Dust of Dreams

What Ebron and Bottle and Deadsmell and Widdershins have put together. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t. That’s for you to decide. Here’s what we think.’ She paused, reached for the skin.
    Kisswhere handed it to her.
    Masan drank, then squatted before them—taking the pose of the teller of tales, one they knew well—and both sisters followed suit.
    ‘He didn’t ask for it. But he’s been making trouble ever since. Quick Ben met him face to face. So, we worked out, did that Meckros weaponsmith, Withal. He’s poison and he knows it and he can’t help it, because he doesn’t belong here. There are pieces of him scattered over half the world, but the biggest one is sitting in this place called Kolanse—and it’s being . . . used.’
    ‘We’re going to kill the Crippled God.’
    Kisswhere shot her sister a wild look. ‘But who’d want to stop us doing that?’
    Sinter shook her head. Her face was wretched with confusion.
    Masan was eyeing them and when she spoke her voice was flat, ‘You jumped the wrong way, Sinter, like a one-eyed mongoose.’ She drank again, sloshed the skin and then scowled. ‘Should’ve brought two. We don’t think we’re off to kill the Chained One. In fact, it’s those chains we’re after. Well, the Adjunct, I mean. What she’s after.’ She lifted her head and fixed on Sinter’s eyes, and then Kisswhere’s. ‘We’re going to set the bastard free.’
    Kisswhere barked a savage laugh. ‘No wonder they’ll all abandon us! And I’m the first in line to join them!’
    ‘Be quiet,’ Sinter said through the hands she’d lifted to her face. She was trembling, no, shuddering, and Kisswhere saw the glitter of tears trickle to the heels of her sister’s palms.
    Masan Gilani’s face was grave, patient.
    Kisswhere rounded on Sinter. ‘You cannot! No! This is impossible! What if they’re wrong? They must be—even the Adjunct’s not that stupid! Every god and ascendant in the world will be coming against us, never mind those idiots in Kolanse! She’s lost her mind! Our commander’s insane and there’s no damned law anywhere says we have to follow her!’
    Sinter drew a deep breath and then lowered her hands. Something solid filled her face, as if implacable stone was replacing the soft tissues beneath her onyxskin. The bleakness drained from her eyes as they settled on Kisswhere. ‘It will do,’ she said. ‘I think,’ she added, ‘nothing else would have.’
    ‘What—’
    ‘It is just, sister.
Just.
’
    ‘They’ll all turn on us,’ Kisswhere retorted. ‘You said so yourself—’
    ‘If we do nothing, yes. They will turn on us. And what little chance we had to succeed will go with them. We need to change their minds.’
    ‘How?’ asked Masan Gilani.
    ‘I will tell you how,’ said Sinter. ‘And it begins with you, Kisswhere.’
    ‘I didn’t say I was going to help—’
    ‘You’re going to desert.’
    ‘Wha—what?’
    ‘That’s how this starts. It’s the only way. Now, it’s what you want and don’t tell me any different. You’re deserting the Bonehunters, and you’re doing it tonight—on the fastest horse Masan Gilani can find you.’
    But Masan Gilani held up a staying hand. ‘Hold on. I need to talk this over with—’
    ‘Of course,’ cut in Sinter, ‘but it changes nothing. Now, you need to hear the rest, because I need you to do the same—’
    ‘Desert? Me?’
    Sinter nodded. ‘But you’ll ride in a different direction, Masan Gilani. Different from Kisswhere. With luck, you’ll both return.’
    ‘And get hanged? No thanks, sister—’
    ‘You won’t. The Adjunct is cold iron—the coldest there ever was. She’ll work it out, fast as lightning, she’ll work it out.’
    ‘Then why don’t we just go tell her?’ asked Masan Gilani. ‘We figured it all out but there’s a problem, only you got an idea on how to fix it.’
    Sinter smiled, and it was a smile that would have fitted well on the Adjunct’s own face. ‘I will do just that . . . once you two are gone.’
    ‘She might just chase us down anyway.’
    ‘She won’t. I said she’s quick.’
    ‘So why wait until we leave?’
    Sinter rubbed at her face, wiping away the last of the tears. ‘You don’t get it. She’s locked in a room, a prison of her own making. In there, she hears nothing, sees nothing. In there, she is absolutely alone. And holding on with white knuckles. It’s her burden and she won’t dump it on anyone else, not even her