Principia Discordia

As promised.  There are quite a lot of them, and some with minor commentary.  I'm not going to explain what the books are about, as that might take forever.  As a short introduction, the empire is in chaos.  The head of the internal intelligence agency, the Claw, has overthrown the Emperor in what appears to be a bloody coup.  The campaign on the continent of Genabackis has slowed to a crawl, and the Empire's conquest on the continent of Seven Cities are looking very unstable. And then, just to add to the mess, the gods appear to be playing games... 

If these are of interest, then all well and good.  And if not...well, you don't have to read them.  Quotes have been picked mainly for interest, examples of excellent scheming, or for the sake of humour.

Book 1: Gardens of the Moon

QuoteFinally, the man faced him.  His face was scarred, and something that might've been a burn marred his jaw and left cheek.  For all that, he looked young for a commander.  "Heed the lesson there, son."

"What lesson?"

"Every decision you make can change the world.  The best life is the one the gods don't notice.  You want to live free boy, live quietly."

"I want to be a soldier.  A hero."

"You'll grow out of it."

Hairlock is not having a good time at the Siege of Pale...

Quote"They're coming," said a voice, a dozen feet to her left.  Slowly, she turned.  The wizard Hairlock lay sprawled on the burnt armour, the pate of his shaved skull reflecting the dark sky.  A wave of sorcery had destroyed him from the hips down.  Pink, mud-spattered entrails billowed out from under his ribcage, webbed by drying fluids.  A faint penumbra of sorcery revealed his efforts at staying alive.

"Thought you were dead," Tattersail muttered.

"Felt lucky today."

QuoteShe rubbed at her face, feeling grime gather under her nails.  Bridgeburners.  They'd been the old Emperor's elite, his favourites, but since Laseen's bloody coup nine years ago they'd been pushed hard into every rat's nest in sight.  Almost a decade of this had cut them down to a single, undermanned division.  Among them, names had emerged.  The survivors, mostly squad sergeants, names that had pushed their way into the Malazan armies on Genabackis, and beyond.  Names spicing the already sweeping legend of Onearm's Host.  Detoran, Antsy, Spindle, Whiskyjack.  Names heavy with glory and bitter with the cynicism that every army feeds on.  They carried the names with them like am emblazoned banner of the madness of this unending campaign.

QuoteAt the very heart of things, he realized, he no longer knew who was the ultimate betrayer in all of this, if a betrayer there must be.  Was it the Empire, the Empress?  Or was it something else, a legacy, an ambition, a vision at the far end of peace and wealth for all?  Or was it a beast that could not cease devouring?  Darujhistan – the greatest city in the world.  Would it come to the Empire in flames?  Was there wisdom in opening its gates?  Within the troubled borders of the Malazan Empire, people lived in such peace as their ancestors had never imagined; and if not for the Claw, there would be freedom as well.  Had this been the Emperor's dream at the very beginning?  Did it matter any more?

Whiskeyjack, sergeant in the Bridgeburners, has a memory which explains why Sorry will always be considered a recruit, and never a soldier

QuoteA memory returned to Whiskyjack as he considered Dujek's words.  On a brief attachment to the 5th, away from the siege at Pale, in the midst of the Mott Campaign, Sorry had joined them from the new troops arriving at Nathilog.  He'd watched her put a knife to three local mercenaries they'd taken prisoner in Greydog – ostensibly to glean information but, he recalled with a shudder, it had been nothing like that.  Not an act of expedience.  He had stared aghast, horrified, as Sorry set to work on their loins.  He remembered meeting Kalam's gaze, and the desperate gesture that had sent the black man surging forward, knives bared.  Kalam had pushed past Sorry and with three quick motions had laid open the men's throats.  And then came the moment that still twisted Whiskyjack's heart.  In their last, frothing words, the mercenaries had blessed Kalam.

Sorry had merely sheathed her weapon and walked away.

Though the woman had been with the squad for two years, still his men called her a recruit, and they probably would do so until the day they died.  There was a meaning there, and Whiskyjack understood it well.  Recruits were not Bridgeburners.  The stripping away of that label was an earned thing, a recognition brought by deeds.  Sorry was a recruit because the thought of having her inextricably enfolded within the Bridgeburners burned like a hot knife in the throat of everyone in his squad.  And that was something to which the sergeant himself was not immune.

Tayschrenn and the Empress' Adjunct, Lorn, discuss the ever increasing possibility of Dujek's host rebelling:

Quote"Dujek is just one man," Tayschren said.

Lorn took a large mouthful of wine, then set down the goblet and rubbed her brow.  "Dujek's not the enemy," she said wearily.  "Dujek's never been the enemy."

Tayschrenn stepped forward.  "He was the Emperor's man, Adjunct."

"Challenging that man's loyalty to the Empire is insulting, and it's that very insult that may well turn him.  Dujek's not just one man.  Right now he's ten thousand, and in a year's time he'll be twenty-five thousand.  He doesn't yield when you push, does he?  No, because he can't.  He's got ten thousand soldiers behind him – and believe me, when they get angry enough to push back, you'll not be able to withstand them.  As for Dujek, he'll just end up being carried on the tide."

"Then he is a traitor."

"No.  He's a man who cares for those he is responsible for and to.  He's the best of the Empire.  If he's forced to turn, Tayschrenn, then we're the traitors.  Am I getting through?"

QuoteSoon, Tattersail knew, there'd be the culling of the nobility, a scourge that would raise to the gallows the greediest, least-liked nobles.  And the executions would be public.  A tried and true procedure, that swelled recruitment on a tide of base vengeance – with every hand stained by a righteous glee.  A sword in such hands complemented the conspiracy and included all players in the hunt for the next victim to the cause – the Empire's cause.

She'd seen it run its course in a hundred such cities.  No matter how benign the original rulers, no matter how generous the nobility, the word of Empire, weighted by might, twisted the past into a tyranny of demons.  A sad comment on humanity, a bitter lesson made foul by her own role in it.

Kallor never learns:

QuoteKallor said: "I walked this land when the T'lan Imass were but children.  I have commanded armies a hundred thousand strong.  I have spread the fire of my wrath across entire continents, and sat alone upon tall thrones.  Do you grasp the meaning of this?"

"Yes," said Caladan Brood, "you never learn."

Tool explains to Lorn the nature of convergence, how power attracts power, and how that is usually fatal for anyone standing too close at the time.

QuoteShe sat up.  "Tell me, doesn't it strike you as odd that this supposedly empty Rhivi Plain should display so much activity?"

"Convergence," Tool said.  "Power ever draws other power.  It is not a complicated thought, yet it escaped us, the Imass."  The ancient warrior swung his head to the Adjunct.  "As it escapes their children.  The Jaghut well understood the danger.  Thus they avoided one another, abandoned each other to solitude, and left a civilization to crumble into dust.  The Forkrul Assail understood as well, though they chose another path.  What is odd, Adjunct, is that of these three founding peoples, it is the Imass whose legacy of ignorance survived the ages."

Quote"Tell me, Tool, what dominates your thoughts?"
The Imass shrugged before replying.  "I think of futility, Adjunct."
"Do all Imass think about futility?"
"No.  Few think at all."
"Why is that?"
The Imass leaned his head to one side and regarded her.  "Because, Adjunct, it is futile."

Lorn partakes in some amatuer archaeology, probably the most dangerous hobby one could have in this series.

QuoteCurious, Lorn investigated further, scrambling down into the cavity.  Stone flakes carpeted the pit's base.  She crouched and picked up a piece of flint.  It was the tip of a spear point, expertly sharped.

The echo of this technology was found in Tool's chalcedony sword.  She needed no further proof of the Imass's assertions.  Humans had indeed come from them, had indeed inherited a world.

Empire was part of them, a legacy flowing like blood through human muscles, bone and brain.  But such a thing could easily be seen as a curse.  Were they destined one day to become human versions of the T'lan Imass?  Was war all there was?  Would they bow to it in immortal servitude, no more than deliverers of death?

Lorn sat down in the quarry and leaned against the chiselled, weathered stone.  The Imass had conducted a war of extermination lasting hundreds of thousands of years.  Who or what had the Jaghut been?  According to Tool, they'd abandoned the concept of government, and turned their back on empires, on armies, on the cycles of rise and fall, fire and rebirth.  They'd walked alone, disdainful of their own kind, dismissive of community, of purposes greater than themselves.

They would not, she realized, have started a war.

"Oh Laseen," she mummered, tears welling in her eyes.  "I know why we fear this Jaghut Tyrant.  Because he became human, he became like us, he enslaved, he destroyed and he did it better than we could." She lowered her head into her hands.  "That's why we fear."

QuoteThe T'lan Imass worked in the span of millennia, their purpose their own.  Yet their endless war had become her endless war.  Laseen's Empire was a shadow of the First Empire.  The difference lay in that the Imass conducted a genocide against another species.  Malaz killed its own.  Humanity had not climbed up since the dark age of the Imass: it had spiralled down.

Anomander Rake explains why treachery is rarely useful, nor smart, in the long run

QuoteRake was silent for a time, studying his hands clapsed on his lap.  "Baruk," he said softly, "as any commander of long standing knows, treachery breeds its own.  Once committed, whether against an enemy or an ally, it becomes a legitimate choice for everyone in your command, from the lowest private seeking promotion to your personal aides, bodyguards and officers.  My people know of our alliance with you, Alchemist.  If I were to betray it, I would not long remain the Lord of Moon's Spawn.  And rightly so."

Paran thinks he's figured it all out.

QuoteHe broke his hour-long silence and addressed Whiskyjack.  "You still intend to cripple Darujhistan.  And I keep thinking about that, and now I think I've worked out why."  He studied Whiskyjack's blank expression.  "What you seek is to crack the city wide open.  Chaos in the streets, a headless government.  Everybody who matters shows up and they kill each other.  What does that leave?"  Paran leaned forward, his eyes hard.  "Dujek's got an army ten thousand strong, about to become outlaws of the Empire.  Maintaining ten thousand soldiers is an expensive business.  Housing them is even tougher.  Dujek knows Pale's days are numbered.  Caladan Brood's on the march down the Rhivi Plain right now.  Are the Moranth about to pull out of the alliance?  Maybe make a move of their own?  Tayschrenn's in Pale – maybe old Onearm can handle him, maybe not.  How am I so far, sergeant?"

Whskyjack glanced over at Kalam, then shrugged.  "Go on," he said to Paran.

"Darujhistan's filled with panic.  No one knows anything.  In marches Dujek, rebel army at his heels.  He'll set things aright.  Wealth beyond measure falls into his lap – and he'll need all of it if he's to oppose what the Empress sends after him.  So the city gets conquered after all.  Fancy that."

And Kruppe explains the joyous nature of his relationship with Lady Simtal:

QuoteMurillio's eyes hardened.  "You're not coming, Kruppe."

"Well of course Kruppe will attend!  Do you think Lady Simtal would ever show herself if her long-time acquaintance, Kruppe the First, was not in attendance?  Why, she'd wither with shame!"

"Damnit, you've never even met Simtal!"

"Not relevant to Kruppe's argument, friend Murillio.  Kruppe has ever been acquainted with Simtal's existence for many years.  Such association is made better, nay pristine, for the fact she has not met Kruppe, not Kruppe her."

Book 2: The Deadhouse Gates

QuotePeople of civilized countenance made much of exposing the soft underbellies of their psyche – effete and sensitive were the brands of finer breeding.  It was easy for them, safe, and that was the whole point, after all: a statement of coddled opulence that burned the throats of the poor more than any ostentatious show of wealth.

Some of the best observations in this book are made by Duiker and Heboric.  Given the author's own background in archaeology and anthropology, it is probably not surprising the historians get the best lines, even if he does show up the more...academic aspects of the discipline at times.

