Later that long, gray afternoon Qu’arus swam up from his slumbers again, but this time once his gleaming eyes opened they stayed that way, watching everything, although his body remained limp.
“Here, Master, have some water,” the patchwork man said, squeezing his cloth over Qu’arus’ mouth.
“Pikkhh,” the gray man rasped, using the sunlander tongue for the first time; his harsh accent made him hard to understand. “I not see you… !”
“But I’m here, Master.”
“I feel… my home…”
“Yes. We are close, Master,” Beck told him. “We will reach your house soon. Stay strong!”
“The end comes soon now, little Pikkhh,” the Dreamless whispered, a fleck of pinkish spittle at each corner of his ashen mouth.
“Don’t fear, Master, you will survive to see your home.”
“Not the end… for me,” Qu’arus breathed, so quietly that even Barrick bent down to hear better. “I care… little that. The end for all things. I feel it… feel it comes closer. Like cold wind.” He sighed and his eyes fluttered shut, but he spoke one last time before sleep took him again. “Like wind from land of dead.”
Qu’arus woke several more times as the day passed, but Pick said his words were almost all nonsense. He did not move much of anything besides his mouth and his eyes: the dying Dreamless seemed to watch them both with a kind of frightened yearning, as though waiting for them to cure or kill him. Barrick could not help thinking of the head of the Trigonate oracle Brennas, which was said to have remained alive and speaking for three years in a box after the Xandians had executed him.
After a while Barrick made his way past the giant blemmy, who was grinding away at the oars with his usual silent determination, and clambered up into the front of the boat to look for Skurn. He hung onto the high prow to keep his balance as he scoured the distance for some sign of the raven. Something dark was indeed on the horizon, but it was far bigger than Skurn.
“What is that—a storm?” he asked Pick. It seemed to hang too close to the earth, a great blob of darkness spread across the river, thick and black at the bottom but growing fainter higher up until it blended into the twilight sky like a puddle of ink leaching into a blotter.
Pick shook his head. “That’s Sleep,” he said.
“The city? Truly? But it’s black—like thunderclouds!”
“Ah! Those are the darklights. The people of Sleep do not like the brightness of this twilight world under the Mantle. The darklights make a night for them to live in.”
Barrick stared at the blotch on the horizon, which seemed to wait for him like a spider squatting grimly in its web. “They make more darkness? This gods-cursed forever twilight isn’t gloomy enough for them?”
“The Dreamless love the dark,” Pick told him seriously. “They can never have enough.”
The raven finally returned. He landed on the railing of the small boat and stood silently, grooming his mottled pinfeathers in a disinterested way.
“Do you see that up ahead? ” Barrick asked him. “Pick says it’s Sleep.”
“Aye, us seed it.” The raven picked at something invisible. “Us flew there.”
“Is it a city or just a town? How big?”
“Oh, a city, it be. Fearful big. Fearful dark.” Skurn tipped his head sideways to stare at Barrick. “Didn’t listen to us, did you? Now you and us both goes there.” The raven let out a whistle of disgust, then hopped away down the rail toward the stern. “It be a bad place, that Night Man city,” he called back. “Good thing us has got wings. Too bad some others here hasn’t.”
23. Guild of the Underbridge Kallikans
“Shivering Plain, one of the last great battles of the Theomachy, was also the last time it is known that fairies and mortals fought on the same side, although it is said that far more Qar than men were in the battle, and that far more Qar died there as well.”
“I have chosen what gifts seemed best.” Dawet still wore his traveling cloak, as though he had only clambered down from his horse a few moments ago. He and Briony had met in the River Garden this time, whose damp air made it one of Broadhall Palace’s less visited spots. “The wars to the north and south mean that many things are in short supply, especially for such unusual folk. I’m afraid it cost more than a few crabs, as the saying goes.”
“I hope I gave you enough.” Briony had now spent almost all the money Eneas had loaned her.
“It sufficed, but I have none left over to give back.”
She sighed. “I cannot thank you enough, Master dan-Faar. So many people owed me allegiance but failed me… or were taken from me. Now here I stand with only one friend left.” She smiled. “Who would ever have guessed it would be you?”
He smiled back, but it was not the most cheerful expression she had ever seen him wear. “Friend, yes, Princess—but your only one? I doubt that. You have many friends and allies in Southmarch who would speak for you—aye, and do more than speak—if you were there.”
She frowned. “They must know by now that I live. Word must have spread, at least a little. I have been living here openly for months.”
Dawet nodded. “Yes, Highness, but it is one thing to know your sovereign lives, another to risk your life for her in her absence. How can even your most loyal supporters know whether you are coming back? Distance makes things uncertain. Get yourself safely to Southmarch and I daresay you will find more than a few partisans.”
She nodded, then offered him her gloved hand. “I have no money left to pay you, Master dan-Faar,” she said sadly. “How long can I keep relying on your friendship when I cannot repay it?”
He kissed the back of her hand, but kept his brown eyes fixed on her as he did so. “You may rely on the friendship no matter what, my lady, but do not assume that I am the worse for the current imbalance. Tell yourself that I am simply gambling—something I am well known for—by performing a task here, a small chore there, none at more than slight disadvantage to myself, but each carrying the possibility of great remuneration later on.” He let go of her hand and made a mocking bow. “Yes, I think that would be the best way to look at our admittedly… complicated… relationship.”
His smile had much of the tiger grin she remembered from the old days, and for a moment Briony found herself quite breathless.
“That said,” he continued as he straightened up, “you will find your tribute in a room above this tavern near Underbridge—“ he handed her a scrap of parchment—“along with two discreet men who will transport it for you.” He bowed. “I hope that serves your needs, my princess. To be honest, following your adventures is nearly payment enough. Can you tell me why the Kallikans?”
“It is the gods’ will.”
“If you truly do not wish to tell me…”
“That is not a polite evasion, Master dan-Faar. A goddess spoke to me in a dream—well, a demigoddess…” He was smiling at her. “You do not believe me.”
“On the contrary, my lady,” he said, “I believe that things are happening that are without precedent since the days of the gods. You and your family are clearly in the midst of them. Beyond that, I reserve my secret heart even from you, Lady.”
“That is fairly spoken.”
“And with that I must leave you.” He brushed a few flecks of night-dew off his breeches. His scabbard thumped against the bench. “I do not know when we will meet next, Highness. Other duties call me.”