Dust of Dreams

anything out here, Hedge—’
    ‘No he can’t. I got my company mage to seal this circle. We do this every night, for our staff meetings.’
    ‘Your what?’
    ‘Me, my sergeants, corporals and Bavedict. Daily reports, right? To stay on top of things.’
    ‘What things?’
    ‘Things. Now, listen, you heard anything yet about what happened earlier?’
    Gesler shrugged. ‘Some. There was a gate and someone came through it. Someone stinking with power.’
    Hedge was nodding and then he changed it to shaking his head. ‘That’s nothing—so some nasty’s shown up—that means he’s here, in the real world. Anyone here in the real world can die from a damned rotten tooth, or a knife, or whatever. I ain’tshaking in my boots, and if I have to, I’ll kiss a quarrel’s point and whisper the fool’s name. A bolt in the eye can fuck up even a god’s day. No, what really matters is what happened
before
he showed up.’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘It’s Hood.’
    ‘What about him? Oh, right, you and he are best friends these days—or bitter enemies—how does he take you coming back, anyway?’
    ‘Probably not well, but it don’t matter any more. I won.’
    ‘You won what?’
    ‘I won! The Harrower’s gone and gotten killed! The God of Death is dead! Head chopped right off! A carcass but no grin, a bouncer down the hill, a roll and wobble and blink, a mouth mover, a hat stand—’
    ‘Hold on, Hedge! What—who—but that doesn’t make sense! How—’
    ‘I don’t know and I don’t care! Details? Squat and shit on ’em! Hood’s dead! Gone!’
    ‘But then, who’s taking the Throne?’
    ‘Nobody and everybody!’
    Gesler’s right hand twitched. Gods, how he wanted to punch this grinning fool! But that nose had seen a few dozen breaks already—he doubted Hedge would even notice. ‘What,’ he said carefully, ‘do you mean, Hedge?’
    ‘I mean, there’s a whole crew of ’em. Holding the gate. Nothing’s shaken out yet. It’s all hazy. But one thing I can tell you—and you can ask Fid if you want—he won’t say any different unless he lies to you. One thing, Ges. I can
feel
them. I can feel
him.
’
    Gesler stared at the man’s glittering eyes. ‘Who?’
    ‘The Fallen Bridgeburners, Ges. And aye, Whiskeyjack. It’s him—I’d know that sour look anywhere, no matter how dark it is around him. He’s astride a horse. He’s in the Gate, Gesler.’
    ‘Wait.
That’s
who stepped through?’
    ‘Naw, never mind that one. That one ain’t got a thought that ain’t ten thousand years outa touch. Different gate, anyway. I’m talking about Whiskeyjack. Go and die, Ges, and who’d you rather meet at the Gate? Hood or Whiskeyjack?’
    ‘So why ain’t you cut your own throat, if you’re so excited about it all?’
    Hedge frowned. ‘No reason t’get all edgy. I was a sapper, remember. Sappers understand the importance of patience.’
    Gesler choked back a laugh. From the tents someone squealed. He couldn’t tell who.
    ‘Laugh all you want. You’ll be thankful enough when it’s your head rolling up to that gate.’
    ‘I thought you hated worshipping anyone, Hedge.’
    ‘This is different.’
    ‘If you say so. Now, anything else you wanted to tell me about?’
    ‘Nothing you’d care about either way. You can hand over the coins now, though. Triple the going rate, right? Dig it out, Ges, it’s getting late.’
    ______
    Commander Brys threw on his cloak and fastened the breast clasp. ‘I walk through camp before settling in, Atri-Ceda. Join me, if you please.’
    ‘Honoured, my Prince.’
    He stepped out of the command tent and she followed. They set out for the nearest row of legionaries’ tents. ‘That title just won’t sit comfortably, Atri-Ceda,’ he said after a moment. ‘ “Commander” or “sir” will do. In fact, when it’s just the two of us, “Brys” ’.
    She wondered if he caught her faint gasp, or noted the momentary wobble in her knees as she moved up alongside him.
    ‘Assuming,’ he continued, ‘you will permit me to call you Aranict.’
    ‘Of course, sir.’ She hesitated, could feel him waiting, and then said, ‘Brys.’ A wave of lightheadedness followed, as if she’d quaffed a tumbler of brandy. Her mind spun wildly for a moment and she drew a deep breath to calm herself.
    This was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Infuriating. She itched to light a smoker, but that would likely breach protocol.
    ‘At ease, Aranict.’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Relax. Please—you’re