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Dust of Dreams

Dust of Dreams

Titel: Dust of Dreams Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Steven Erikson
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the impact.
    Fiddler now faced the Adjunct. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’
    Staring, pale as snow, she said nothing.
    ‘For you, Tavore Paran . . .
nothing
.’
    She flinched.
    The door suddenly opened, hinges squealing in the frozen silence.
    Turudal Brizad stepped into the chamber and then halted.
Turudal . . . no, of course not. The Errant. Who stands unseen behind the Empty Throne. I wondered when you would show yourself.
Brys realized he had drawn his sword; realized, too, that the Errant was here to kill him—a deed without reason, a desire without motive—at least none fathomable to anyone but the Errant himself.
    He will kill me.
    And then Fiddler—for his audacity.
    And then everyone else here, so that there be no witnesses.
    Fiddler slowly turned to study the Errant. The Malazan’s smile was chilling. ‘If that card was for you,’ he said, ‘it would have left the table the moment you opened the door. I know, you think it belongs to you. You think it’s yours. You are wrong.’
    The Errant’s lone eye seemed to flare. ‘I am the Master of the Tiles—’
    ‘And I don’t care. Go on then. Play with your tiles, Elder. You cannot stand against the Master of the Deck—your time, Errant, is past.’
    ‘
I have returned!

    As the Errant, raw power building round him, took another stride into the chamber, Fiddler’s low words cut into his path. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’
    The Elder God sneered. ‘Do you think Brys Beddict can stop me? Can stop what I intend here?’
    Fiddler’s brows lifted. ‘I have no idea. But if you take one more step, Errant, the Master of the Deck will
come through.
Here, now. Will you face him? Are you ready for that?’
    And Brys glanced to that card lying on the table. Inanimate, motionless. It seemed to yawn like the mouth of the Abyss itself, and he suddenly shivered.
    Fiddler’s quiet challenge had halted the Errant, and Brys saw uncertainty stirred to life on the once-handsome features of Turudal Brizad.
    ‘For what it is worth,’ Brys Beddict said then, ‘you would not have made it past me anyway, Errant.’
    The single eye flicked to him. ‘Ridiculous.’
    ‘I have lived in stone, Elder One. I am written with names beyond counting. The man who died in the throne room is not the man who has returned, no matter what you see.’
    ‘You tempt me to crush you,’ the Errant said in a half-snarl.
    Fiddler swung round, stared down at the card on the table. ‘He is awakened.’ He faced the Elder God. ‘It may be too late . . . for you.’
    And Brys saw the Errant suddenly step back, once, twice, the third time taking him through the doorway. A moment later and he vanished from sight.
    Bodies were sliding slowly towards the floor. As far as Brys could see, not one was conscious. Something eased in the chamber like the release of a breath held far too long.
    ‘Adjunct.’
    Tavore’s attention snapped from the empty doorway back to the sapper.
    Spring the ambush. Find your enemy.
    ‘This wasn’t a reading,’ Fiddler said. ‘No one here was found. No one was claimed. Adjunct, they were
marked.
Do you understand?’
    ‘I do,’ she whispered.
    ‘I think,’ Fiddler said, as grief clenched his face, ‘I think I can see the end.’
    She nodded.
    ‘Tavore,’ said Fiddler, his voice now ragged. ‘I am so sorry.’
    To that, the Adjunct simply shook her head.
    And Brys knew that, while he did not understand everything here, he understood enough. And if it could have meant anything, anything at all, he would have repeated Fiddler’s words to her. To this Adjunct, this Tavore Paran, this wretchedly lonely woman.
    At that moment, the limp form of Banaschar settled on to the tabletop, like a corpse being lowered on a noose. As he came to rest, he groaned.
    Fiddler walked over and collected the card called the Master of the Deck. He studied it for a moment, and then returned it to the deck in his hands. Glancing over at Brys, he winked.
    ‘Nicely played, Sergeant.’
    ‘Felt so lifeless . . . still does. I’m kind of worried.’
    Brys nodded. ‘Even so, the role did not feel . . . vacant.’
    ‘That’s true. Thanks.’
    ‘You know this Master?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘Sergeant, had the Errant called your bluff—’
    Fiddler grinned. ‘You would’ve been on your own, sir. Still, you sounded confident enough.’
    ‘Malazans aren’t the only ones capable of bluffing.’
    And, as they shared a true smile, the Adjunct simply stared on, from one

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