Dust of Dreams

us.’
    ‘Scummy prizzners!’
    ‘Murderers, slackers, dirt-spitters, hole-plungers!’
    Yan Tovis glared at the two hags. ‘Nonetheless.’
    Neither one could hold her gaze, and after a moment Skwish started edging towards the doorway. ‘Prayers an’ yes, prayers. Fra th’dead coven, fra all th’Shake an’ th’shore.’
    Once Skwish had darted out of sight, Pully sketched a ghastly curtsy and then hastened after her sister.
    Alone once more, Yan Tovis collapsed down into the saddle-stool that passed for her throne. She so wanted to weep. In frustration, in outrage and in anguish. No, she wanted to weep for herself. The loss of a brother—again—
again.
    Oh. Damn you, Yedan.
    Even more distressing, she thought she understood his motivations. In one blood-drenched night, the Watch had obliterated a dozen deadly conspiracies, each one intended to bring her down. How could she hate him for that?
    But I can. For you no longer stand at my side, brother. Now, when the Shore drowns. Now, when I need you most.
    Well, it served no one for the Queen to weep. True twilight was not a time for pity, after all. Regrets, perhaps, but not pity.
    And if all the ancient prophecies were true?
    Then her Shake, broken, decimated and lost, were destined to change the world.
    And I must lead them. Flanked by two treacherous witches. I must lead my people—away from the shore.
     
    With the arrival of darkness, two dragons lifted into the night sky, one bone-white, the other seeming to blaze with some unquenchable fire beneath its gilt scales. They circled once round the scatter of flickering hearths that marked the Imass encampment, and then winged eastward.
    In their wake a man stood on a hill, watching until they were lost to his sight. After a time a second figure joined him.
    If they wept the darkness held that truth close to its heart.
    From somewhere in the hills an emlava coughed in triumph, announcing to the world that it had made a kill. Hot blood soaked the ground, eyes glazed over, and something that had lived free lived no more.

Chapter Three
    On this the last day the tyrant told the truth

His child who had walked from the dark world
Now rose as a banner before his father’s walls
And flames mocked like celebrants from every window
A thousand thousand handfuls of ash upon the scene
It is said that blood holds neither memory nor loyalty
On this the last day the tyrant thus beheld a truth
The son was born in a dark room to womanly cries
And walked a dark keep along halls echoing pain
Only to flee on a moonless night beneath the cowl
Of his master’s weighted fist and ravaging face
The beget proved to all that a shadow stretches far
Only to march back to its dire maker ever deepening
Its matching desire and this truth is plain as it is blind
Tyrants and saints alike must fall to the ground
In their last breaths taken in turn by the shadow
Of their final repose where truth holds them fast
On a bed of stone.
    T HE S UN W ALKS F AR

R ESTLO F ARAN

    Y
our kisses make my lips numb.’
    ‘It’s the cloves,’ Shurq Elalle replied, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
    ‘Got a toothache?’
    ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Scanning the clothing littering the floor, she spied her leggings and reached over to collect them. ‘You marching soon?’
    ‘We are? I suppose so. The Adjunct’s not one to let us know her plans.’
    ‘Commander’s privilege.’ She rose to tug the leggings up, frowning as she wriggled—was she getting fat? Was that even possible?
    ‘Now there’s a sweet dance. I’m of a mind to just lean forward here and—’
    ‘I wouldn’t do that, love.’
    ‘Why not?’
    You’ll get yourself a numb face.
‘Ah, a woman needs her secrets.’
Well, this one does, at least.
    ‘I’m also of a mind to stay right here,’ the Malazan said.
    Leaning far over to lace up her boots, Shurq scowled. ‘It’s not even midnight, Captain. I wasn’t planning on a quiet evening at home.’
    ‘You’re insatiable. Why, if I was half the man I’d like to be . . .’
    She smiled. It was hard being annoyed with this one. She’d even grown used to that broad waxed moustache beneath his misshapen nose. But he was right about her in ways even he couldn’t imagine. Insatiable indeed. She tugged on the deerhide jerkin and tightened the straps beneath her breasts.
    ‘Careful, you don’t want to constrict your breathing, Shurq. Hood knows, the fashions hereabouts all seem designed to emasculate women—would that