Dust of Dreams

rock.
    At this same moment the wave passed directly over Kalyth and the three K’Chain Che’Malle, carrying with it air so cold it stunned her lungs. Gasping, agony convulsing her chest, she did not see the wave strike the three sky keeps above the battlefield. The explosions deafened her—darkness rushed in, even as Gunth Mach staggered.
    ______
    The arrival of a second Che’Malle keep filled the sky with a storm of violence. Above them, Gesler could see nothing but churning clouds and deathly flashes—even the bulks of the keeps had vanished. It seemed as if the sky itself burned, raining white-hot stones that snapped as they shot down through bitterly cold air. Impossibly, snow swirled down amidst ashes and rubble.
    Nah’ruk keeps crowded the warren’s gate, as if seeking to break through to bring succour to those dying before the stranger’s onslaught, but wave after wave slammed into them, and the unknown Uprooted was bulling ever closer, as if to drive down the very throat of the warren. Lightning lashed into it, tore huge gashes in its flanks. Death poured down from the sky.
    Gesler’s mount towered amidst the K’ell Hunters crowded in on all sides—he knew the K’ell were providing a cordon around them—though nothing could defend any of them against the deadly deluge from above. He could see the rear Nah’ruk Furies committing to the battle—they had been and were still being decimated by falling wreckage. Even so, sheer numbers alone were beginning to tell. Stormy’s Ve’Gath had ceased their advance, but Gesler could see his friend, the battle lust upon him, his face red as his hair, his eyes blazing with madness.
    ‘Stormy!
Stormy! Androjan Redarr, you brainless bastard!
’
    The head swung round. The man smiled.
    Gods below, Stormy.
‘We’re encircled!’
    ‘And we’re cutting ’em to pieces!’
    ‘We need to break out—the sky’s killing us!’
    ‘Withdraw your K’ell! Regroup and set up a charge!’
    ‘Which side?’
    ‘Whatever’s
behind
Kalse!’
    Kalse. I ain’t been paying attention.
‘And you?’
    ‘Back-to-back wedges—we’re driving out to the fucking sides! You watch ’em pour into the gap and then you charge ’em! We about face and close the vice!’
    Stormy, you Hood-damned genius.
‘Agreed!’
     
    The pain was overwhelming. He bled from wounds sheathing his body. Blow after blow hammered into him. Blind, deafened, he struck back, not even knowing if his sorcery found the enemy. He felt himself tearing loose, moments from being ripped from his flesh of cracked stone, his bones of tortured iron.
    I shall become a ghost again. Lost. Where are my children? You have abandoned me—there are too many of them, they close like wolves—my children—help me—
    ‘You must close the gate.’
    Breath?
    ‘Yes. Feather Witch. The Errant drowned me. I took his eye, he took my life. Never bargain with gods. His eye—I give it to you, Lifestealer. The gate—do you see it? You are drawing nearer—Lifestealer, do not stop—’
    Another voice spoke.
‘They killed a dragon for this power, Icarium.’
    Taxilian?
    ‘Its blood burned this hole—if you fail, the sky shall fill with the enemy machines—and the Nah’ruk will triumph this day. See the K’Chain Che’Malle, Icarium? They can win this—if you stop the Gath’ran Citadels, if you stop them from entering this realm. Seal the gate!’
    He could see it now. He held in his hand the eye of an Elder God. Slick, soft, smeared with blood.
    The wound between the realms was vast—even Kalse Uprooted could not—
    ‘You must build a wall—’
    ‘A prison!’
    Feather Witch hissed,
‘Root and Blueiron, Lifestealer! Ice Haunt is not enough! You must awaken the warrens within you! Root to the rock and earth. Blueiron to hold life in your machines. Command the breach!’
    ‘I cannot hold. I am dying.’
    ‘There are children in the world, Icarium.’
    ‘Asane? You do not understand. You are not enough—’
    ‘There are children in the world. The warrens you have made from your own blood—’
    Feather Witch snarled.
‘Our blood!’
    ‘And ours, yes. The warrens, Icarium—did you imagine they belonged to you and none other? It is too late for that. This day is the day of fire, Icarium. The children wait. The children hear.’
    In his mind, even as it crumbled on all sides, he could hear a new voice, a sweet voice, one he had never heard before.

‘I dream we are three
Rutt who is not Rutt and Held
Who