Dust of Dreams

Deadsmell knelt beside him and tried to prise loose the lizard’s savage grip. Blood flowed and it looked as if Limp was going to be left with half an ear on that side.
    Ebron was sitting on the bed, head in his hands. ‘It’ll be all right, Limp. We’ll get the knee fixed up. Maybe sew that bit of ear back on—’
    ‘No we won’t,’ said Deadsmell. ‘That’ll go septic for sure and then spread out. Iguana saliva, especially a dead iguana’s saliva, is bound to be nasty stuff. As it is, I’ll need to work a ritual to purge whatever toxins have already slipped into him.’ He paused. ‘Masan, you can crawl out from under the bed now.’
    ‘So you say,’ the woman replied, then coughed. ‘Hood-damned hairballs—I’ll never be clean again.’
    Limp squealed when Deadsmell worked a knife-blade between the iguana’s jaws and, failing to open them, simply started cutting at the tendons and muscle tissue at the hinges. A moment later and the creature fell away, startling everyone when it whistled an exhalation through its slitted nostrils.
    ‘I thought you said it was dead!’ Cord accused, walking over to slam his boot heel down on the iguana’s head. Things splatted out to the sides.
    ‘Now it is,’ Deadsmell affirmed. ‘Lie still, Limp. Let’s get the healing started—’
    ‘You should never let necromancers heal people,’ Crump complained, glowering from the corner of the room. The various components of his wood carving, shapeless riders on shapeless horses, had all vanished out into the corridor after breaching the door, which seemed to have been achieved by a combination of chewing and hacking and who knew what else.
    Deadsmell scowled over at the sapper. ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you were dying of some wound and I was your only hope.’
    ‘Yes I would.’
    The necromancer offered him a nasty smile. ‘We’ll see some day, won’t we?’
    ‘No we won’t. I’ll kill you first before I get wounded.’
    ‘And then we’d both be dead.’
    ‘That’s right, so there! Just what I was saying—nothing good comes of no necromancers no how!’
    The flicker bird was a mashed heap of feathers on the floor. The bat-turtle had fled through the hole in the door, possibly in pursuit of the wooden troop. The black-furred rat still clung on all fours to the ceiling.
    Shard moved to stand opposite Ebron. ‘Was Deadsmell right, mage? Did the Lord of Death show up here?’
    ‘No. Not as such. Why don’t you ask him yourself—’
    ‘Because he’s busy healing. I want to hear from you, Ebron.’
    ‘More like all the warrens woke up all at once. Corporal, I don’t know what the Adjunct’s playing at, but it won’t be fun. We’re gonna march soon—I think tonight’s decided it. The roles are set, only I doubt anybody—even Tavore—knows all the players. Noses are gonna get bloodied.’
    Deadsmell had of course been listening. Working on the wreck that was Limp’s knee had become rote for the healer—as it was for virtually every healer in the company, not one of whom had escaped delivering ministrations to the hapless fool. ‘Ebron’s right. I don’t envy your squad, if you end up as Sinn’s escort again—she’s right in the middle of it.’
    ‘I don’t like her neither,’ said Crump.
    Ebron sneered at Deadsmell. ‘How close we happen to be with anybody won’t make any difference. We’re all in trouble.’
    An odd, frothy, bubbling sound drew everyone’s attention, and all eyes fixed on the crushed head of the iguana, as it exhaled yet again.
    A snort came from under the bed. ‘I ain’t leaving here until the sun comes up.’
     
    The others had left, their departure more a headlong flight than a solemn dismissal, until only the Adjunct, Lostara Yil and Brys Beddict remained. Plaster dust hazed the light from the lanterns, and the floor ground and crunched underfoot.
    Brys watched as the Adjunct slowly sat down in the chair at the head of the table, and it was hard to determine which woman was more shaken or distraught. Whatever sorrow was buried within Lostara Yil now seemed much closer to the surface, and she had said not a word since Fiddler’s exit, standing with arms crossed—a gesture that likely had as much to do with aching ribs as anything else.
    ‘Thank you,’ said the Adjunct, ‘for being here, sir.’
    Startled, Brys frowned. ‘I may well have been the reason for the Errant’s attention, Adjunct. You would perhaps be more justified in cursing me