Dust of Dreams

eyes, and then she gestured to the tent behind her.
    Spax said, ‘Might want to summon Gall.’
    ‘Already done,’ Tanakalian replied with a half-smile that did not belong to this moment. ‘It should not be long.’
    Abrastal frowned at the Shield Anvil, and then swept past him and the Mortal Sword, trailed a step behind by Spax. A few moments later the four were in the tent’s main chamber. Krughava ushered her aides away and then sent the guards to the tent’s outer perimeter.
    Drawing off her gauntlets, the Mortal Sword faced Abrastal. ‘Highness, the agenda is yours. Will you await Warleader Gall before beginning?’
    ‘No. He’s a smart man. He’ll work it out. Mortal Sword, we find ourselves in a storm that can only be seen from the outside. We ourselves as yet sense nothing, for we are close to its heart.’ She glanced to the Shield Anvil, and then back to Krughava. ‘Your priests and priestesses are in difficulty, do you deny it?’
    ‘I do not,’ Krughava replied.
    ‘Good. Your allies are but a day away—’
    ‘Half a day if necessary,’ Krughava said.
    ‘As you say.’ Abrastal hesitated.
    At that moment Warleader Gall arrived, sweeping through the curtains of the doorway. He was breathing hard, broad face beaded with sweat.
    ‘You intend to leave us this day,’ Tanakalian said, glaring at the Queen.
    Abrastal frowned. ‘I have said no such thing, Shield Anvil.’
    ‘Forgive my brother,’ said Krughava. ‘He is precipitate. Highness, what would you warn us against?’
    ‘I shall use the term Spax has given me—one you will understand at once, or so I am led to believe. The word is
convergence
.’
    Something came alight in Krughava’s eyes, and Abrastal could almost see the woman straightening, swelling as if to meet this moment. ‘So be it—’
    ‘A moment!’ Tanakalian said, his eyes widening. ‘Highness, this is not the place—rather, you must be wrong. That time is yet to arrive—it is far away, in fact. I cannot see how—’
    ‘That will be enough,’ Krughava interrupted, her face darkening. ‘Unless, sir, you can speak plainly of knowledge you alone possess. We await you.’
    ‘You don’t understand—’
    ‘Correct.’
    The man looked half-panicked. Abrastal’s unease regarding Tanakalian—which she had first discovered outside the tent—now deepened. What hid within this young soldier-priest? He seemed somehow knocked awry.
    The Shield Anvil drew a breath, and then said, ‘My vision is no clearer than anyone else’s, not here in this place. But all that I sense of the coming convergence tells me that it does not await us in the Wastelands.’
    Krughava seemed to be bristling with anger—the first time Abrastal had seen such a thing in the Mortal Sword. ‘Brother Tanakalian, you are not the arbiter of destiny, no matter the vast breadth of your ambition. On this day, and in the matter before us, you would do best to witness. We are without a Destriant—we cannot help but be blind to our future.’ She faced Abrastal. ‘The Grey Helms shall strike for the Bonehunters. We shall find them this day. It may be that they will need our help. It may be that we will need theirs. After all, to stand in the heart of a storm is, as you say, to be blind to all dangers yet safe from none.’
    Gall spoke for the first time. ‘The Khundryl shall ride as the tip of the spear, Mortal Sword. We shall send Swifts out ahead, and so be the first to sight our allies. If they be in dire need, word shall wing back.’
    ‘That is well and I thank you, Warleader,’ said Krughava. ‘Highness, thank you for your warning—’
    ‘We are coming with you.’
    Spax turned, his face expressing shock.
    But the Mortal Sword nodded. ‘The glory that is within you, Highness, refutes all disguise. Yet, I humbly suggest that you change your mind, that you heed the objections your Gilk commander is so eager to voice. This is not your destiny, after all. It belongs to the Bonehunters and to the Khundryl and to the Perish Grey Helms.’
    ‘The Gilk,’ Abrastal replied, ‘are under my command. I believe you have misapprehended Warchief Spax. He is surprised, yes, but so long as he and his Barghast bed themselves in my coin, they are mine to lead.’
    ‘It is so,’ said Spax. ‘Mortal Sword, you have indeed misapprehended me. The Gilk are without fear. We are the fist of the White Face Barghast—’
    ‘And if that fist drives into a wasps’ nest?’ Tanakalian asked.
    Abrastal