Dust of Dreams

with you.’
    The younger woman, whose right hand had closed on a dagger at her belt as soon as Ublala made his desire plain, now shifted her attention back to Draconus. ‘I am Ralata, a Skincut of the Ahkrata White Face Barghast.’
    ‘You are a long way from home, Ralata.’
    ‘Yes.’
    Draconus looked past her to the old woman. ‘And your companion?’
    ‘I found her, wandering alone. She is Sekara, a highborn among the White Faces. Her mind is mostly gone.’
    ‘She has gangrenous fingers,’ Draconus observed. ‘They must be removed, lest the infection spread.’
    ‘I know,’ said Ralata, ‘but she refuses my attentions. It’s the rings, I think. Her last claim to wealth.’ The Skincut hesitated, and then said, ‘My people are gone. Dead. The White Face Barghast are no more. My clan. Sekara’s. Everyone. I do not know what happened—’
    ‘Dead!’ shrieked Sekara, holding up her rotted hands. ‘Frozen! Frozen dead!’
    Ublala, who’d jumped at the old woman’s cries, now edged closer to Draconus. ‘That one smells bad,’ he said. ‘And those fingers don’t work—someone’s going to have to feed her. Not me. She says awful things.’
    Ralata resumed: ‘She tells me this a hundred times a day. I do not doubt her—I cannot—I see slaughter in her eyes. And in my heart, I know that we are alone.’
    ‘The infection has found her brain,’ said Draconus. ‘Best if you killed her, Ralata.’
    ‘Leaving me the last of the White Faces? I do not have the courage to do that.’
    ‘You give me leave to do so?’ Draconus asked.
    Ralata flinched.
    ‘Ralata,’ said Draconus, ‘you two are not the last of your people. Others still live.’
    Her eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know that?’
    ‘I saw them. At a distance, dressed little different from you. The same weapons. They numbered some five or six thousand, perhaps more.’
    ‘Where, when?’
    Draconus glanced over at Ublala. ‘Before I found my Toblakai friend here. Six, seven days ago, I believe—my sense of time is not what it used to be. The very change of light still startles me. Day, night, there is so much that I had forgotten.’ He passed a hand over his face and then sighed. ‘Ralata, do you give me leave? It will be an act of mercy, and I will be quick. She will not suffer.’
    The old woman was still staring at her blackened hands, as if willing them to move, but the swollen digits were curled into lifeless hooks. Her face twisted in frustration.
    ‘Will you help me raise her cairn?’
    ‘Of course.’
    Ralata finally nodded.
    Draconus walked up to Sekara. He gently lowered the woman’s hands, and then set his own to either side of her face. Her manic eyes darted and then suddenly fixed on his. At the last instant, he saw in them something like recognition. Terror, her mouth opening—
    A swift snap to one side broke the neck. The woman slumped, still gaping, eyes holding on his even as he slowly lowered her to the ground. A few breaths later and the life left that accusing, horror-filled stare. Straightening, he stepped back, faced the others. ‘It is done.’
    ‘I’ll go find some stones,’ said Ublala. ‘I’m good at graves and stuff. And then, Ralata, I will show you the horse and you’ll be so happy.’
    The woman frowned. ‘Horse? What horse?’
    ‘What Stooply the Whore calls it, the thing between my legs. My bucking horse. The one-eyed river eel. The Smart Woman’s Dream, what Shurq Elalle calls it. Women give it all sorts of names, but they all smile when they say them. You can give it any name you want and you’ll be smiling, too. You’ll see.’
    Ralata stared after the Toblakai as he set off in search of stones, and then she turned to Draconus. ‘He’s but a child—’
    ‘Only in his thoughts,’ Draconus said. ‘I have seen him stripped down.’
    ‘If he tries—if either of you tries to rape me, I’ll kill you.’
    ‘He won’t. Nor will I. You are welcome to journey with us—we are travelling east—the same direction as the Barghast I saw. Perhaps indeed we will catch up to them, or at least cross their trail once more.’
    ‘What is that meat on the fire?’ she asked, drawing closer.
    ‘Bhederin.’
    ‘There are none in the Wastelands.’
    Draconus shrugged.
    Still she hesitated, and then she said, ‘I am hunting a demon. Winged. It murdered my friends.’
    ‘How are you able to track this winged demon, Ralata?’
    ‘It kills everything in its path. That’s a trail I can