Dust of Dreams

Reaper was nowhere even close. If anything, he was sent sprawling the other way. And now, it’s all . . . jumpy, twisty. You take hold and everything shudders until it squirms loose.’
    Bottle was nodding. ‘That’s the real reason Fid was so reluctant. His reading fed into what Icarium made here all those months back.’
    ‘Made?’ Ebron demanded. ‘Made what?’
    ‘I’m not sure—’
    ‘Liar.’
    ‘No, Ebron, I’m
really
not sure . . . but I have an idea. Do you want to hear it or not?’
    ‘No, yes. Go on, I need to finish my list of reasons to commit suicide.’
    A server arrived, a man older than a Jaghut’s stockings, and the next few moments were spent shouting at the deaf codger—fruitlessly—until Ebron stumbled on to the bright notion of pointing at Deadsmell’s plate and goblet and showing two fingers.
    As the man set off, wilful as a snail, Bottle said, ‘It might not be that bad, Ebron. I think what we’re dealing with here is the imposition of a new pattern on to the old, familiar one.’
    ‘Pattern? What pattern?’
    ‘The warrens.
That
pattern.’
    Deadsmell dropped his last skewer—scraped clean—on the plate and leaned forward. ‘You’re saying Icarium went and made a
new set
of warrens?’
    ‘Swallow what’s in your mouth before you gape, please. Yes, that’s my idea. I’m telling you, Fiddler’s game was insane with power. Almost as bad as if someone tried a reading while sitting in K’rul’s lap. Well, not quite, since this new pattern is young, the blood still fresh—’
    ‘Blood?’ demanded Ebron. ‘What blood?’
    ‘Icarium’s blood,’ Bottle said.
    ‘Is he dead then?’
    ‘Is he? How should I know? Is K’rul dead?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Deadsmell answered. ‘If he was, the warrens would have died—that’s assuming all your theories about K’rul and the warrens are even true—’
    ‘They are. It was blood magic. That’s how the Elder Gods did things—when we use sorcery we’re feeding on K’rul’s blood.’
    No one spoke for a time. The server approached with a heavy tray. It was like watching the tide come in.
    ‘So,’ ventured Ebron once the tray clunked down and the plates and wine and goblets were randomly arrayed on the table by a quivering hand, ‘are things going to settle out, Bottle?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, pouring out some wine as the waiter shuffled away. ‘We may have to do some exploring.’
    ‘Of what?’
    ‘The new warrens, of course.’
    ‘How can they be any different?’ Ebron asked. ‘It’s the fact that they’re mostlythe same that’s got things confused—has to be. If they were completely different, there wouldn’t be this kind of trouble.’
    ‘Good point. Well, we should see if we can nudge things together, until the overlap is precise.’
    Deadsmell snorted. ‘Bottle, we’re squad mages, for Hood’s sake. We’re like midges feeding on a herd of bhederin—and here you’re suggesting we try and drive that herd. It’s not going to happen. We haven’t the power—even if we put ourselves together on this.’
    ‘That’s why I’m thinking we should involve Quick Ben, maybe even Sinn—’
    ‘Don’t even think that,’ Ebron said, eyes wide. ‘You don’t want her anywhere close, Bottle. I still can’t believe the Adjunct made her High Mage—’
    ‘Well,’ cut in Deadsmell, ‘since she’s mute she’ll be the only High Mage in history who never complains.’
    ‘Just Quick Ben, then.’
    ‘He’ll complain enough for both of them,’ Deadsmell nodded.
    ‘Just how nasty is he?’ Ebron asked Bottle.
    ‘Quick? Well, he gave a dragon a bloody nose.’
    ‘A real dragon or a Soletaken dragon?’
    ‘It makes no difference, Ebron—you pretty much can’t tell just from looking at them. You’ll only know a Soletaken when it veers. Anyway, don’t forget, he faced down the Edur mages once we quit Seven Cities.’
    ‘That was illusion.’
    ‘Ebron, I was in on that—a lot closer than you. Sure, maybe it was illusion, but maybe not.’ He paused, then said, ‘That’s another thing to consider. The local mages. They used raw sorcery, pretty much Chaotic and nothing else. No warrens. But now there’s warrens here. The local mages are in worse shape than we are.’
    ‘I still don’t like the idea of some kind of collective ritual,’ Deadsmell said. ‘When you’re under siege you don’t pop your head up over the parapet, do you? Unless you want feather