Dust of Dreams (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #9)

Dust of Dreams (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #9) Page 291

To date, his impression of her was as a singularly dour and uncommunicative woman, so despite the lateness he found himself regarding her with genuine interest. ‘Atri-Ceda, what is it that is so urgent?’

She seemed momentarily at a loss, as if she had not expected to succeed in receiving this audience. She met his eyes in the briefest flicker, which seemed to fluster her even more, and then she cleared her throat. ‘Commander, it is best-I mean, you need to see for yourself. Will you permit me, sir?’

Bemused, Brys nodded.

‘I have been exploring the warrens-the Malazan way of sorcery. It’s so much more… elegant.’ As she was speaking she was rummaging inside the small leather pouch tied to her belt. She withdrew her hand and opened it, revealing a small amount of grainy dirt. ‘Do you see, sir?’

Brys tilted forward. ‘That would be dirt, Aranict?’

A quick frown of irritation that delighted him. ‘Look more carefully, sir.’

He did. Watching it settle, and then settle some more-no, the soil was in motion. ‘You have ensorcelled this handful of earth? Er, well done, Atri-Ceda.’

The woman snorted, and then her breath caught. ‘My apologies, Commander. It’s obvious I’ve not explained myself-’

‘As of yet you’ve not explained anything.’

‘Sorry sir. I thought, if I didn’t show you, you’d have no reason to believe me-’

‘Aranict, you are my Atri-Ceda. You would not serve me well if I viewed you with scepticism. Please, go on, and please relax-I did not mean to sound impatient. In truth, this restless soil is most remarkable.’

‘No sir, not in itself. Any Malazan mage could manage this with barely the twitch of a finger. The fact is, I’m not the source of this.’

‘Oh, then who is?’

‘I don’t know. Before we boarded, sir, I was standing down at the water’s edge-there’d been a hatching of watersnakes, and I was watching the little ones slither into the reeds-creatures interest me, sir. And I noticed something in the mud where the serpents had crawled. Parts of it were moving, shifting about, as you see here. Naturally, I suspected that some insect or mollusc was beneath the surface, so I probed-’

‘Bare-handed? Was that wise?’

‘Probably not, as the whole bank was full of mud-urchins, but I could see that this was different. In any case, sir, I found nothing. But the mud in my hand fairly seethed, as if it possessed a life of its own.’

Brys peered at the dirt cupped in her palm once more. ‘And is this the offending material?’

‘Yes, sir. And that’s where the Malazan warrens come into this. It’s called sympathetic linkage. Rather, with this bit of dirt, I can find others just like it.’

‘Along the river?’

Her eyes met his again, and once more they flitted away-and with a start Brys realized that Aranict was shy. The notion endeared her to him and he felt a wave of sympathy, warm as a caress. ‘Sir, it started there-since I’m new to working this kind of magic-but then it spread, inland, and I could sense the places of its greatest manifestation-this swarming power in the ground, I mean. In mud, in sands, the range, sir, is vast. But where you’ll find more than anywhere else, Commander, is in the Wastelands.’

‘I see. What, do you think, do these modest disturbances signify?’

‘That something’s just beginning, sir. But, I need to talk to some Malazan mages-they know so much more than I do. They can take it farther than I have managed.’

‘Atri-Ceda, you have only begun your explorations of the Malazan warrens, and yet you have extended your sensitivity all the way to the Wastelands. I see now why the Ceda held you in such high regard. However, come the morning we shall send you in a launch to a Malazan barge.’

‘Perhaps the one where Ebron will be found, or Widdershins-’

‘Squad mages? No, Atri-Ceda. Like it or not, you are my equivalent of High Mage. Accordingly, your appropriate contact among the Bonehunters is their High Mage, Adaephon Ben Delat.’

All colour drained from her face. Her knees buckled.

Brys had to move quickly to take her weight as she slumped in a dead faint. ‘Granthos! Get me a healer!’

He heard some muffled response in reply from the outer chamber.

The dirt had scattered on to the rug and Brys caught motion from the corner of his eye. It was gathering together, forming a roiling heap. He thought he could almost make out shapes within it, before everything fell away, only to re-form once more.

She was heavier than he’d expected. He looked down at her face, the parted lips, and then away again. ‘Granthos! Where in the Errant’s name are you?’