Quote"Coltaine," the captain nodded, his scowl deepening.  "Sent here to take command of the Seventh and put down the rebellion-"

"After all," Duiker said dryly, "who better to deal with insurrection than a warrior who has led one himself?"

QuoteConquerors could overrun a city's walls, could kill every living soul within, fill every estate and every house and every store with its own people, yet rule nothing but the city's thin surface, the skin of the present, and would one day be brought down by the spirits below, until they themselves were but one momentary layer among many.  This is an enemy we can never defeat, Duiker believed.  Yet history tells the stories of those who would challenge that enemy, again and again.  Perhaps victory is not achieved in overcoming that enemy, but by joining it, becoming one with it.

The Empress has sent a new Fist to batter down the restless centuries of this land.  Had she abandoned Coltaine, as I suggested to Mallick Rel?  Or had she just held him back in readiness, like a weapon forged and honed for one specific task?

As you'll come to appreciate, from the various quotes aboutand by him, the old Emperor may have been a bastard, he may have been mad, but there is no doubting he was a canny bastard:

QuoteThe Emperor would have cut the heart out of this rebellion with its first beat.  A short, but unremitting bloodbath, followed by a long peace.  But Laseen had left the old wounds to fester, and what was coming would silence Hood himself.

Quote""History comforts the dull-witted,"" the young Malazan said.

Beneth barked a laugh as he reached the gate.  "And whose words are those, Pella?  Not yours."

The guard's brows rose, then shrugged.  "I forget you're Korelri sometimes, Beneth.  Those words?  Emperor Kellanved."

Iskarak Pust, the High Priest of Meanas, attempts a convoluted explanation on Mappo, much in keeping with his patron god's domains of trickery and deceit.

QuoteThe Trell pushed himself upright.  "Where is the library?"

"Turn right, proceed thirty-four paces, turn right again, twelve paces, then through the door on the right, thirty-five paces, through the archway on the right, another eleven paces, turn right one last time, fifteen paces, then enter the room on the right."

Mappo stared at Iskaral Pust.

The High Priest shifted nervously.

"Or," the Trell said, eyes narrowed, "turn left, nineteen paces."

I can safely say I have seen, and possibly even purchased, more obscure and pointless books than the ones being discussed.

Quote"There are works here whose existence was but the faintest rumour.  And some – like this one – that I have never heard of before.  A Treatise on Irrigation Planning in the Fifth Millennium of Arakal, by no fewer than four authors."

Returning to the library with a pewter plate piled high with bread and cheese, Mappo leant over his friend's shoulder to examine the detailed drawings on the book's vellum pages, then the strange, braided script.  The Trell grunted.  Mouth suddenly dry, he managed to mutter,

"What is so astonishing about that?"

Icarium leant back.  "The sheer...frivolity, Mappo.  The materials alone for this time are a craftsman's annual wage.  No scholar in their right mind would waste such resources – never mind the time – on such a pointless, trite subject.  And this is not the only example.  Look, Seed Dispersal Patterns of the Purille Flower on the Skar Archipelago and here, Diseases of White Rimmed Clams of Lekoor Bay."

Gothos was a bastard.

Quote"Rich, you said?"  The Trell struggled to drag the conversation away from what he knew to be a looming precipice.  "More like mired in minutiae.  Probably explains why it's dust and ashes.  Arguing over seeds in the wind while barbarians batter down the gates.  Indolence takes many forms, but it comes to every civilization that has outlived its will.  You know this as well as I.  In this case it was an indolence characterized by a pursuit of knowledge, a frenzied search for answers to everything, no matter the value of such answers.  A civilization can as easily drown in what it knows as in what it doesn't know.  Consider," he continued, "Gothos' Folly.  Gothos's curse was in being too aware – of everything.  Every permutation, every potential.  Enough to poison every scan he cast on the world.  It availed him naught, and worse, he was aware of even that."

Iskarak Pust has a vital and dangeous quest for Mappo and Icarium.  Or he's being a nusciance.  Again.

Quote"Do you intend to the lead the D'ivers and Soletaken to the gate below, Iskaral Pust?"

"Blunt are the Trell, determined in headlong stumbling and headlong in stumbling determination.  As I said.  You know nothing of the mysteries involved, the plans of Shadowthrone, the many secrets of the Grey Keep, the Shrouded House where stands the Throne of Shadows.  Yet I do.  Alone of all the mortals, have been shown the truth arrayed before me.  My god is generous, my god is wise, as cunning as a rat.  Spiders must die."

"The bhok'arala have stolen my broom and this quest I set before you two guests.  Icarium and Mappo Trell, famed wanderers of the world, I charge you with this perilous task – find me my broom."

Fiddler, a former Bridgeburner, now outlawed with the rest of the army, is escorting Aspalar and Crokus back to the former's home.  Unfortunately, Seven Cities has erupted in bloody rebellion, which is not making the trip easier.  Apsalar was possessed by Cotillion, also known as the Rope, a god aligned with Shadowthrone, and sometimes his memories bleed through into hers.  But this particular incident suggests it is not a god's memories she is having...

QuoteEven the Gral gelding hesitated at the square's edge.  The bodies covering the cobbles numbered several hundred.  Old men and old women, and children, for the most part.  They had all been savagely cut to pieces or, in some cases, burned alive.  The stench of sun-warmed blood, bile and seared flesh hung thick in the square.

Fiddler swallowed back his revulsion, cleared his thread.  "Beyond this square," he said, "all pretences of control cease."

Crokus gestured shakily.  "These are Malazan?"

"Aye, lad."

"During the conquest, did the Malazan armies do the same to the locals here?"

"You mean, is this just reprisal?"

Apsalar spoke with almost personal vehemence.  "The Emperor warred against armies, not civilians-"

"Except at Aren," Fiddler sardonically interjected, recalling the words of the Tanno Spiritwalker.  "When the T'lan Imass rose in the city-"

"Not by Kellanved's command!" she retorted.  "Who ordered the T'lan Imass into Aren?  I shall tell you.  Surly, the commander of the Claw, the woman who took upon herself a new name-"

"Laseen."  Fiddler eyed the young woman, quizzically.  "I have never before heard that assertion, Apsalar.  There were no written orders – none found in any case-"

"I should have killed her there and then," Apsalar muttered.

Astonished, Fiddler glanced at Crokus.  The Daru shook his head.

"Apsalar," the sapper said slowly, "you were but a child when Aren rebelled then fell to the T'lan Imass."

"I know that," she replied.  "Yet these memories – they are so clear.  I was...sent to Aren... to see the slaughter.  To find out what happened.  I... I argued with Surly.  No-one else was in the room.  Just Surly and... and me."

Every fantasy novel is required to have a surly guard who threatens a mage, only to back down when threatened with being changed into a toad.  This particular incident does not go according to plan:

Quote"You're Seventh Army."  He clearly had no intention of returning to his table.  "A deserter."

Kulp's wiry brows rose.  "Corporal, you've just come face with the Seventh's entire Mage Cadre.  Now back out of my face before I put gills and scales on yours."

The corporal's eyes flicked to Duiker, then back to Kulp.

"Wrong," the mage sighed.  "I'm the entire cadre.  This man is my guest."

"Gills and scales, huh?"  The corporal set his wide hands down on the tabletop and leaned close to Kulp.  "I get even a sniff of you opening a warren, you'll find a knife in your throat.  This is my guardpost, magicker, and any business you got here is my business.  Now, start explaining yourselves, before I cut those big ears off your head and add 'em to my belt.  Sir."

QuoteFifty paces from the Estates Duiker found the first scene of true slaughter.  The Hissari mutineers had struck the Malazan quarter with sudden ferocity, probably at the same time as the other force had hemmed in the Seventh at the compound.  The merchant and noble houses had thrown their own private guards forward in frantic defence, but they were too few and, lacking cohesion, had been quickly and savagely cut down.  The mob had poured into the district, battering down estate posterns, dragging out into the wide street Malazan families.

It was then, Duiker saw as his mount picked a careful path through the bodies, that madness had truly arrived.  Men had been gutted, their entrails pulled out, wrapped around women – wives and mothers and aunts and sisters – who had been raped before being strangled with the intestinal ropes.  The historian saw children with their skulls crushed, babies spitted on tapu skewers. 
However, many young daughters had been taken by the attackers as they plunged deeper into the district.  If anything, their fates would be more horrific than those visited on their kin.

Duiker viewed all he saw with a growing numbness.  The terrible agony that had been unleashed here seemed to remain coiled in the air, poised, ready to snatch at his sanity.  In self-defence, his soul withdrew, deeper, ever deeper.  His power to observe remained, however, detached completely from his feelings – the release would come later, the historian well knew: the shaking limbs, the nightmares, the slow scarification of his faith.

QuoteDuiker made agreeable noises through all this, but his mind was racing.  Kamist Reloe was a High Mage, one believed to have been killed in Raraku over ten years ago, in a clash with Sha'ik over who was destined to lead the Apocalypse.  Instead of killing her rival, it was now apparent that Sha'ik had won his loyalty.  The hint of murderous rivalry, feuds and personality clashes had served Sha'ik well in conveying to the Malazans an impression of internal weaknesses plaguing her cause.  All a lie.  We were deceived, and now we are suffering the cost.

The historian Heboric has doubts about what happened on the night Emperor Kellanved and his second-in-command, Dancer, were murdered:

Quote"It is said that on the night of Kellanved and Dancer's Return, Malaz City was a maelstrom of sorcery and dire visitations.  It is not a far reach to find one sustained in the belief that the assassinations were a messy, confused affair, and that success and failure are judgements dependent on one's perspective...
                                                                                                Conspiracies in the Imperium, Heboric

Coltaine, the Imperial Fist sent to stop the rebellion, clearly did not get the memo he and his Wicken warriors were meant to just roll over and die.

QuoteThe Wickans were demons.  They breathed fire.  Their arrows magically multiplied mid-air.  Their horses fought with uncanny intelligence.  A Mezla Ascendant had been conjured and sent to Seven Cities, and now faced the Whirlwind goddess.  The Wickans could not be killed.  There would never come another dawn.

Duiker left the man to whatever fate awaited him and rode back to the road, resuming his journey to the oasis.  He had lost two hours, but had gleaned invaluable information amidst the Tithansi deserter's terror-spawned ravings.

This, the historian realised as he rode on, was more than the simple lashing-out of a wounded, tormented beast.  Coltaine clearly did not view the situation in that way.  Perhaps he never did.  The Fist was conducting a campaign.  Engaged in a war, not a panicked flight. The leaders of the Apocalypse had better reorder their thoughts, if they're to hold any hope of wresting the fangs from this serpent.  More, they'd better kill the notion evidently already rampant that the Wickans were more than just human, and that's easier said than done.

Kalam, former Bridgeburner former Claw assassin, has his doubts about the ability of a group of bandits who signed up to the rebellion:

Quote"Your men are skilled with their bows?" the assassin asked a few minutes later.
"Like vipers, Mekral."
"With about the same range," Kalam muttered.

Thwarted ambitions come back to bite the Empire in the arse

Quote"Who commands this army?"

"That bastard Korbolo Dom."

Kalam's eyes narrowed.  "But he's a Fist-"

"Was, 'till he married a local women who just happened to be the daughter of Halaf's last Holy Protector.  He's turned renegade, had to execute half his own legion who refused to step across with him.  The other half divested the Imperial uniform, proclaimed themselves a mercenary company, and took on Korbolo's contract.  It was that company that hit us in Orbal.  Call themselves the Whirlwind Legion or something like that."  Keneb rose and kicked the fire, scattering the last embers.  "They rode in like allies.  We didn't expect a thing."

