. ‘Good. He is filled with lies. He would use you, as the dead are wont to do to mortals.’
    In the night Torrent bared his teeth. ‘Like you?’
    ‘Like me, yes. There is no reason to deny it. But listen well, I must leave your side for a time. Continue southward on your journey. I have awakened ancient springs—your horse will find them. I will return to you.’
    ‘What is it you want, Olar Ethil? I am nothing. My people are gone. I wander without purpose, caring not if I live or die. And I will not serve you—nothing you can say can compel me.’
    ‘Do you believe me a Tyrant? I am not. I am a bonecaster—do you know what that is?’
    ‘No. A witch.’
    ‘Yes, that will do, for a start. Tell me, do you know what a Soletaken is? A D’ivers?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What do you know of Elder Gods?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    He heard something like a snarl, and then she said, ‘How can your kind live, so steeped in ignorance? What is history to you, warrior of the Awl’dan? A host of lies to win you glory. Why do you so fear the truth of things? The darker moments of your past—you, your tribe, all of humanity? There were thousands of my people who did not join the Ritual of Tellann—what happened to them? Why, you did. No matter where they hid, you found them. Oh, on rare occasions there was breeding, a fell admixture of blood, but most of the time such meetings ended in slaughter. You saw in our faces the strange and the familiar—which of the two frightened you the most? When you cut us down, when you carved the meat from our bones?’
    ‘You speak nonsense,’ Torrent said. ‘You tell me you are Imass, as if I should know what that means. I do not. Nor do I care. Peoples die. They vanish from the world. It is as it was and ever will be.’
    ‘You are a fool. From my ancient blood ran every stream of Soletaken and D’ivers. And my blood, ah, it was but
half
Imass, perhaps even less. I am old beyond your imagining, warrior. Older than this world. I lived in darkness, I walked in purest light, I cast curses upon shadow. My hands were chipped stone, my eyes spawned the first fires to huddle