Dust of Dreams (The Malazan Book of the Fallen 9)
‘But if I see a rabbit or a chicken, I can run it down and then we can eat.’
‘That won’t be necessary-you have already seen that I am able to conjure food, and water.’
Ublala scowled. ‘I want to do my part.’
‘I see. I am sure you will, before too long.’
‘You see something?’ Ublala straightened, looked round. ‘Rabbit? Cow? Those two women over there?’
Draconus started, and then searched until he found the two figures, walking now towards them but still three hundred or so paces away. Coming up from the south, both on foot. ‘We shall await them,’ he said after a moment. ‘But, Ublala, there is no need to fight.’
‘No, sex is better. When it comes to women, I mean. I never touched that mule. That’s sick and I don’t care what they said. Can we eat now?’
‘Build us a fire,’ Draconus said. ‘Use the wood we gathered yesterday.’
‘All right. Where is it?’
Draconus gestured and a modest stack of broken branches appeared almost at Ublala’s feet.
‘Oh, there it is! Never mind, Draconus, I found the wood.’
The woman in the lead was young, her garb distinctly barbaric. Her eyes shone from a band of black paint that possibly denoted grief, while the rest of her face was painted white in the pattern of a skull. She was well-muscled, her long braided hair the colour of rust. Three steps behind her staggered an old woman, barefoot, her hide tunic smeared with filth. Rings glittered on blackened fingers, a jarring detail in the midst of her dishevelled state.
The two stopped ten paces from Draconus and Ublala. The younger one spoke.
Ublala looked up from the fire he’d just sparked to life. ‘Trader tongue-I understand you. Draconus, they’re hungry and thirsty.’
‘I know, Ublala. You will find food in that satchel. And a jug of ale.’
‘Really? What satchel-oh, never mind. Tell the pretty one I want to have sex with her, but say it more nicely-’
‘Ublala, you and I speak the same trader tongue, more often than not. As we are doing now.’ He stepped forward. ‘Welcome, then, we will share with you.’
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‘But if I see a rabbit or a chicken, I can run it down and then we can eat.’
‘That won’t be necessary-you have already seen that I am able to conjure food, and water.’
Ublala scowled. ‘I want to do my part.’
‘I see. I am sure you will, before too long.’
‘You see something?’ Ublala straightened, looked round. ‘Rabbit? Cow? Those two women over there?’
Draconus started, and then searched until he found the two figures, walking now towards them but still three hundred or so paces away. Coming up from the south, both on foot. ‘We shall await them,’ he said after a moment. ‘But, Ublala, there is no need to fight.’
‘No, sex is better. When it comes to women, I mean. I never touched that mule. That’s sick and I don’t care what they said. Can we eat now?’
‘Build us a fire,’ Draconus said. ‘Use the wood we gathered yesterday.’
‘All right. Where is it?’
Draconus gestured and a modest stack of broken branches appeared almost at Ublala’s feet.
‘Oh, there it is! Never mind, Draconus, I found the wood.’
The woman in the lead was young, her garb distinctly barbaric. Her eyes shone from a band of black paint that possibly denoted grief, while the rest of her face was painted white in the pattern of a skull. She was well-muscled, her long braided hair the colour of rust. Three steps behind her staggered an old woman, barefoot, her hide tunic smeared with filth. Rings glittered on blackened fingers, a jarring detail in the midst of her dishevelled state.
The two stopped ten paces from Draconus and Ublala. The younger one spoke.
Ublala looked up from the fire he’d just sparked to life. ‘Trader tongue-I understand you. Draconus, they’re hungry and thirsty.’
‘I know, Ublala. You will find food in that satchel. And a jug of ale.’
‘Really? What satchel-oh, never mind. Tell the pretty one I want to have sex with her, but say it more nicely-’
‘Ublala, you and I speak the same trader tongue, more often than not. As we are doing now.’ He stepped forward. ‘Welcome, then, we will share with you.’
The younger woman, whose right hand had closed on a dagger at her belt as soon as Ublala made his desire plain, now shifted her attention back to Draconus. ‘I am Ralata, a Skincut of the Ahkrata White Face Barghast.’
‘You are a long way from home, Ralata.’
‘Yes.’
Draconus looked past her to the old woman. ‘And your companion?’
‘I found her, wandering alone. She is Sekara, a highborn among the White Faces. Her mind is mostly gone.’
‘She has gangrenous fingers,’ Draconus observed. ‘They must be removed, lest the infection spread.’
‘I know,’ said Ralata, ‘but she refuses my attentions. It’s the rings, I think. Her last claim to wealth.’ The Skincut hesitated, and then said, ‘My people are gone. Dead. The White Face Barghast are no more. My clan. Sekara’s. Everyone. I do not know what happened-’
‘Dead!’ shrieked Sekara, holding up her rotted hands. ‘Frozen! Frozen dead!’
Ublala, who’d jumped at the old woman’s cries, now edged closer to Draconus. ‘That one smells bad,’ he said. ‘And those fingers don’t work-someone’s going to have to feed her. Not me. She says awful things.’
Ralata resumed: ‘She tells me this a hundred times a day. I do not doubt her-I cannot-I see slaughter in her eyes. And in my heart, I know that we are alone.’
‘The infection has found her brain,’ said Draconus. ‘Best if you killed her, Ralata.’
‘Leaving me the last of the White Faces? I do not have the courage to do that.’
‘You give me leave to do so?’ Draconus asked.
Ralata flinched.
‘Ralata,’ said Draconus, ‘you two are not the last of your people. Others still live.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I saw them. At a distance, dressed little different from you. The same weapons. They numbered some five or six thousand, perhaps more.’
‘Where, when?’
Draconus glanced over at Ublala. ‘Before I found my Toblakai friend here. Six, seven days ago, I believe-my sense of time is not what it used to be. The very change of light still startles me. Day, night, there is so much that I had forgotten.’ He passed a hand over his face and then sighed. ‘Ralata, do you give me leave? It will be an act of mercy, and I will be quick. She will not suffer.’