There was more to this tale, the assassin sensed.  "I remember Korbolo," Kalam muttered.

"Thought you might.  He was Whiskeyjack's replacement, wasn't he?"

"For a time.  After Raraku.  A superb tactician, but a little too bloodthirsty for my tastes.  For Laseen, too, which was why she holed him in Halaf."

"And promoted Dujek instead."  The captain laughed.  "Who's now been outlawed."

Quote"They'll charge," List affirmed grimly.  "If we're lucky, they'll wait too long and give us room to fall back."

"That's the kind of risk Hood loves," the historian muttered. 

"The ground underneath them whispers fear.  They won't be moving for a while."

"Do I see control on all sides, or the illusion of control?"

List's face twisted slightly.  "Sometimes, the two are the one and the same.  In terms of their effect, I mean.  The only difference – or so Coltaine says – is that when you bloody the real thing, it absorbs the damage, while the other shatters."

One of the Wickans explains how Emperor Kellanved persuaded them to end their rebellion

Quote"The Emperor, as our enemy, united us.  By laughing at our small battles, our pointless feuds.  Laughing and more: sneering.  He shamed us with contempt, Historian.  When he met with Coltaine, our alliance was already breaking apart.  Kellanved mocked.  He said he need only sit back and watch to see the end of our rebellion.  With his words he branded our souls.  With his words and his offer of unity he bestowed on us wisdom.  With his words we knelt before him in true gratitude, accepted what he offered us and gave him our loyalty.  You once wondered how the Emperor won our hearts.  Now you know."

Yes, you read correctly: the Emepror defeated an insurgency with mockery.

Quote"The Path of Hands.  The convergence of Soletaken and D'ivers – Pust is involved."

"Explain."

Mappo pointed a blunt finger at the paving stones beneath them.  "At the lowest levels of this temple there lies a chamber.  Its floor – flagstones – displays a series of carvings.  Inscribing something like a Deck of Dragons.  Neither Icarium nor I have seen anything like it before.  If it is indeed a Deck of Dragons, it's an Elder version.  Not Houses, but Holds, the forces more elemental, more raw and primitive."

"How does that relate to shapeshifting?"

"You can view the past as something like a mouldy old book.  The closer you get to the beginning, the more fragmented are the pages.  They veritably fall apart in your hands, and you're left with but a handful of words – most of them in a language you can't even understand."  Mappo closed his eyes for a long moment, then he looked up and said, "Somewhere among those scattered words is recounted the creation of shapeshifters – the forces that are Soletaken and D'ivers are that old, Fiddler.  They were old even in Elder times.  No one species can claim proprietry, and that includes the four Founding Races: Jaghut, Forkrul Assail, Imass and K'Chain Che'Malle.
No shapeshifter can abide another – under normal circumstances, that is.  There are exceptions but I need not go into them here.  Yet, within them all, there is a hunger as deep in the bone as the bestial fever itself.  The lure to dominance.  To command all other shapeshifters, to fashion an army of such creatures – all slaved to your desire.  From an army, an Empire.  An Empire of ferocity unlike anything that has been seen before-"

Fiddler grunted.  "Are you implying that an Empire born of Soletaken and D'ivers would be inherently worse – more evil – than any other?  I'm surprised, Trell.  Nastiness grows like a cancer in any and every organization – human or otherwise, as you well know.  And nastiness gets nastier.  Whatever evil you let ride becomes commonplace, eventually.  Problem is, it's easier to get used to it than carve it out."

Mappo's answering smile was broken-hearted.  "Well said, Fiddler.  When I said ferocity, I meant a miasma of chaos.  But I will grant you that terror thrives equally well in order."  He rolled his shoulders a third time, sat straighter to work out the kinks in his back.  "The shapeshifters are gathering to the promise of a gate through which they can attain such Ascendancy.  To become a god of the Soletaken and D'ivers – each shapeshifter seeks nothing less, and will abide no obstacle.  Fiddler, we think the gate lies below, and we think that Iskaral Pust will do all he can to prevent the shapeshifters from finding it – even to painting false trails in the desert, to mimic the trail of handprints that all led to the place of the gate."

Mappo has a very nasty suspicion about why Cotillion reliquished his control of Apsalar...

Quote"Yet did not the solder say that Cotillion's relinquishing of the lass was forced upon him by the threat of Anomander Rake?  The possession was meant to last for much longer, taking the lass ever closer to the Empress herself..."

"So everyone assumes," Mappo said.  "Iskaral Pust is a High Priest of Shadow.  I think it is best to assume no matter how devious Pust is, Shadowthrone and Cotillion are more devious.  By far.  A truly possessed Apsalar would never get close to Laseen – the Claws would sniff it out, not to mention the Adjunct and her Otataral sword.  But an Apsalar no longer possessed...well...and Cotillion's made sure she's not just a simple fishergirl any more, hasn't he?"

"A scheme within a scheme.  Have you discussed this with Fiddler?"

Mappo shook his head.  "I may be wrong.  It may be that the rulers of Shadow simply saw an opportunity here, a means to take advantage of the convergence – the dagger is honed, then slipped in amidst the tumult."

Lull renders every history book in the world irrelevant with just three words.

Quote"What water?"
"We've casks of water left for the soldiers.  You take a skin every morning, Historian, up where the wagons are carrying the wounded are positioned.  Each dusk you brink the skin back."

"There's water in the stew, isn't there?"

"Milk and blood."

"If there are casks left for the soldiers, what of everyone else?"

"Whatever they managed to carry with them from the Sekala River," Lull said.  "We'll protect them, aye, but we'll not mother them.  Water's become currency, I hear, and the trading's fierce."

"Children are dying."

Lull nodded.  "That's a succinct summary of humankind, I'd say.  Who needs tomes and volumes of history?  Children are dying.  The injustices of the world hide in those three words.  Quote me, Duiker, and your work's done."

QuoteThose crossbow cords will stretch, unless they've been soaked in oil and waxed.  Of course they have – those soldiers aren't idiots.  Plan for any eventuality, even swimming beneath a dusty plain.  I once saw a fellow soldier find use for a fishing kit in the desert.  What makes a Malazan soldier so dangerous?  They're allowed to think.

Kulp and Heboric discuss alternate theories concerning the Path of Hands and the rebellion converging:

Quote"Why don't we just give up?" Felisin said.

The mage sneered.

"I'm not being flippant.  We're in Raraku, the home of the Whirlwind.  There won't be a friendly face within a hundred leagues of here, not that there's any chance of making it that far in any case."

"And the faces closer at hand aren't even human," Heboric added.  "Every mask unveiled, and you know, the presence of D'ivers and Soletaken is most likely not at the Whirlwind's beckoning.  All a tragic coincidence, this Year of Dryjhna and the unholy convergence-"

"You're a fool if you think that," Kulp said.  "The timing is anything but accidental.  I've a hunch that someone started those shapeshifters on that convergence, and that someone acted precisely because of the uprising.  Or it went the other way around – the Whirlwind Goddess guided the prophecy to ensure that the Year of Dryjhna was now, when the convergence was under way, in the interest of creating chaos within the warrens."

"Interesting notions, Mage," Heboric said, slowly, nodding.  "Natural, of course, coming from a practitioner of Meanas, where deceit breeds like runaway weeds and inevitability defines the rules of the game...but only when useful."

Felisin stayed silent, watching the two men.  One conversation, here on the surface, yet another beneath.  The priest and the mage are playing games, the entwining of suspicion with knowledge.  Heboric sees a pattern, his plundering of ghostly lives gave him what he needed, and I think he's telling Kulp that the mage himself is closer to that pattern than he might imagine.

Quote"Retaking Ubaryd will allow relief from Admiral Nok's fleet," Sulmar said.  "Through this avenue, a swift and safe journey to Aren can be effected."

"Admiral Nok's fleet is in Aren," Bult pointed out.

"Yes, sir.  However, once news reaches them that we are in Ubaryd, the obvious course will be clear."

"You mean they will hasten to relieve us?"  Bult's frown was exaggerated.  "Now I am confused, Captain.  The High Fist holds his army in Aren.  More, he holds the entire Seven Cities fleet as well.  Neither has moved in months.  He has had countless opportunities to despatch either force to our aid.  Tell me, Captain, in your family's hunting estates, have you ever seen a deer caught in a lantern light?  How it stands, frozen, unable to do anything?  The High Fist Pormqual is that deer.  Coltaine could deliver this train to a place three miles up the coast from Aren and Pormqual would not set forth to deliver us.  Do you truly believe that an ever greater plight, such as you envisage for us in Ubaryd, will shame the High Fist into action?"

"I was speaking more of Admiral Nok-"

"Who is dead, sick, or in a dungeon, Captain.  Else he would have sailed long ere now.  One man rules Aren, and one man alone.  Will you place your life in his hands, Captain?"

Heboric pretty much explains the majority of later Roman Imperial history: the Praetorian Guard really rule.

Quote"I have fears, lass-"

"I'm not surprised," she cut in.  "That Toblakai means to kill you."

"Not that fool.  I mean Leoman."

"He was Sha'ik's bodyguard.  If I am to become her, I'll not need to mistrust his loyalty, Heboric.  My only concern is that he and the Toblakai did such a poor job of protecting Sha'ik the first time around."

"Leoman is no fanatic," the ex-priest said.  "Oh, he might well make the appropriate noises to lead you to believe otherwise, but there is an ambivalence in him.  I don't for a moment believe that he thinks you are truly Sha'ik reborn.  The simple fact is the rebellion needs a figurehead – a young, strong one, not the worn-down old woman that the original Sha'ik must have been.  Hood's breath, she was a force in this desert twenty-five years ago.  You might want to consider the possibility that these two bodyguards didn't break a sweat in their efforts to defend her."

She looked at him.  The tattoos made an almost solid whirling pattern on his weathered, toad-like face.  His eyes were red and rimmed in dried mucus and a thin, grey patina dulled his pupils.  "Then I can assume they will have greater cause this time around."

"Provided you play their game.  Leoman's game, to be more precise.  He will be the one to speak for you to the army at the encampment – if he has cause he will hint at doubts, and they will tear you apart."

QuoteColtaine swung his horse around at their approach.  "Historian, I have called yet again for the captain of the company of Engineers.  I begin to believe the man does not exist – tell me, have you ever seen him?"

Duiker shook his head.  "I am afraid not, although I have been assured he still lives, Fist."

"By whom?"

The historian frowned.  "I... I can't actually recall."

"Precisely.  It occurs to me that the sappers have no captain, and they'd rather not acquire one."

"That would be a rather complicated deceit to carry off, Fist."

"You feel they are incapable?"

"Oh no, sir, not at all."

Leoman proves he's not just some simple desert warrior

Quote"Eleven tribes.  Forty thousand of the best-trained cavalry the world has ever seen."

Heboric grunted.  "And what can cavalry do against legions of infantry, Leoman?"

The desert warrior grinned.  "Only change the face of war, old man."

"It's been tried before," Heboric said.  "What has made the Malazan military so successful is its ability to adapt, to alter tactics – even on the field of battle.  You think the Empire has not met horse cultures before, Leoman?  Met, and subdued.  A fine example would be the Wickans, or the Seti."

"And how did the Empire succeed?"

"I am not the historian for such details – they never interested me.  Had you a library with Imperial texts – works by Duiker and Tallobant – you could read for yourself.  Assuming you can read Malazan, that is."

