Dust of Dreams: Book Nine of The Malazan Book of the Fallen - By Steven Erikson Page 0,344

in half with a thunderous detonation. The air seemed to tear open.

From the swirling miasma a figure emerged, first one boot then the other crunching down on desiccated flesh, hide and bone, striding out from the rent, footfalls heavy as stone.

The darkness seethed, pulsed. The figure paused, held out a gauntleted left hand.

Lightning spanned the blackness, a thousand crashing drums. The air itself howled, and the darkness streamed down. Withered husks that had once been living things spun upright as if reborn, only to pull free of the ground and whirl skyward like rotted autumn leaves.

Shrieking wind, torn banners of darkness spiralling inward, wrapping, twisting, binding. Cold air rushed in like floodwaters through a crumbling dam, and all it swept through burst into dust that roiled wild in its wake.

Hammering concussions shook the hills, sheared away slopes leaving raw cliffs, boulders tumbling and pitching through the remnants of carnage. And still the darkness streamed down, converging, coalescing into an elongated sliver forming at the end of the figure’s outstretched hand.

A final report, loud as the snapping of a dragon’s spine, and then sudden silence.

A sword, bleeding darkness, dripping cold.

Overhead, late afternoon sunlight burned the sky.

He slowly scanned the ground, even as desiccated fragments of hide and flesh began raining from the heavens, and then he stepped forward, bending down to retrieve a battered scabbard. He slid the sword home.

A sultry wind swept down the length of the valley, gathering streamers of steam.

He stood for a time, studying the scene on all sides.

‘Ah, my love. Forgive me.’

He set out, boots crunching on the dead.

Returned to the world.

Draconus.

Book Four

The Path

Forever Walked

When your penance is done

Come find me

When all the judges cloaked in stone

Have faced away

Seek the rill beneath the bowers and strings

Of fine pearls

Down in the fold of sacred hills

Among the elms

Where animals and birds find shelter

Come find me

I am nestled in grasses never trod

By heartbroken

Knights and brothers of kings

Not a single root torn

In the bard’s trembling grief

Seek out what is freely given

Come find me

In the wake of winter’s dark flight

And take what you will

Of these blossoms

My colours lie in wait for you

And none other

COME FIND ME

FISHER

Chapter Nineteen

In the midst of fleeing

the unseen enemy

I heard the hollow horrors

of the wretched caught

We collected our gasps

to make ourselves a song

Let the last steps be a dance!

Before the spears strike

and the swords slash

We’ll run with torches

and write the night

with glutted indulgences

Our precious garlands

bold laughter to drown

the slaughter in the stables

of the lame and poor

Entwine hands and pitch skyward!

None will hear the dread

groans of the suffering

nor brush with tips

glistening sorrow’d cheeks

on stilled faces below

Let us flee in mad joy—

the unseen enemy draws near

behind and ahead

and none will muster

to this harbinger call

for as long as we are able

to run these perfect circles

confound the fates

all you clever killers!

I am with you!

UNSEEN ENEMY

EFLIT TARN

M

oving like one bludgeoned, Kilmandaros slowly, by degrees, picked herself up from the ground. She leaned to one side and spat red phlegm, and then glanced over to see Errastas lying curled on the dead grasses, motionless as a stillborn calf. Off to one side stood Sechul Lath, arms wrapped tightly about his torso, face bleached of all warmth.

She spat again. ‘It’s him.’

‘A summoning beyond all expectation,’ Sechul said. ‘Odd, Errastas looks less than pleased at his own efficacy.’

Kilmandaros levered herself upright, stood unsteadily. ‘He could be subtle when he wanted,’ she said, in some irritation. ‘Instead, he made sure to let us know.’

‘Not just us,’ Sechul replied. ‘Nothing so crass,’ he added, ‘as careless.’

‘Is it anger, do you think?’

He rubbed at his face with both hands. ‘The last time Draconus was wakened to anger, Mother, nothing survived intact. Nothing.’ He hesitated, and then shook his head. ‘Not anger, not yet, anyway. He just wanted everyone to know. He wanted to send us all spinning.’

Kilmandaros grunted. ‘Rude bastard.’

They stood at the end of a long row of standing stones that had taken them round a broad, sweeping cursus. The avenue opened out in front of them, with scores of lesser stones spiralling the path inward to a flat-topped altar, its surface stained black. Little of this remained in the real world, of course. A few toppled menhirs, rumpled tussocks and ruts made by wandering bhederin. Errastas had drawn them ever closer to a place where time itself dissolved into confusion. Assailed by chaos, straining beneath the threats of oblivion, even the ground underfoot felt porous, at risk of crumbling under their weight.

The builders of this holy shrine were long gone. Resonance remained, however, tingling her skin,