Page 206 of Of Empires and Dust

Dann doubled over, resting his hands on his knees and panting like a dying dog. He lifted his head, sweat streaming down his face and dripping off his chin. “Wine?”

Vaeril snorted with laughter, then poured a cup from his bottle and handed it to Dann.

Dann grunted and lifted himself into a more upright position before taking a deep mouthful. “Shit, that’s good. I love wine, did I ever tell you that? I’d not tasted it before Belduar… You know, when all this is over, I think I’ll settle down in the villages and plant vines, spend my years sipping wine and watching sunsets.” When neither Tarmon nor Vaeril spoke, Dann let out a long breath, then moved to stand between them. He shook his head as he watched the dancing and singing. “Not going to join?”

“We march with the rising sun. I can either have a sore head or be tired, I can’t do both. I choose the sore head.” Tarmon took a deep drink of his wine to emphasise his point.

“Spoken like an old man.”

“Spoken like a man who’s responsible for the lives of almost five thousand souls. Besides, you’re dancing enough for all of us.”

“We’re alive,” Dann said with a shrug, taking a draught of the wine. “Not everyone who woke this morning can say that. You never know which dance will be your last.”

“Between what you said to Erik earlier and that, one would almost think you’ve become wise, Dann Pimm.”

“Almost? I’m a veritable sage. Honestly, what I said earlier were just things Therin taught me. I figure if I repeat everything he says word for word, someone’s bound to think I’m the onewho came up with it. I actually miss having the old walking chastisement around. He’s not as crusty as he lets on. Well, not as crusty as you anyway.”

“Dann?”

“Shut up?”

“Shut up.”

“See, you’re even talking like Therin now.” He looked back at Tarmon, all mirth leaving his voice. “What you said to Thurivîr. Thank you.”

“You’re a fuckwad, Dann. But you’re our fuckwad.”

“Tarmon, what in the gods is a fuckwad?”

Before Tarmon could conjure an answer, Dann leaned forwards and narrowed his eyes, staring at something to the left of the fire.

Tarmon followed Dann’s gaze to see the stumpy little bird that had been harassing the man weaving and bobbing through a group of dancing soldiers. The thing moved with surprising nimbleness. Then Tarmon realised what it held in its beak: a sock.

“That feather-covered little shitsmear.”

“Dann, it’s just a bird.”

“That’s no bird,” Dann said, draining the remainder of his wine and setting his cup down, never taking his eyes off the bird. “That’s a demon covered in feathers. Its sole purpose is destruction and terror… and it has my sock. This is where I leave you both. We all have our destinies. This is mine.”

As Dann tiptoed off, Lyrei came swinging out of the crowd and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking her head. “No.”

“It’s got my sock. This needs to end, Lyrei. There isn’t room enough for both of us in this world.”

Lyrei cupped her hands on either side of Dann’s face, staring into his eyes. “No.”

“But…”

She shook her head again.

Dann looked from Lyrei to the bird, who was slowly slipping away. With a sigh, he acquiesced and followed the elf back into the dancing, continuously casting his gaze back over his shoulder.

“Do you think he’s had enough wine?” Tarmon asked.

“Calen once told me that with each drink Dann becomes a new person. From what I remember, this sounds like nine drink Dann.”

“Well…” Tarmon held out his cup. “If it please, I’d like to become six drink Tarmon.”

Chapter 45

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