"You define the limits of their region, the map of their seasonal rounds.  You take and hold water sources, building forts and trading posts – for trade weakens your enemy's isolation, the very source of their power.  And, depending on how patient you are, you either fire the grasslands and slaughter every animal on four legs, or you wait, and to every band of youth that rides into your settlements, you offer the glory of war and booty in foreign lands, with the promise to keep them intact as a fighting unit.  Such a lure plucks the flower from those tribes, until none but old men and old women mutter about the freedom that once existed," Leoman replied.

"Ah, someone's done their reading, then."

"Aye, we possess a library, Heboric.  A vast one, at Sha'ik Elder's insistence.  "Know your enemy better than they know themselves."  So said Emperor Kellanved."

Coltaine has finally found the Captain of the Engineers, and demoted him.

Quote"From what I gathered, you never asked anyone's advice when you were captain."

"Aye, that's a fact."

"Nor did you attend any staff meetings."

"No, sir."

"And why was that?"

Mincer shrugged.

Captain Bungle spoke.  "Beauty sleep, sir.  That's what he always said."

"Hood knows the man needs it," Bult muttered.

Coltain raised an eyebrow.  "And did he sleep, Captain?  During those times?"

"Oh yes, sir.  He sleeps when we march too, sir.  Sleeps while walking – I've never seen the like.  Snoring away, sir, one foot in front of the other, a bag full of rocks on his back-"

"Rocks?"

"For when he breaks his sword, sir.  He throws them, and there ain't a damn thing he can't hit."

"Wrong," Mincer growled.  "That lapdog.."

Bult seemed to choke, then spat in sympathy.

Coltaine had his hands behind him, and Duiker saw them clench in a white-knuckled grip.  As if sensing his attention, the Fist called out without turning, "Historian!"

"I am here, Fist."

"You will record this?"

"Oh aye, sir.  Every blessed word."

"Excellent.  Engineers, you are dismissed."

The group wandered off, muttering.  One man clapped Mincer on the shoulder and received a blistering glare in return.

Coltaine watched them leave, then strode to Duiker, Bult and Lull following.  "Spirits below," Bult hissed.

Duiker smiled.  "Your soldiers, Commander."

"Aye," he said, suddenly beaming with pride.  "Aye."

"I did not know what to do," Coltaine confessed.

Lull grunted.  "You played it perfectly, Fist.  That was exquisite, no doubt already making the rounds as a Hood-damned full-blown legend, sir.  If they liked you before, they love you now, sir."

The Wickan remained baffled.  "But why?  I just demoted a man for unsurpassed bravery!"

"Returned him to the ranks, you mean.  And that lifted every one of them up, don't you see that?"

"But Mincer-"

"Never had so much fun in his life, I'd bet.  You can tell, when they get even uglier.  Hood knows, I can't explain it – only sappers know a sapper's way of thinking and behaving, and sometimes not even them."

There is no child immortality in this setting.  In fact, I think more children end up being killed than any other group. 

Quote"The youngest son," List said, staring down at the primitive tomb.  His face was frightening to look at, for it wore a father's grief, as raw as if the child's death was but yesterday – a grief that had, if anything, grown, with the tortured, unfathomable passage of two hundred thousand years.

He stands guard still, that Jaghut ghost.  The statement, a silent utterance that was both simple and obvious, nevertheless took the historian's breath away.  How to comprehend this...

"How old?"  Duiker's voice was as parched as the Odhan that awaited them.

"Five.  The T'lan Imass chose this place for him.  The effort of killing him would have proved too costly, given that the rest of the family still awaited them.  So they dragged the child here – shattered his bones, every one, as many times as they could on such a small frame – then pinned him beneath this rock."

Quote"But why?"  The question ripped from Duiker's throat.

"Pogroms need no reason, sir, none that can weather challenge, in any case.  Difference in kind is the first recognition, the only one needed, in fact.  Land, domination, pre-emptive attack – all just excuses, mundane justifications that do nothing but disguise the simple distinction.  They are not us.  We are not them."

"Did the Jaghut seek to reason with them, Corporal?"

"Many times, among those not thoroughly corrupted by power – the Tyrants – but you see, there was always an arrogance in the Jaghut, and it was a kind that could claw its way up your back when face to face.  Each Jaghut's interest was with him or herself.  Almost exclusively.  They viewed the T'lan Imass no differently from the way they viewed ants underfoot, herds on the grassland, or indeed the grass itself.  Ubiquitous, a feature of the landscape.  A powerful, emergent people, such as the T'lan Imass were, could not be but stung-"

"To the point of swearing a deathless vow?"

"I don't believe that, at first, the T'lan Imass realized how difficult the task of eradication would be.  Jaghut were very different in another way – they did not flaunt their power.  And many of their efforts in self-defence were...passive.  Barriers of ice – glaciers – they swallowed the lands around them, even the seas, swallowed whole continents, making them impassable, unable to support the food the mortal Imass required."

QuoteEvery throne is an arrow-butt.
-Emperor Kellanved

Quote"Even if the goddess did not guide you, someone or something else did.  Else Sha'ik would have never been given those visions."

"Now you speak of fate.  Argue that with your fellow scholars, Heboric. Not every mystery can be unravelled, much as you believe otherwise.  Sorry if that pains you..."

"Not half as sorry as I am.  But it occurs to me that even as mortals are but pieces on a gameboard, so too are the gods."

""Elemental forces in opposition,"" she said, smiling.

Heboric's brows rose, then he scowled.  "A quote.  A familiar one-"

It should be.  It's carved into the Imperial Gate in Unta, after all.  Kellanved's own words, as a means to justify the balance of destruction with creation – the expansion of the Empire, in all its hungry glory."

The Seventh Army has safely delivered the refugees to Aren, the last Malazan held city on the continent.  However, they are being heavily tested by Korbolo Dom, just outside the walls.

QuoteSoldiers of the Seventh, few with any armour left, held themselves in a solid ring around the others.  Many of them no longer raised weapons, yet stood their ground even as they were cut to pieces.  No quarter was given, every soldier who fell with wounds was summarily butchered – their helmets torn off, their forearms shattered as they sought to ward off the attacks, their skulls crumpling to multiple blows.

The stone beneath Duiker's hands had gone slick, sticky.  Iron lances of pain shot up his arms.  He barely noticed.

With a wrenching effort, the historian pulled back, reaching out red fingers to Pormqual-

The garrison commander blocked him, held him back.

The High Fist saw Duiker, flinched away.  "You do not understand!" he screamed.  "I cannot save them!  Too many!  Too many!"

"You can, you bastard!  A sortie can drive to that mound - a cordon, damn you!"

"No!  We'll be crushed!  I must not!"

The commander's low growl reached Duiker.  "You're right, Historian.  But he won't do it.  The High Fist won't let us save them-"

Duiker struggled to free himself from the man's grip, but was pushed back.

"For Hood's sake!" the commander snapped.  "We've tried – we've all tried-"

Mallick Rel stepped close, said softly, "My heart weeps, Historian.  The High Fist cannot be swayed-"

"This is murder!"

"For which Korbolo Dom shall pay, and dearly."

Duiker spun around, lurched back to the wall.

They were dying.  There, almost within reach – no, within a soldier's reach.  Anguish closed a black fist in the historian's gut.  I cannot watch.

Yet I must.

He saw fewer than a hundred soldiers still upright, but it had become a slaughter – the only battle that remained was among Korbolo's forces for the chance of delivering fatal blows and raising grisly trophies with triumphant shrieks.  The Seventh were falling, and falling, using naught but flesh and bone to shield their leaders – the ones who had led them across a continent, to die now, almost within the shadow of Aren's high walls.

And on those walls was ranged an army, ten thousand fellow soldiers to witness this, the greatest crime ever committed by a Malazan High Fist.

Mallick Rel is not as smart as he likes to think

QuoteThe Jhistal dismounted, stepped forward and bowed.  "I deliver you High Fist Pormqual and his ten thousand.  More, I deliver to you the city of Aren, in Sha'ik's name-"

"Wrong," Duiker chuckled.

Mallick Rel faced him.

"You've not delivered Aren, Jhistal."

"What claims do you make now, old man?"

"I'm surprised you didn't notice," the historian said.  Too busy gloating, I guess.  Take a close look at the companies around you, especially those to the south..."

Mallick's eyes narrowed as he scanned the gathered legions.  Then he paled.  "Blistig!"

"Seems the commander and his garrison decided to stay behind after all.  Granted, they're only two or three hundred, but we both know that will be enough – for the week or so until Tavore arrives.  Aren's walls are high, well impregnated these days with Otataral, I believe – proof against any sorcery.  Thinking on it, I would predict there are Red Blades lining those walls now, as well as the garrison.  You have failed in your betrayal, Jhistal.  Failed."

Not that this is any mercy to the soldiers who followed them out

Quote"Silence!" Korbolo snapped.  He eyed Duiker.  "You are the historian who rode with Coltaine."

The historian faced him.  "I am."

"You are a soldier."

"As you say."

"I do, and so you shall die with these soldiers, in a manner no different-"

"You mean to slaughter ten thousand unarmed men and women, Korbolo Dom?"

"I mean to cripple Tavore before she even sets foot on this continent.  I mean to make her too furious to think.  I mean to crack that façade so she dreams of vengeance day and night, poisoning her every decision."

"You always fashioned yourself as the Empire's harshest Fist, didn't you, Korbolo Dom?  As if cruelty's a virtue..."

And finally, a single D'ivers has found the gate Iskaral Pust worked so hard to hide, but gives possibly the best possible reason for not wanting to Ascend and become a god:

Quote"What is your name, D'ivers?"

"Morgora, and I've been with you for months.  Months!  I saw you lay the false trail – I saw you painting those hand and paw marks on the rocks!  I saw you move that stone to the forest's edge!  My kin may be idiots, but I am not!"

"You'll never get to the real gate!" Iskaral Pust shrieked.  "Never!"

"I - don't – want - to!" 

His eyes narrowed on her sharp-featured face.  He began circling her.  "Indeed," he crooned, "and why is that?"

Twisting to keep him in front of her, she crossed her arms and regarded him down the length of her nose.  "I escaped Dal Hon to be rid of idiots.  Why would I become Ascendant just to rule over other idiots?"

Book Three: Memories of Ice

Toc the Younger is clearly somewhat taken with myths of noble savages, living in harmony with nature.  Tool sets him straight

QuoteThe T'lan Imass reached out to rest the tips of its bony fingers on the Ay's broad head.  The animal went perfectly still.  "An old friend?  Yes, we adopted such animals into our tribes.  It was that or see them starve.  We were, you see, responsible for that starvation."

"Responsible?  As in overhunting?  I'd have thought your kind was one with nature.  All those spirits, all those rituals of propitiation-"

"Toc the Younger," Tool interrupted, "do you mock me, or your own ignorance?  Not even the lichen of the tundra is at peace.  All is struggle, all is a war for dominance.  Those who lose, vanish."

"And we're no different, you're saying-"

"We are, soldier.  We possess the privilege of choice.  The gift of foresight.  Though we often come too late in acknowledging those responsibilities..."

Sun Tzu did not say explicitly that the best form of fighting is to steal your enemies' provisions and run away really fast, but I'm fairly certain it was implied.

QuoteDujek was frowning.  "Where is the Crimson Guard?"

"Prince K'azz D'Avore and his forces are attending to internal matters, for the moment, High Fist.  They will not be joining our efforts against the Pannion Domin."

"Too bad," Dujek muttered.

Brood shrugged.  "Auxiliary units have been assembled to replace them.  A Saltoan Horse Regiment, four clans of the Barghast, a mercenary company from One Eye Cat, and another from Mott-"

Whiskeyjack seemed to choke.  He coughed, then shook his head.  "That wouldn't be Mott Irregulars, Warlord, would it?"

