Dust of Dreams

eyelashes.’
    ‘Well, Fiddler went and did just that with the reading, didn’t he? Nobody died—’
    ‘Rubbish. A whole building went crashing down!’
    ‘Nothing new there, Ebron. This whole city is on shaky ground.’
    ‘People died, is what I’m telling you, Bottle. And if that’s not bad enough, there were plenty of witnesses claiming to see two dragons rise out of the rubble.’ He ducked his head and looked round. ‘I don’t like dragons. I don’t like places where dragons show up all the time. Say we try some ritual—what if fifty dragons come blasting down out of the sky, splatting right on top of us? What then, hey?’
    ‘Well, I don’t know, Ebron. It depends. I mean, are they real or Soletaken?’
     
    Sinn held Grub’s hand in a tight, sweaty grip. They were edging once more on to the grounds of the old Azath tower. The day was hot, steamy, the air above the tortured mounds glittering with whirling insects. ‘Can you smell it?’ she asked.
    He didn’t want to reply.
    She shot him a wild look, and then tugged him on to the winding stone path. ‘It’s all new, Grub. You can drink it like water. It tastes sweet—’
    ‘It tastes dangerous, Sinn.’
    ‘I can almost see it. New patterns, getting stronger—it’s running roots right through this place. This is all new,’ she said again, almost breathless. ‘Just like us—you and me, Grub, we’re going to leave all the old people behind. Feel this power! With it we can do anything! We can knock down gods!’
    ‘I don’t want to knock anything down, especially gods!’
    ‘You didn’t have to listen to Tavore, Grub. And Quick Ben.’
    ‘We can’t just
play
with this stuff, Sinn.’
    ‘Why not? No one else is.’
    ‘Because it’s broken, that’s why. It doesn’t feel right at all—these new warrens, they feel
wrong
, Sinn. The pattern is broken.’
    They halted just outside the tower’s now gaping doorway and its seemingly lifeless wasp nest. She faced him, eyes bright. ‘So let’s fix it.’
    He stared at her. ‘How?’
    ‘Come on,’ she said, pulling him into the gloom of the Azath tower.
    Feet crunching on dead wasps, she led him without hesitation to the stairs. They climbed to the empty chamber that had once been the nexus of the Azath’s power.
    It was empty no longer.
    Blood-red threads sizzled within, forming a knotted, chaotic web that spanned the entire chamber. The air tasted metallic, bitter.
    They stood side by side at the threshold.
    ‘It uses what it finds,’ Sinn whispered.
    ‘So now what?’
    ‘Now, we step inside.’
     
    ‘They march in circles any longer and they’ll drop.’
    Corporal Tarr squinted at the gasping, foot-dragging soldiers. ‘They’re out of shape, all right. Pathetic. Of course, we were supposed to think of something.’
    Cuttle scratched at his jaw. ‘So we ended up thrashing them after all. Look, here comes Fid, thank the gods.’
    The sergeant scowled upon seeing his two soldiers and almost turned round before Cuttle’s frantic beckoning beat down his defences, or at least elicited the man’s pity. Raking fingers through his red and grey beard, he walked over. ‘What are you two doing to those poor bastards?’
    ‘We run out of things to make them do,’ Cuttle said.
    ‘Well, stumbling round inside a compound only takes it so far. You need to get them out of the city. Get them practising entrenchments, redoubts and berms. You need to turn their penchant for wholesale rout into something like an organized withdrawal. You need to stretch their chain of command and see who’s got the guts to step up when it snaps. You need to make those ones squad-leaders. Wargames, too—set them against one of the other brigades or battalions being trained by our marines. They need to win a few times before they can learn how to avoid losing. Now, if Hedge comes by, you ain’t seen me, right?’
    They watched him head off down the length of the colonnade.
    ‘That’s depressing,’ Cuttle muttered.
    ‘I’ll never make sergeant,’ Tarr said, ‘not in a thousand years. Damn.’
    ‘Good point, you just lifted my mood, Corporal. Thanks.’
     
    Hedge pounced on his old friend at the end of the colonnade. ‘What’re you bothering with them for, Fid? These Bonehunters ain’t Bridgeburners and those Letherii ain’t soldiers. You’re wasting your time.’
    ‘Gods below, stop stalking me!’
    Hedge’s expression fell. ‘It’s not that, Fid. Only, we were friends—’
    ‘And