Dust of Dreams: Book Nine of The Malazan Book of the Fallen - By Steven Erikson Page 0,370

won’t dump it on anyone else, not even her Fists, not even on her High Mage—though he’s probably worked it out by now. She’s put herself between us and the truth—but it’s killing her.’

‘So,’ said Masan Gilani, ‘you got to show her she ain’t alone, and that we’re not all fools, that maybe we’re ready for that truth. We not only worked it out, we’re with her. There to help, whether she asks for it or not.’

‘That’s it,’ said Sinter.

Masan Gilani sighed, and then flashed Kisswhere a grin. ‘You won’t surprise anyone. Me, that’s a different story.’

‘The Adjunct will hint something to put your reputation square,’ said Sinter. ‘Otherwise, you going might tip the balance for a whole mass of wavering soldiers in the ranks. Kisswhere, well, sister, nobody will be much surprised by you, will they?’

‘Thank you. So long as people understand I’m no coward—’

Masan Gilani grunted, ‘But they’ll see it that way. Nothing you can do about it, either, Kisswhere. We’re marching to a war, and you went and ran off. Me too. So Sinter and the Adjunct work it out so it sounds like I was sent on some kind of mission—’

‘Which is true,’ cut in Sinter.

‘Which helps, aye. Thing is, people already thinking of maybe deserting might just take it as the perfect push. That’s the risk that the Adjunct might find unacceptable, no matter what you say to her, Sinter.’

‘I’m no coward,’ Kisswhere repeated. ‘I’m just not one for this whole family thing. Armies ain’t families, no matter how many times you try to tell me different. It’s rubbish. It’s the lie commanders and kings need so they always got us ready to do shit for them.’

‘Right,’ snapped Masan Gilani, ‘and I guess in that snarly jungle where you grew up you never heard any stories about what happens when armies mutiny. Kill their commanders. Depose their country’s ruler. Take over—’

‘What’s that got to do with the whole “we’re family” business?’

‘I’m saying some people run things and the rest should just stay out of it. That’s all. Just like in a family. Somebody’s in charge, not everybody. Usurpers never been anything better, or even different, from whoever they killed. Usually, they make it worse. That whole “family” thing, it’s about fighting to survive. You stand fast for kin, not strangers. Don’t you get that?’

‘And the ones in charge exploit it. Use us up. They ain’t interested in being kin to the rest of us, and you know it.’

‘You two,’ Sinter said, ‘could go at this all night. But we don’t have the time. Kisswhere, since when did you care what the people you leave behind think of you? Unless, of course, you’ve found some pride as a Bonehunter—’

‘Do you want me to help you or not?’

‘All right. Peace, then. The point is, it’s only looking like you’re deserting. The way Faradan Sort did outside Y’Ghatan.’

‘I ride south.’

Sinter nodded.

‘I go find the Perish and the Khundryl.’

‘Yes.’

‘And say what?’

‘You convince them not to abandon us.’

‘How in Hood’s name do I do that?’

Sinter’s look was wry. ‘Try using your charms, sister.’

Masan Gilani spoke. ‘Sergeant, if she’s going after both of them, where am I going?’

‘That’s not so easy to say,’ Sinter admitted haltingly.

Masan snorted. ‘Work on that answer, Sinter. Meanwhile, let’s go steal some horses.’

‘Ah, Lieutenant, found you at last.’

‘Master Sergeant now, sir.’

‘Of course, and where are your charges, Master Sergeant?’

‘Dispensed with, sir.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Rather, dispersed, sir. Inserted seamlessly into the ranks, not a stitch out of place.’

‘Why, that is simply superb, Master Sergeant. You would deserve a commendation if you deserved anything. Alas, having perused the latest roster updates, I have discovered that not a single one of those recruits can be found anywhere in the army.’

‘Yes, sir, they are well trained.’

‘At what, Master Sergeant? Disappearing?’

‘Well now, sir, I am reminded of a story from my youth. May I?’

‘Please, do go on.’

‘Thank you, sir. Ah, my youth. A sudden zeal afflicted young Aramstos Pores—’

‘Aramstos?’

‘Yes, sir—’

‘That’s your other name?’

‘It is indeed, sir. May I continue my tale, sir?’

‘Proceed.’

‘A sudden zeal, sir, to dig me a pond.’

‘A pond.’

‘Just behind the heap of broken bricks, sir, close to the lot’s back wall. I often played there when my parents had gone from fighting with words to fighting with knives, or the hovel caught fire as it was wont to do. On my hands and knees among the broken shards of pots and shattered dog teeth—’

‘Dog teeth.’

‘My father’s failures with pets, but that, sir, is another story, perhaps for another time. A