Brood's smile revealed filed teeth.  "Aye, you've some experience with them, haven't you Commander?  When you soldiered among the Bridgeburners."

"They were a handful," Whiskeyjack agreed, "though not just in a fight – they spent most of their time stealing our supplies then running away, as I recall."

"A talent for logistics, we called it," Kallor commented.

The political situation in Capustan is explained.  Also, for people who played Civilization II, a very unfortunate reason as to why the Fanatic Unit needs no support is given here.,

Quote"The situation in Capustan is a bit confused," the warlord explained.  "The city's ruled by a prince and a coalition of High Priests, and the two factions are ever at odds with each other.  Problems have been compounded by the prince's hiring a mercenary company to augment his own minimal forces-"

"Which company?" Whiskeyjack asked.

"The Grey Swords.  Have you heard of them, Commander?"

"No."

"Nor have I," Brood said.  "It's said they are from Elingarth – a decent complement: over seven thousand.  Whether they'll prove worthy of the usurious fees they've carved from the prince remains to be seen.  Hood knows, their so-called standard contract is almost twice the coin of what the Crimson Guard demands."

"Their commander read the situation," Kallor commented, his tone suggesting vast weariness, if not outright boredom.  "Prince Jelarkan has more coin than soldiers, and the Pannions won't be bought off – it's a holy war as far as the Seer's concerned, after all.  To worsen matters, the council of High Priests has the backing of each temple's private company of highly trained, well equipped soldiers.  That's almost three thousand of the city's most able fighters, whilst the prince himself has been left with the dregs for his own Capanthall – which he's prevented by expanding beyond two thousand by law.  For years the Mask Council – the coalition of temples – has been using the Capanthall as a recruiting ground for their own companies, bribing away the best-"

Clearly the Mhybe wasn't alone in suspecting that, given the opportunity, Kallor would have gone on all afternoon, for Whiskeyjack interrupted the man as he drew breath.

"So this Prince Jelarkan circumvented the law by hiring mercenaries.

"Correct," was Brood's swift reply.  "In any case, the Mask Council has managed to invoke yet another law, preventing the Grey Swords from active engagement beyond the city walls, so the crossing will not be contested-"

"Idiots," Dujek growled.  "Given this is a holy war, you'd think the temples would do all they could to effect a united front against the Pannions."

"I imagine they believe they are," Kallor answered with a sneer that could have been meant for Dujek, or the priests in Capustan, or both.  "While at the same time ensuring that the prince's power remains in check."

"It's more complicated than that," Brood countered.  "The ruler of Maurik capitulated with little bloodshed by arresting all the priests in her city and handing them over to the Pannions' Tenescowri.  In one move, she saved her city and its citizens, topped up her royal coffers with booty from the temples and got rid of an eternal thorn in her side.  The Pannion Seer granted her a governorship, which is better than being torn apart and devoured by the Tenescowri – which is what happened to the priests."

The Mhybe hissed.  "Torn apart and devoured?"

"Aye," the warlord said.  "The Tenescowri are the Seer's peasant army – they're fanatics that the Seer doesn't bother supplying.  Indeed, he's given them his holy blessing to do whatever is necessary to feed and arm themselves.  If certain other rumours are true, then cannibalism is the least of their horrors."

QuoteThe Malazan system of conquest followed a set of rules that was systematic and effective.  The victorious army was never meant to remain in place beyond the peacekeeping transition and handover to a firmly entrenched and fully functioning civil government in the Malazan style.  Civic control was not a burden the army had been trained for – it was best achieved through bureaucratic manipulation of the conquered city's economy.  "Hold those strings and the people will dance for you," had been the core belief of the Emperor, and he'd proved the truth of it again and again – nor did the Empress venture any alterations to the method.  Acquiring that control involved both imposition of legal authority and a thorough infiltration of whatever black market happened to be operating at the time.  "Since you can never crush a black market the next best thing is to run it."  And that task belonged to the Claw.

Tool, First Sword of the T'lan Imass, has doubts about his skills

Quote"She's a mage."

"The answer to that is before you."

"The hot bathwater appearing from nowhere, you mean."

Tool set the finished arrowhead down and reached for another blank.  "I meant the Seguleh, Toc the Younger."

The scout grunted.  "Ensorcelled – forced to serve her – Hood's breath, she's made them slaves!"

The T'lan Imass paused to regard him.  "This bothers you?  Are there not slaves in the Malazan Empire?"

"Aye.  Debtors, petty criminals, spoils of war.  But, Tool, these are Seguleh!  The most feared warriors on this continent.  Especially the way they attack without the slightest warning, for reasons they only know-"

"Their communication," Tool said, "is mostly non-verbal.  They assert dominance with posture, faint gestures, direction of stance and tilt of head."

Toc blinked.  "They do?  Oh.  Then why haven't I, in my ignorance, been cut down long ago?"

"Your unease in their presence conveys submission," the T'lan Imass replied.

"A natural coward, that's me.  I take it, then, that you show no...unease."

"I yield to no-one, Toc the Younger."

The Malazan was silent, thinking on Tool's words.  Then he said "that oldest brother – Mok – his mask bears but twin scars.  I think I know what that means and if I'm right..." He slowly shook his head.

The undead warrior glanced up, shadowed gaze not wavering from the scout's face.  "The young one who challenged me – Senu – was... good.  Hd I not anticipated him, had I not prevented him from fully drawing his swords, our duel might have been a long one."

Toc scowled.  How could you tell how good he was when he didn't even get his swords clear of their scabbards?"

"He parried my attacks with them, none the less."

Toc's lone eye slowly widened.  "He parried you with half-drawn blades?

"The first two attacks, yes, but not the third."

Sacrificing goats never helps.  Ever.

Quote"Now," Whiskeyjack drawled, "why don't you tell me what else you've got going on, Quick Ben?"

The mage blinked innocently.  "Sir?"

"You've visited every temple and every seer in Pale, mage.  You've spent a small fortune on readers of the Deck.  Hood, I've a report of you sacrificing a goat at dawn atop a barrow – what in the Abyss were you up to with that, Quick?"

"All right," the man muttered, "the goat thing stinks of desperation, I admit it.  I got carried away."

QuoteThe city's history was a tortured, bizarre tale, and it had been Itkovian's task among the company to glean its depths.  The Shield Anvil of the Grey Swords was a position that demanded both scholarly pursuits and military prowess.  While many would hold the two disciplines as distinct, the truth was in fact the opposite.

From histories and philosophies and religion came an understanding of human motivation, and motivation lay at the heart of tactics and strategy.  Just as people moved in patterns, so too did their thoughts.  A Shield Anvil must predict, anticipate, and this applied to the potential actions of allies as well as enemies.

Trake, the Tiger of Summer, Lord of War (contested) and Soletaken remembers how the First Empire ended:

QuoteI was there at the end, one of the few survivors once the T'lan Imass were done with us.  Brutal, merciful slaughter.  They had no choice – I see that now, though none of us were prepared to forgive.  Not then.  The wounds were too fresh.

Gods, we tore a warren to pieces on that distant continent.  Turned the eastlands into molten stone that cooled and became something that defied sorcery.  The T'lan Imass sacrificed thousands to cut away the cancer we had become.  It was the end, the end of wall that promise, all that bright glory.  The end of the First Empire.  Hubris, to have claimed a name that rightly belonged to the T'lan Imass...

We fled, a handful of survivors.  Ryllandaras, an old friend – we fell out, clashed, then clashed again on another continent.  He had gone the farthest, found a way to control the gifts – Soletaken and D'ivers both.  White Jackal.  Ay'tog.  Agkor.  And my other companion, Messremb – where has he gone?  A kind soul, twisted by madness, yet so loyal, ever loyal..

Ascending.  Fierce arrival – the First Heroes.  Dark, savage.

Brukhalian has doubts about the effectiveness of the help on its way, but thinks he can still turn it to his advantage:

QuoteRelief of Capustan, it seemed, was not their primary goal.  An attempt would be made, but the Mortal Sword began to suspect it would be characterized by feints and minor skirmishes – rather than a direct confrontation.  This led Brukhalian to suspect that Caladan Brood's vaunted army, worn down by years of war with this Malazan Empire, had either lost the will to fight, or was so badly mauled that its combat effectiveness was virtually gone.

None the less, he could still think of ways in which to make these approaching allies useful.  Often, the perception of threat was sufficient... if we can hurt the Septarch badly enough to make him lose his nerve upon the imminent arrival of Brood's relieving army.  Or, if the defence crumbled, then an avenue of withdrawal for the Grey Swords was possible.

BRUKHALIAN IS NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR EPIC TALE

QuoteA face of pallid, lined skin over taut bones, eyes set deep within ridged sockets and brow, the glimmer of tusks protruding above the lower lip.  The figure's mouth curved into a faint, mocking smile.  "Fener's Mortal Sword," he said in the language of the Elin, his voice low and soft, "I bring you greetings from Hood, Lord of Death."

Brukhalian grunted, said nothing.

"Warrior," the apparition continued after a moment, "your reaction to my arrival seems almost...laconic.  Are you truly as calm as you would have me believe?"

"I am Fener's Mortal Sword," Brukhalian replied.

"Yes," the Jaghut drawled.  "I know.  I, on the other hand, am Hood's Herald, once known as Gethol.  The tale that lies behind my present...servitude, is more than worthy of an epic poem.  Or three.  Are you not curious?"

"No."

The gods are scheming bastards.  Surprise!

Quote"What does Hood propose, sir?"

"This city is doomed, Mortal Sword.  Yet your formidable army need not join in the inevitable crush at Hood's Gate.  Such a sacrifice would be pointless, and indeed a great loss.  The Pannion Domin is no more than single, rather minor, element in a much vaster war – a war in which all the gods shall partake...allied one and all...against an enemy who seeks nothing less than the annihilation of all rivals.  Thus.  Hood offers you his warren, a means of extrication for you and your soldiers.  Yet you must choose quickly, for the warren's path here cannot survive the arrival of the Pannion's forces."

"What you offer, sir, demands the breaking of our contract."

The Herald's laugh was contemptuous.  "As I most vehemently told Hood, you humans are a truly pathetic lot.  A contract?  Scratchings on vellum.  My lord's offer is not a thing to be negotiated."

"And in accepting Hood's warren," Brukhalian said quietly, "the face of our patron changes, yes? Fener's...inaccessibility... has made him a liability.  And so Hood acts quickly, eager to strip the Boar of Summer's mortal servants, preferably intact, to thereafter serve him and him alone."

"Foolish man," Gethol sneered.  "Fener shall be the first casualty in the war with the Crippled God.  The Boar shall fall – and none can save him."

Well, at least she had semi-regular baths

Quote"It's always the way, isn't it?  A civilization flowers, then a horde of grunting savages with close-set eyes show up and step on it.  Malazan Empire take note."

""Never ignore the barbarians,"" Toc muttered.  "Emperor Kellanved's words."

"Surprisingly wise.  What happened to him?"

"He was murdered by a woman with close-set eyes... But she was from civilized stock.  Napan... if you can call Napans civilized.  From the heart of the empire, in any case."

Picker has had a revelation about her particular squad of Bridgeburners: they're all fucked in the head.

QuoteConvulsed in his own fits, Hedge had rolled perilously close to the flames.  Picker stretched out one booted foot and kicked the sapper.  "Everyone calm down," she snapped.  "Before the whole squad gets burnt crispy.  Hood's breath!"

In the gloom at her side, Blend spoke.  "We're dying of boredom, Corporal, that's the problem."

"If boredom was fatal there wouldn't be a soldier alive on this whole world, Blend.  Feeble excuse.  The problem's simple: starting with the sergeant writhing around over there, the whole Oponn-cursed squad is insane."

