Dust of Dreams

filled with beer. ‘Bugg, thank you! Do you think Ublala’s worked up a thirst?’
    ‘Undoubtedly, sire.’
    ‘Then pour away!’
    ‘Not away!’ cried Ublala. ‘I want some!’
    ‘It would give me an opportunity to observe the Malazan military in the field, sire,’ explained Brys, ‘and to learn what I can—’
    ‘Nobody’s objecting, Brys!’
    ‘I am simply stating the accurate reasons justifying my desire—’
    ‘Desires should never be justified,’ Tehol said, wagging a finger. ‘All you end up doing is illuminating the hidden reasons by virtue of their obvious absence. Now, brother, you happen to be the most eligible Beddict—legitimately eligible, I mean—so why
not
cast wide your amorous net? Even if, by some peculiar quirk on your part, the Adjunct is not to your tastes, there is always her aide—what was that foreign-sounding name again, Bugg?’
    ‘Blistig.’
    Tehol frowned. ‘Really?’
    Brys rubbed at his brow, and at an odd splashing sound glanced over at Ublala and saw the man guzzling from an enormous pitcher, a brown pool spreading round his bare feet. ‘Her name is Lostara Yil,’ he said, unaccountably weary, almost despondent.
    ‘Then,’ demanded Tehol, ‘who is Blistig, Bugg?’
    ‘Sorry, one of the Fists—uhm, Atri-Predas—in her command. My mistake.’
    ‘Is he pretty?’
    ‘I’m sure someone exists in the world who might think so, sire.’
    ‘Tehol,’ said Brys, ‘we need to discuss the motivations of these Malazans. Why the Wastelands? What are they looking for? What do they hope to achieve? They are an army, after all, and armies exist to wage wars. Against whom? The Wastelands are empty.’
    ‘It’s no use,’ said Janath. ‘I’ve already tried addressing this with my husband.’
    ‘A most enlightening discussion, dear wife, I assure you.’
    She regarded him with raised brows. ‘Oh? That hardly describes my conclusions.’
    ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Tehol asked, gaze flicking from Janath to Brys, to Bugg and hence to Ublala, and then back to Brys once more—and then, with a slight widening of his eyes, back again to the Tarthenal who had just consumed most of the contents of the pitcher and was belching golden froth that ran down his chin. Noting the King’s attention, Ublala Pung wiped his chin and smiled.
    ‘Isn’t what obvious?’ Janath asked.
    ‘Huh? Oh, they’re not going to the Wastelands, my Queen, they’re going to Kolanse. They’re just passing through the Wastelands since they no longer have the transports to get to Kolanse by sea. Nor have we the ships to accommodate them, alas.’
    ‘What do they seek in Kolanse?’ Brys asked.
    Tehol shrugged. ‘How should I know? Do you think, maybe, we should ask them?’
    ‘I would wager,’ said Bugg, ‘they’ll rightly tell us it’s none of our business.’
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘Sire, your question encourages me to dissemble, and I’d rather not do that.’
    ‘Entirely understandable, Bugg. Let’s leave it there, then. Are you unwell, Ublala Pung?’
    The giant was frowning down at his feet. ‘Did I piddle myself?’
    ‘No, that’s beer.’
    ‘Oh. That’s good, then. But . . .’
    ‘Yes, Ublala?’
    ‘Where are my boots?’
    Janath reached out and stayed her husband’s hand as he was lifting his goblet to drink. ‘Not again, husband. Ublala, you informed us earlier that you fed your boots to the other guards in your billet.’
    ‘Oh.’ Ublala belched, wiped foam from his nose, and then smiled again. ‘I remember now.’
    Tehol blessed his wife with a grateful look and then said, ‘That reminds me, did we send healers to the palace barracks?’
    ‘Yes, sire.’
    ‘Well done, Bugg. Now then, since I hear the Malazan entourage on its way in the hallway beyond: Brys, how big do you want to make your escort?’
    ‘Two brigades and two battalions, sire.’
    ‘Is that reasonable?’ Tehol asked, looking round.
    ‘I have no idea,’ Janath replied. ‘Bugg?’
    ‘I’m no general, my Queen.’
    ‘We need an expert opinion, then,’ said Tehol. ‘Brys?’
     
    Nothing good was going to come of this, Bottle knew, but he also recognized the necessity and so walked uncomplaining in Ebron’s company as they cut across the round with its heaving, shouting throng locked in a frenzy of buying and selling and consuming—like seabirds flocking to a single rock day after day, reliving the same rituals that built up a life in layers of . . .
well, don’t hedge now . . .