Dust of Dreams

find at the end of our days will beggar that tale. We seek to save the world, and the world will do all it can to stop us. Watch us lose. Watch us squeeze the blood from your stony heart!
    But no. There shall be none to witness. If existence itself can be said to be poetic, we stand in that silence, unyielding servants to anonymity. None to see, none to even know. Not a single grave, nor stone lifted to cast shade upon our scattered bones. Neither hill nor tomb. We shall rest in emptiness, not forgotten—for forgetting follows remembrance, and there shall be no remembrance.
    His heart thundered with the delicious beauty of it—all of it.
The perfect hero is one whose heroism none sees. The most precious glory is the glory lost on senseless winds. The highest virtue is the one that remains for ever hidden within oneself. Do you understand that, Mortal Sword? No, you do not.
    He watched, flushed with satisfaction, as Queen Abrastal gathered her reins and pitched her horse about with a vicious twist. The entire entourage hastenedto follow. The gentle canter was gone, awkward jostling knotting the troop like a hand twisting cloth, stretching out confused behind their departing Queen.
    ‘Gift me with your wisdom, Shield Anvil.’
    Her dry request made him start. The flush of heat in his face suddenly fed darker feelings. ‘They will leave us, Mortal Sword. The Bolkando are done with us.’
    She snorted. ‘How long must I wait?’
    ‘For what, Mortal Sword?’
    ‘For wisdom in my Shield Anvil.’
    They were as good as alone, the Perish camp settled behind them. ‘It seems I can say nothing that pleases you, Mortal Sword.’
    ‘Queen Abrastal needs to understand what we intend. She cannot let it go. Now, she will maintain her resolve, in the hope that the Adjunct Tavore will provide her with satisfaction.’
    ‘And will she?’
    ‘What do you think, Shield Anvil?’
    ‘I think Queen Abrastal will be a very frustrated woman.’
    ‘Finally. Yes.’
    ‘The Adjunct is selfish,’ said Tanakalian.
    Krughava’s head snapped round. ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘She could invite others to share in this glory—this Evertine Legion of the Queen’s, it looks to be a formidable army. Well-trained, capable of marching in step with us—unlike the Conquestor Avalt’s soldiers. Were they to stand at our side in Kolanse—’
    ‘Sir,’ cut in the Mortal Sword, ‘if the Adjunct is selfish—for what you clearly imagine to be a glorious achievement—then it may serve you better to consider that selfishness as one of unprecedented mercy.’
    ‘I am aware of the likely outcome of this venture, Mortal Sword. Perhaps more than even you. I know the souls awaiting me—I see their mortal faces every day. I see the hope they settle upon me. Nor am I regretful that what we seek shall be unwitnessed, for with our brothers and sisters,
I
am their witness. When I spoke of the Adjunct’s selfishness, I did not mean it as a criticism; rather, I was indicating the privilege I feel in her permitting the Grey Helms to share her fate.’
    Krughava’s bright blue eyes were fixed on him, calculating, thoughtful. ‘I understand, sir. You await the death of the Grey Helms. While you look upon them and see naught but their souls soon to be gifted to you, what do they see in the eyes of their Shield Anvil?’
    ‘I shall honour them all,’ Tanakalian replied.
    ‘Will you?’
    ‘Of course. I am Shield Anvil—’
    ‘Will you embrace the soul of every brother and sister? Free of judgement? Unsullied in your love for each and every one of them? And what of our enemies, sir? Will you take them into your arms as well? Will you accept that suffering defies boundaries and that pain carves no line in the sand?’
    He was silent. How could he answer her? She would see the lie. Tanakalian looked away. ‘I am Shield Anvil to the Perish Grey Helms. I serve the Wolves of Winter. I am the mortal flesh of war, not the sword in its hand.’ He glanced back at her. ‘Do I crowd your throne, Mortal Sword? Is that what all this is about?’
    Her eyes widened. ‘You have given me much to consider, Shield Anvil. Leave me now.’
    As he walked back into the camp, he drew a deep breath and shakily let it out. She was dangerous, but then he’d always known that.
She actually thinks we can win. Well, I suppose that is the role of the Mortal Sword. She is welcome to the delusion—no doubt it will serve well our brothers and sisters when the Wolves howl. As for me,