"Except for you, of course-"

"You kissing my dung-stained boots, lass?  Wrong move.  I'm crazier than the rest of you.  If I wasn't, I'd have run off long ago.  Gods, look at these idiots.  Got a mage wearing his dead mother's hair and every time he opens his warren, we get attacked by snarling ground squirrels.  Got a sapper with permanent flashburns whose bladder must be a warren unto itself since I ain't seen him wander off once and it's three days running now at this camp.  Got a Napan woman being stalked by a rogue bhederin bull that's either blind or sees a lot more than we do when he looks at her.  And then there's a healer who went and got himself so badly sunburned he's running a fever."

"Don't bother mentioning Antsy," Blend murmured.  "The sergeant would top anyone's list as a wall-eyed lunatic-"

"I wasn't done.  Got a woman who likes sneaking up on her friends.  And finally," she added in a low growl, "we've got dear old Antsy.  Nerves of cold iron, that one.  Convinced the gods themselves have snatched Quick Ben and it's all Ansty's own fault.  Somehow."

Capustan's walls are breached.  However, not everything is going well for the enemy forces...

Quote"The Pannions had reached through to Tular Camp, Shield Anvil.  Senar Camp had fallen – its inhabitants slaughtered.  Everyone.  Children – sir – I am sorry, but the horror remains with me..."

"Go on."

"Jehbar Tower was surrounded, its defenders besieged.  Such was the situation on my arrival, sir.  Our soldiers were scattered, fighting in clumps, many of them surrounded.  We were being cut down everywhere I looked."  He paused, drew a ragged breath, then continued. 

"Such was the situation upon my arrival.  As I prepared to return to you with the news, I was...absconded-"

"You were what?"

"Apologies, sir.  I can think of no other word.  A foreigner appeared, with but half a score of Capan followers, a militia of sorts, sir.  And a Lestari sergeant.  The man took charge – of everyone, myself included.  Shield Anvil, I argued-"

"Clearly this man was persuasive.  Resume your tale, sir."

"The foreigner had his own soldiers break down the door into Tular Camp.  He demanded that its inhabitants come out and fight.  For their children-"

"And he convinced them?"

"Sir, he held in his arms what was left of a child from Senar Camp.  The enemy, sir – the Pannions – someone had begun to eat that child-" Karnadas moved up behind the young man, hands settling on his shoulders.

"He convinced them," Itkovian said.

The messenger nodded.  "The foreigner – he then....he then took what was left of the child's tunic, and has made of it a standard.  I saw it myself.  Sir, I ceased arguing then – I'm sorry-"

"I understand you, sir."

"There was no shortage of weapons.  The Tular Capanthall armed themselves – four, five hundred came out.  Men and women.  The foreigner had sent out his own followers and they began returning.  With them, surviving bands of Capanthall soldiery, a few Gidrath, Coralessian, and Grey Swords, sir.  The Trimaster had been killed, you see-"

"The foreigner rallied them," Itkovian cut in.  "Then what?"

"We marched to the relief of Jehbar Tower, sir.  Shield Anvil, behind that horrible banner, we delivered slaughter."

"The condition of the tower?"

"Ruined, sir.  Alas.  There were but twenty survivors among the Capanthall, defending it.  They are now with the foreigner.  I, uh, returned to my responsibilities then, sir, and was given leave to report to you-"

"Generous of this stranger.  What was the disposition of the militia at this time?"

"They were about to sortie through the rubble of the West Gate, sir-"

"What?"

"A Beklite company was coming up to reinforce the attackers inside the city.  But those attackers were all dead.  The foreigner planned on surprising them with that fact."

"Twin Tusks, who is this man?"

The T'lan Imass's side of the story:

Quote"Have none of you ever wondered," Silverfox said, looking at each of them, "why the T'lan Imass warred with the Jaghut?"

"Perhaps an explanation," Dujek said, "will assist us in understanding."

Silverfox gave a sharp nod.  "When the first Imass emerged, they were forced to live in the shadow of the Jaghut.  Tolerated, ignored, but only in small, manageable numbers.  Pushed to the poorest of lands.  Then Tyrants arose among the Jaghut, who found pleasure in enslaving them, in forcing upon them a nightmarish existence – that successive generations were born into and so knew of no other life, nothing of freedom itself.

The lesson was hard, not easily swallowed, for the truth was this: there were intelligent beings in the world who exploited the virtues of others, their compassion, their love, their faith in kin.  Exploited and mocked.  How many Imass tribes discovered that their gods were in fact Jaghut Tyrants?  Hidden behind friendly masks.  Tyrants, who manipulated them with weapons of faith.

The rebellion was inevitable, and it was devastating for the Imass.  Weaker, uncertain even of what it was they sought, or what freedom would show them should they find it... But we would not relent.  We could not."

Kallor sneered.  "There were never more than but a handful of Tyrants among the Jaghut, woman."

"A handful was too many, and aye, we found allies among the Jaghut – those for whom the activities of the Tyrants were reprehensible.  But we now carried scars.  Scars born of mistrust, of betrayal.  We could trust only in our own kind.  In the name of our generations to come, all Jaghut would have to die. None could be left, to produce more children, to permit among those children the rise of new Tyrants."

"And how," Korlat asked, "does this relate to the K'Chain Che'Malle?"

"Before the Jaghut ruled this world, the K'Chain Che'Malle ruled.  The first Jaghut were to the K'Chain Che'Malle as the first Imass were to the Jaghut."  She paused, her heavy gaze moving among them all.  "In each species is born the seeds of domination.  Our wars with the Jaghut destroyed us, as a living people, as a vibrant, evolving culture.  This was the price we paid, to ensure the freedom you know possess.  Our eternal sacrifice."  She felt silent once more, then continued in a harder tone, "So, now, I ask you – all of you, who have taken upon yourselves the task of waging war against a tyrannical, all-devouring empire, of possibly sacrificing your own lives to the benefit of peoples who know nothing of you, of lands you have never seen and will never set foot upon – I ask you, what is there about the T'lan Imass that still escapes understanding?  Destroy the Pannion Domin.  It must be done.  For me, for my T'lan Imass, awaits the task of destroying the threat hiding behind the Pannion Seer."

Whiskeyjack has remarkable feet (uncomfirmed)

Quote"Damned right.   Whiskeyjack should've been Emperor, when the old one got knocked off.  Not Laseen.  But she knew who her rival was, didn't she just.  That's why she stripped him of rank, turned him into a Hood-damned sergeant and sent him away, far away."

"An ambitious man, this Whiskeyjack, then."

"Not in the least, Daru.  And that's the whole point.  Would've made a good Emperor, I said.  Not wanting the job is the best and only qualification worth considering."

"A curious assertion, dear."

"I ain't."

"Pardon, you ain't what?"

"Curious.  Listen, the Malazan Empire would be a far different thing, if Whiskeyjack had taken the throne all those years ago.  If he'd done what we all wanted him to do and grabbed Laseen by the scruff of her neck and sent her through a tower window."

"And was he capable of such a remarkable feat?"

The two marines looked confused.  One turned to her companion.  "Seen him out of his boots?"

The other shook her head.  "No.  Still, they might be remarkable.  Why not?"

"Then it'd be a boot to the backside, but I said the scruff of the neck."

"Well, feet that could do that would be remarkable, wouldn't they?"

"You got a point, friend."

"Ahem," Kruppe interrupted.  "A remarkable feat, dears.  As in, achievement."

"Oh."

"Oh yeah, right.  Got it.  So you're asking could he have done it if he'd a mind to?  Sure.  Not good to cross Whiskeyjack, and if that's not enough, he's got wits."

"So, why then, Kruppe asks in wonder, did he not do so at the time?"

"Because he's a soldier, you idiot.  Laseen's taking back the throne was messy enough.  The whole empire was shaky.  People start stabbing and jumping into a blood-wet throne room and sometimes it don't stop, sometimes it's like dominoes, right?  One after another after another, and the whole thing falls apart.  He was the one we all looked to, right?  Waiting to see how he'd take it, Laseen and all that.  And when he just saluted and said, "Yes, Empress," well, things just settled back down.

Itkovian shows why a Shield Anvil can be the most fearsome enemy you can ever have the misfortune of facing:

QuoteOn the centre of the table was a huge silver plate, on which had been made a fire from snapped chair legs and picture frames – mostly charcoal now. Spitted above it was the remains of a skinned human torso, no longer being turned, underside blackening. Severed at the knees, the two thighs bound as one by copper wire. Arms pulled off at the shoulders, though they too had once been tied. Head left on, split and charred. Knives had sliced off the flesh in places all over the body. Thighs, buttocks, chest, back, face. But this, Itkovian knew, had not been a feast born of hunger. These Tenescowri in this room looked better fed than any other he had yet seen. No, here, this night, had been a celebration. To the left of the throne, half in shadow, was an X-shaped cross made from two pikes. On it was stretched Prince Jelarkan's skin.

'The dear prince was dead before we began cooking,' the young man on the throne said. 'We are not consciously cruel, after all. You are not Brukhalian, for Brukhalian is dead. You must be Itkovian, the so-called Shield Anvil of Fener.'

Seerdomin appeared from behind the throne, pale-armoured and helmed, fur-backed, their faces hidden by grilled face-baskets, heavy battleaxes in their gauntleted hands. Four, eight, a dozen. Twenty. And still more filed out.

The man on the throne smiled. 'Your soldiers look ... tired. Unequal to this particular task. Do you know me, Itkovian? I am Anaster, First Child of the Dead Seed. Tell me, where are the people of this city? What have you done with them? Oh, let me guess. They cower in tunnels beneath the streets. Guarded by a handful of surviving Gidrath, a company or two of your Grey Swords, some of the prince's Capan Guard. I imagine Prince Arard hides below as well. A shame, that. We have wanted him a long time. Well, the search for the hidden entrances continues. They shall be found. Capustan shall be cleansed, Shield Anvil, though, alas, you will not live to see that glorious day.'

Itkovian studied the young man, and saw what he had not expected to see. 'First Child,' he said. 'There is despair within you. I will take it from you, sir, and with it your burdens.'

Anaster jolted as if he had been physically struck. He drew his knees up, climbed onto the seat of the throne, face twitching. A hand closed on the strange obsidian dagger in his belt, then flinched away as if the stone was hot. His mother screamed, clawed up her son's outstretched arm. Snarling, he pulled himself free. She sank down to the floor, curled up.

'I am not your father,' Itkovian continued, 'but I shall be as him. Unleash your flood, First Child.'

The young man stared, lips peeling back to bare his teeth. 'Who – what are you?' he hissed.

The captain stepped forward. 'We forgive your ignorance, sir,' she said. 'He is the Shield Anvil. Fener knows grief, so much grief that it is beyond his capacity to withstand it. And so he chooses a human heart. Armoured. A mortal soul, to assume the sorrow of the world. The Shield Anvil.

'These days and nights have witnessed vast sorrow, profound shame – all of which, we see now, is writ as plain knowledge in your eyes. You cannot deceive yourself, sir, can you?'

'You never could,' Itkovian said. 'Give me your despair, First Child. I am ready to receive it.'

Anaster's wail rang through the main hall. He clambered still further up the throne's high back, arms wrapping around himself. All eyes held on him. No-one moved. Chest heaving, the First Child stared at Itkovian. Then he shook his head. 'No,' he whispered, 'you shall not have my – my despair.'

The captain hissed.  'This is a gift! First Child—'

'Not!'

Itkovian seemed to sag. Sword-point wavering, lowering. The recruit moved close to support the Shield Anvil.

'You cannot have it! You cannot have it!'

