Dust of Dreams

was drying on his skin.
    He had no interest in revisiting the cause of his extremity—it wasn’t the love-making, Hood knew. As pleasing as she was—with that sudden smile of hers that could melt mountains of ice—Skanarow didn’t have it in her to send his heart thundering the way it had not long ago. She could delight, she could steal him away from his thoughts, his memories of a grim and eventful life; she could, in bright, stunning flashes, give him back his life.
    But this night darkness had opened its flower, with a scent that could freeze a god’s soul.
Still alive, Greymane? Did you feel it? I think, your bones could be rotting in the ground right now, old friend, and still you’d have felt it.
    Draconus.
    Fuck.
    He combed through the damp snarl of his beard.
    The world shook. Balls of fire descending, the terrible light filling the sky. Fists hammering the world.
    Wish I’d seen it.
    But he remembered the Azath’s deathcry. He remembered the gnarled treesengulfed in pillars of flames, the bitter heat of the soil he’d clawed through. He remembered staggering free beneath a crazed sky of lurid smoke, lightning and a deluge of ashes. He remembered his first thought, riding that breath of impossible freedom.
    Jacuruku, you’ve changed.
    One found loyalty under the strangest circumstances. Penitence and gratitude, arms entwined, a moment’s lustful exultation mistaken for worship. His gaze flicked back to Skanarow. The shadows and ill hue were gone. She slept, beauty in repose. Innocence was so precious.
But do not think of me with love, woman. Do not force upon me a moment of confession, the truth of foolish vows uttered a lifetime ago.
    Let us play this game of blissful oblivion a little while longer.
    ‘It’s better this way, Draconus.’
    ‘This is Kallor’s empire, friend. Will you not reconsider?’
    Reconsider. Yes, there is that. ‘The shore seems welcoming enough. If I mind my own business . . .’
    He’d smiled at that.
    And I smiled back.
    Draconus returned to that continent—I felt his footfalls, there inside my seemingly eternal prison. He returned to see for himself the madness of Kallor.
    You were right, Draconus. I should have minded my own business. For once.
    Can you hear me now? Draconus? Are you listening?
    I have reconsidered. At long last. And so I give you this. Find me, and one of us will die.
     
    ‘It’s the swirl in the dog’s fur.’
    Balm stared. ‘What?’
    Widdershins scowled. ‘You want this divination or not?’
    ‘I ain’t so sure no more.’
    The mage stared down at the mangy creature he held by the scruff of the neck, and then snarled and sent it winging through the air.
    Deadsmell and Balm and Throatslitter watched the thing twist smartly in the air and manage in the last possible instant to land splayed out wide on its four paws, whereupon with a flick of its bushy tail it bolted, vanishing into the night.
    ‘Just like a damned cat,’ Throatslitter said.
    ‘Wasn’t even a dog,’ Deadsmell said.
    Widdershins threw up a hand in dismissal. ‘Dog, fox, what’s the difference? Now I’ll need to find something else.’
    ‘How about a sheepskin?’ Balm asked.
    ‘Is a sheepskin alive? No. Won’t work. Needs to be breathing.’
    ‘Because breathing fluffs the swirls,’ Balm said, nodding. ‘I get it.’
    Widdershins cast a helpless look upon Deadsmell, who shrugged and then said, ‘This whole thing’s a waste of time anyway. Every seer and diviner in the whole damned world’s got scrambled brains right now.’ He gingerly touched hisown neck. ‘I swear I felt that sword’s bite. What was Hood thinking? It’s insane. The whole thing—’
    ‘Never mind Hood,’ snapped Widdershins. ‘Wasn’t him made me wet my trousers.’
    Balm stared with huge eyes. ‘Did you really? Gods below.’
    Throatslitter burst out a sudden, piping laugh. Then ducked. ‘Sorry. Just . . . well, never mind.’
    Widdershins spat on the ground. ‘None of this is funny, Throatslitter. You don’t get it. That . . . that
thing.
It didn’t show up on the other side of the world. It showed up
here.
’
    Balm started, looked round. ‘Where? Get me my armour—who—what—’
    ‘Relax, Sergeant,’ Deadsmell said. ‘He didn’t mean “here” as in right here. He meant it as . . . Wid, what did you mean, exactly?’
    ‘What’s with the jokes? You’re as bad as Throatslitter. I don’t know why I’m talking to any of you.’
    ‘We wanted a