The captain's eyes were wide as she turned to Itkovian. 'Sir, I am unable to countenance this—'

The Shield Anvil shook his head, slowly straightened once more. 'No, I understand. The First Child – within him there is naught but despair. Without it...' He is as nothing.

'I want them all killed!' Anaster shrieked brokenly. 'Seerdomin! Kill them all!'

Gruntle only wants to be the Mortal Sword of Trake on weekends and the occasional late evening.

Quote'I believe we have matters to discuss, you and I, Mortal Sword.'

'You believe what you like,' the Daru replied. 'I've already made it plain to the Whiskered One that I'm a bad choice—'

Rath'Trake seemed to choke. 'The Whiskered One?' he sputtered in indignation. Stonny laughed, and clouted the priest on the shoulder. 'He's a reverent bastard, ain't he just?'

'I don't kneel to anyone,' Gruntle growled. 'And that includes gods. And if scrubbing would do it, I'd get these stripes off my hide right now.'

The priest rubbed his bruised shoulder, the eyes within the feline mask glaring at Stonny. At Gruntle's words he faced the Daru again.

'These are not matters open to debate, Mortal Sword. You are what you are—'

'I'm a caravan guard captain, and damned good at it. When I'm sober, that is.'

'You are the master of war in the name of the Lord of Summer—'

'We'll call that a hobby.'

'A – a what!?'

More Malazan tactics:

QuoteThe details before the commander were precise in following the Malazan doctrine of set battles, as devised by Dassem Ultor decades past. Shield-locked lines and squares worked best in defending engagements. When delivering chaos into massed enemy ranks in an assault, however, it was found that smaller, tighter units worked best. A successful advance that drove the enemy back often lost its momentum, and, indeed, its contact with the retreating foes, amidst a corpse-cluttered ground and the need to maintain closed ranks. Almost a thousand four-squad wedges, of thirty-five to forty soldiers each, on the other hand, actually delayed the moment of rout. Flight was more difficult, communication problematic, and lines of sight to fellow soldiers often broken – none knew what the others were doing, and in the face of that uncertainty, they often hesitated before fleeing – a fatal option.

The Empire aint all bad:

Quote'The Pannion Domin—'

'Is just another empire,' the Lord of Moon's Spawn drawled. 'And as such, its power represents a threat. Which we are intending to obliterate. Liberation of the commonalty may well result, but it cannot be our goal. Free an adder and it will still bite you, given the chance.'

'So we are to crush the Pannion Seer, only to have some High Fist of the Malazan Empire take his place?' Rake handed the warlord a cup of wine. The Tiste Andii's eyes were veiled, almost sleepy as he studied Brood.

'The Domin is an empire that sows horror and oppression among its own people,' Rake said. 'None of us here would deny that. Thus, for ethical reasons alone, there was just cause for marching upon it.'

'Which is what we've been saying all along—'

'I heard you the first time, Kallor. Your penchant for repetition is wearisome. I have described but one ... excuse. One reason. Yet it appears that you have all allowed that reason to overwhelm all others, whilst to my mind it is the least in importance.' He sipped his wine, then continued. 'However, let us stay with it for a moment. Horror and oppression, the face of the Pannion Domin. Consider, if you will, those cities and territories on Genabackis that are now under Malazan rule. Horror? No more so than mortals must daily face in their normal lives. Oppression? Every government requires laws, and from what I can tell Malazan laws are, if anything, among the least repressive of any empire I have known.

'Now. The Seer is removed, a High Fist and Malazan-style governance replaces it. The result? Peace, reparation, law, order.' He scanned the others, then slowly raised a single eyebrow. 'Fifteen years ago, Genabaris was a fetid sore on the northwest coast, and Nathilog even worse. And now, under Malazan rule? Rivals to Darujhistan herself. If you truly wish the best for the common citizens of Pannion, why do you not welcome the Empress?'

Quote'The truth is simple – to me at least. Brood, you and I, we have fought the Malazans as liberators in truth. Asking no coin, no land. Our motives aren't even clear to us – imagine how they must seem to the Empress? Inexplicable. We appear to be bound to lofty ideals, to nearly outrageous notions of self-sacrifice. We are her enemy, and I don't think she even knows why.'

'Sing me the Abyss,' Kallor sneered. 'In her Empire there would be no place for us – not one of us.'

'Does that surprise you?' Rake asked. 'We cannot be controlled. The truth laid bare is we fight for our own freedom. No borders for Moon's Spawn. No world-spanning peace that would make warlords and generals and mercenary companies obsolete. We fight against the imposition of order and the mailed fist that must hide behind it, because we're not the ones wielding that fist.'

'Nor would I ever wish to,' Brood growled.

'Precisely. So why begrudge the Empress possessing the desire and its attendant responsibilities?'

Assassins: they're people who simplify matters.

QuoteMy point is, if we're to escape this – with her – we've a better chance of finding help in Capustan than out here in this wasteland.'

'Saltoan—'

'Is a week or more away, longer with this wagon. Besides, the city is Hood's crusted navel incarnate. I wouldn't take Rallick Nom's axe-wielding mother to Saltoan.'

Murillio sighed. 'Rallick Nom.'

'What of him?'

'I wish he were here.'

'Why?'

'So he could kill someone. Anyone. The man's a wonder at simplifying matters.'

Coll grunted a laugh. ' "Simplifying matters." Wait until I tell him that one. Hey, Rallick, you're not an assassin, you know, you're just a man who simplifies.'

Quote'The Tenescowri, sir, is the Domin's surviving commonalty – people torn from their land, from their villages, their homes, their farms. All food production has ceased, and in its place has arisen the horror of cannibalism. The countryside before us is indeed razed, but not in answer to us. It has been a wasteland for some time, sir. Thus, while the flower still blazes its colour, it is in fact already dead.'

'Drying from a hook beneath the Crippled God's shelf?'

Itkovian shrugged. 'Caladan Brood and the High Fist have selected cities as their destinations. Lest, Setta, Maurik and Coral. Of these, I believe only the last still lives. None of the others would be able to feed a defending army; indeed, not even its own citizenry – if any still remain. The Seer has no choice but to concentrate his forces on the one city where he now resides, and his soldiers will have no choice but to assume the practices of the Tenescowri. I suspect that the Tenescowri were created for that eventual purpose – as food for the soldiers.'

Gruntle's expression was troubled. 'What you describe, Itkovian, is an empire that was never meant to sustain itself.'

'Unless it could continue to expand without surcease.'

'But even then, it would be alive only on its outer, ever-advancing edges, spreading out from a dead core, a core that grew with it.'

Itkovian nodded. 'Aye, sir.'

Quote'Whiskeyjack, we're the Malazans, remember? Nothing we do is ever supposed to reveal a hint of our long-term plans – mortal empires aren't supposed to think that far ahead. And we're damned good at following that principle, you and I. Hood take me, Laseen inverted the command structure for a reason, you know.'

'So the right people would be there at ground level when Shadowthrone and Cotillion made their move, aye.'

'Not just them, Whiskeyjack.'

'This should be made known to Quick Ben – to all of the Bridgeburners, in fact.'

'No. In any case, don't you think your wizard's figured things out yet?' 'If so, then why did he send Kalam after the Empress?'

'Because Kalam needs to be convinced in person, that's why. Face to face with the Empress. Quick Ben knew that.'

'Then I must be the only thick-witted one in this entire imperial game,' Whiskeyjack sighed.

'Maybe the only truly honourable one, at any rate. Look, we knew the Crippled God was getting ready to make a move. We knew the gods would make a mess of things. Granted, we didn't anticipate the Elder Gods getting involved, but that's neither here nor there, is it? The point was, we knew trouble was coming. From more than one direction – but how could we have guessed that what was going on in the Pannion Domin was in any way related to the efforts of the Crippled God?

'Even so, I don't think it was entirely chance that it was a couple of Bridgeburners who bumped into that agent of the Chained One – that sickly artisan from Darujhistan; nor that Quick Ben was there to confirm the arrival of the House of Chains. Laseen has always understood the value of tactical placement yielding results – Hood knows, she taught that to the Emperor, not the other way round. The Crippled God's pocket-warren wanders – it always has. That it wandered to the hills between Pale and Darujhistan was an opportunity the Crippled God could not pass up – if he was going to do anything, he had to act. And we caught him. Maybe not in a way we'd anticipated, but we caught him.'

Quote'Sometimes,' Artanthos said from a half-dozen paces away, 'it comes back and sinks its teeth into you, doesn't it?'
Whiskeyjack eyed the man. 'What does?'

'Dassem Ultor's style of command. Soldiers given permission to think, to question, to argue ...'

'Making us the best army this world has ever seen, Standard- Bearer.'

'None the less ...'

'There is no "none the less". It is the reason why we're the best. And when time comes for the hard orders, you'll see the discipline – you may not have seen it here and now, but it's there, under the surface, and it's solid.'

A disturbing theory about the warren of Meanas and what Shadowthrone truly rules:

Quote'The Tiste Edur are of Elder Shadow,' Quick Ben noted.

'Within the seas, shadows swim. Kurald Emurlahn. The Warren of the Tiste Edur, Elder Shadow, is broken, and has been lost to mortals.'

'Lost?' Quick Ben's brows rose. 'Never found, you mean. Meanas – where Shadowthrone and Cotillion and the Hounds dwell—'

'Is naught but a gateway,' the Moranth officer finished. Paran grunted.

'If a shadow could cast a shadow, that shadow would be Meanas – is that what you two are saying? Shadowthrone rules the guardhouse?'

Quick Ben grinned. 'What a delicious image, Captain.'

'A disturbing one,' he muttered in reply. The Hounds of Shadow – they are the guardians of the gate. Damn, that makes too much sense to be in error. But the warren is also shattered. Meaning, that gate might not lead anywhere. Or maybe it belongs to the largest fragment. Does Shadowthrone know the truth? That his mighty Throne of Shadows is ... is what? A castellan's chair? A gatekeeper's perch?

Mortal Sword is not a post that comes with a job description.

Quote'You said you are glad that I've come,' Gruntle rumbled. 'Why?'

'Well, you're a Mortal Sword, right? They're calling me one, too. I guess, uh, well. What does that mean, anyway?'

'You don't know?'

'No. Do you?'

Gruntle said nothing for a long moment, then he grinned. 'Not really.'

Book Four: House of Chains

Karsa Orlong seeks his father's blessing for a raid:

Quote"Then will you bless me?"

"What would you have me bless, son?  The Seven Gods who are a lie?  The glory that is empty?  Will I be pleased in your slaying of children?  In the trophies you will tie to your belt?  My father, Pahlk, would polish bright his own youth, for he is of that age.  What were his words of blessing, Karsa?  That you surpass his achievements?  I imagine not.  Consider his words carefully, and I expect you will find that they served him more than you."

QuoteMadness, if it was true, still plagued them, but this had nothing to do with what was eaten or drunk.  At times, the elders had explained, the burdens laid upon a man by the Seven proved too powerful.  A mind must be strong, and strength was found in faith.  For the weak man, for the man who knew doubt, rules and rites could become a cage and imprisonment led to madness.

Quote"We are warriors as you said, Karsa.  And we are young.  Wisdom belongs to old men."

"Yes, the elders," Karsa snapped.  "Who would not bless our journey!"

Bairoth laughed.  "That is our truth and we must carry it with us, unchanged and bitter in our hearts.  But upon our return, Warleader, we shall find that that truth has changed in our absence.  The blessing will have been given after all.  Wait and see."

Karsa's eyes widened.  "The elders will lie?"

"Of course they will lie.  And they will expect us to accept their new truths, and we shall – no, we must, Karsa Orlong.  The glory of our successes must serve to bind the people together – to hold it close is not only selfish, it is potentially deadly.  Think on this, Warleader.  We will be returning to the village with our own claims.  Aye, no doubt a few trophies with us to add proof to our tale, but if we do not share out that glory then the elders will see to it that our claims shall know the poison of disbelief."

"Disbelief?"

"Aye.  They will believe, but only if they can partake of our glory.  They will believe us, but only if we in turn believe them – their reshaping of the past, the blessing that was not given, now given, all the villagers lining our ride out.  They were all there, or so they will tell you, and, eventually, they will themselves come to believe it, and will have the scenes carved in their minds.  Does this still confuse you, Karsa?  If so, then we'd best not speak of wisdom."

QuoteBairoth made no move.  "You do not see what I see," he said quietly.  "There is potential within you, Karsa Orlong, to be your father's son.  I lied earlier when I said I prayed that you would remain free of doubt.  I pray for the very opposite, Warleader.  I pray that doubt comes to you, that it tempers you with its wisdom.  Those heroes in our legends, Karsa Orlong, they were terrible, they were monsters, for they were strangers to uncertainty."

Malazan doctrine summed up in a single sentence: clever beats nasty, every time

Quote"Let's kill him, Sergeant-"
"Enough of that.  Shard, Bell, go find the slavemaster.  Tell him we got his prize.  We'll hand him over, but not for nothing.  Oh, and do it quietly – I don't want the whole town outside here with pitchforks and torches."  The sergeant looked up as another soldier arrived.  "Nice work, Ebron."
"I damn near wet my pants, Cord," the man named Ebron replied, "when he just threw off the nastiest I had."
"Just shows, doesn't it?" Shard muttered.
"Show's what?" Ebron demanded.
"Well, only that clever beats nasty every time, that's all."

Torvald Nom wants your vows checked over by a lawyer then signed in triplicate

Quote"Very well.  I, Karsa Orlong of the Uryd, give my word."

"Good.  I like the formality of that vow.  Sounds like it's real."

"It is.  Do not mock me, else I kill you once I have freed you."

"Ah, now I see the hidden caveat.  I must twist another vow from you, alas-"

The Teblor growled with impatience, then relented and said, "I, Karsa Orlong, shall not kill you once I have freed you, unless given cause."

"Explain the nature of those causes-"

"Are all Daru like you?"

"It needn't be an exhaustive list.  "Cause" being, say, attempted murder, betrayal and mockery of course.  Can you think of any others?"

"Talking too much."

"Well, with that one we're getting into very grey, very murky shades, don't you think?  It's a matter of cultural distinctions-"

"I believe Darujhistan shall be the first city I conquer-"

"I've a feeling the Malazans will get there first, I'm afraid.  Mind you, my beloved city has never been conquered, despite being too cheap to hire a standing army.  The gods not only look down on Darujhistan with a protective eye, they probably drink in its taverns."

QuoteKarsa shrugged.  "The Malazan soldiers in Genabaris said the Seven Cities was going to rebel against their occupiers.  That is why the Teblor do not make conquests.  Better that the enemy keeps its land, so that we may raid it again and again."

"Not the imperial way," the Daru responded, shaking his head.  "Possession and control, the two are like insatiable hungers for some people.  Oh, no doubt the Malazans have thought up countless justifications for their wars of expansion.  It's well known the Seven Cities was a rat's warren of feuds and civil wars, leaving most of the population suffering and miserable and starving under the heels of fat warlords and corrupt priest-kings.  And that, with the Malazan conquest, the thugs ended up spiked to the city walls or on the run.  And the wilder tribes no longer sweep down out of the hills to deliver mayhem on their more civilized kin.  And the tyranny of the priesthoods was shattered, putting an end to human sacrifice and extortion.  And of course, the merchants have never been richer, or safer on these roads.  So, all in all, this land is rife for rebellion."

Karsa started at Torvald for a long moment, then said, "Yes, I can see how that would be true."

The Daru grinned.  "You're learning, friend."

"The lessons of civilization."

"Just so.  There's little value in seeking to find reasons for why people do what they do, or feel the way they feel.  Hatred is the most pernicious weed, finding root in any soil.  It feeds on itself."

"With words."

"Indeed, with words.  Form an opinion, say it often enough and pretty soon everyone is saying it right back at you, and then it becomes a conviction, fed by unreasoning anger and defended with weapons of fear.  At which point, words become useless and you're left with a fight to the death."

Karsa grunted.  "A fight beyond death, I would say."

"True enough.  Generation after generation."

Quote"The resurgence of the noble class in the chambers of imperial power has been uncommonly swift.  Indeed, one might say unnaturally so.  Almost as if they were receiving help – but who? we wondered.  Oh, absurd rumours of the return of the Talons persisted.  And every now and then some poor fool who'd been arrested for something completely unrelated went and confessed to being a Talon, but they were young, caught up in romantic notions and the lure of cults and whatnot.  They might well call themselves Talons, but they did not even come close to the real organisation, to Dancer's own – of which many of us Claw possessed firsthand experience.

In any case, back to the matter at hand.  Tavore is of noble blood, and it's now clear a truly covert element of the Talons has returned to plague us, and is making use of the nobility.  Placing sympathetic agents in the military and administration – a mutually profitable infiltration.  But Tavore is now the Adjunct, and as such, her old ties, her old loyalties, must needs be severed."  Pearl paused to tap a finger on the laid-out scroll before him.  "She has given us the Talons, Captain.  We will find this Baudin Younger, and from him we will unravel the entire organization."

Crokus wants a word with Cotillion:

Quote"I'd like some questions answered."

"Indeed."

"Yes.  Such as, why did you and Shadowthrone scheme to destroy Laseen and the empire?  Was it just a desire for revenge?"

The god seemed to flinch within his robes and Cutter felt unseen eyes harden.  "Oh my," Cotillion drawled, "you might force me to reconsider my offer."

"I would know," the Daru pressed on, "so I can understand what you did... did to Apsalar."

"You demand that your patron god justify his actions?"

"It wasn't a demand.  Just a question."

Cotillion said nothing for a long moment.

The fire was slowly dying, embers pulsating with the breeze.  Cutter sensed the presence of a second Hound somewhere in the darkness beyond, moving restlessly.

"Necessities," the god said quietly.  "Games are played, and what may appear precipitous might well be little more than a feint.  Or perhaps it was the city itself, Darujhistan, that would serve our purposes better if it remained free, independent.  There are layers of meaning behind every gesture, every gambit.  I will not explain myself any further than that, Cutter."

"Do – do you regret what you did?"

"You are indeed fearless, aren't you?  Regret?  Yes.  Many, many regrets.  One day, perhaps, you will see for yourself that regrets are as nothing.  The value lies in how they are answered."

Quote"They are as vermin, these humans of yours."

"Not mine," Onrack replied.

"You feel no pride, then, at their insipid success?"

The T'lan Imass cocked his head.  "They are prone to mistakes, Trull Sengar.  The Logros have killed them in their thousands when the need to reassert order made doing so necessary.  With ever greater frequency they annihilate themselves, for success breeds contempt for those very qualities that purchased it."

Quote"An army that waits is soon an army at war with itself" – Kellanved

QuoteHeboric shrugged.  His bag was nearly full.  "Alas, I possess my own prescient knowledge."  And little good it does me.  "The sundering of an ancient warren scattered fragments throughout the realms.  The Whirlwind Goddess possesses power, but it was not her own, not at first.  Just one more fragment, wandering lost and in pain.  What was the goddess, I wonder, when she first stumbled onto the Whirlwind?  Some desert tribe's minor deity, I suspect.  A spirit of the summer wind, protector of some whirlpool spring possibly.  One among many, without question.  Of course, once she made that fragment her own, it did not take long for her to destroy her old rivals, to assert complete, ruthless domination over the Holy Desert."

"A quaint theory, Ghost Hands," Felisin drawled.  "But it speaks nothing of the Seven Holy Cities, the Seven Holy Books, the prophecy of Dryjhna the Apocalyptic."

Heboric snorted.  "Cults feed upon one another, lass.  Whole myths co-opted to fuel the faith.  Seven Cities was born of nomadic tribes, yet the legacy preceding them was that of an ancient civilization, which in turn rested uneasy on the foundations of a still older empire – the First Empire of the T'lan Imass.  That which survives in memory or falters and fades away is but chance and circumstance."

Heboric is not impressed with the disease and violence at the heart of the rebellion against the Empire.

QuoteThe city was a microcosm of the Seven Cities, in Heboric's opinion.  Proof of all the ills the Malazan Empire had set out to cure as conquerors then occupiers.  There seemed few virtues to the freedoms to which the ex-priest had been witness, here in this place.  Yet he suspected he was alone in his traitorous thoughts.  The empire sentenced me a criminal, yet I remain a Malazan none the less.  A child of the empire, a reawakened devotee to the old emperor's "peace by the sword".  So, dear Tavore, lead your army to the heart of this rebellion, and cut it dead.  I'll not weep for its loss.

QuoteBidithal had not always been a High Mage.  Not in title, in any case.  In the Dhobri language, he had been known as Rashan'ais.  The archpriest of the cult of Rashan, which had existed in Seven Cities long before the Throne of Shadow had been reoccupied.  In the twisted minds of humanity, it seemed, there was nothing objectionable about worshipping an empty throne.  No stranger than kneeling before the Boar of Summer, before a god of war.

The cult of Rashan had not taken well the ascension of Ammanas – Shadowthrone – and the Rope into positions of penultimate power in the Warren of Shadow.  Though Heboric's knowledge of the details was sketchy at best, it seemed that the cult had torn itself apart.  Blood had been spilled within temple walls, and in the aftermath of desecrating murder, only those who acknowledged the mastery of the new gods remained among the devotees.  To the wayside, bitter and licking deep wounds, the banished slunk away.

Men like Bidithal.

Defeated but, Heboric suspected, not yet finished. For it is the Meanas temples of the Seven Cities that most closely mimic this ruin in architectural style... as if a direct descendant of this land's earliest cults...

Within the Whirlwind, the cast-out Rashan'ais had found refuge.  Further proof of his belief that the Whirlwind was but a fragment of a shattered warren, and that shattered warren was Shadow.  And if that is indeed the case, what hidden purpose holds Bidithal to Sha'ik?  Is he truly loyal to Dryjhna the Apocalyptic, to this holy conflagration in the name of liberty?  Answers to such questions were long in the coming, if at all.  The unknown player, the unseen current beneath this rebellion – indeed, beneath the Malazan Empire  itself – was the new ruler of Shadow and his deadly companion.  Ammanas Shadowthrone, who was Kellanved – the emperor of Malaz and conqueror of Seven Cities.  Cotillion, who was Dancer – master of the Talon and the empire's deadliest assassin, deadlier even than Surly.  Gods below, something breathes there... I now wonder, whose war is this?

Onrack has an encounter with the Titse Liosan, and a linguistic dispute:

QuoteEyes of cold silver fixed on the T'lan Imass with distaste.  "Do you speak, Lifeless One?  Can you understand the Language of Purity?"

"It seems no purer than any other," Onrack replied.

QuoteShrugging, Karsa strode to where his tool kit waited at the base of a tree.  "These years have served me well.  Your company, Leoman.  Sha'ik Elder.  I once vowed that the Malazans were my enemies.  Yet, from what I have seen of the world since that time, I now understand they are no crueller than any other lowlander.  Indeed, they alone seem to profess a sense of justice.  The people of Seven Cities, who so despise them and wish them gone – they seek nothing more than the power that the Malazans took from them.  Power that they used to terrorize their own people.  Leoman, you and your kind make war against justice, and it is not my war."

"Justice?" Leoman bared his teeth.  "You expect me to challenge your words, Toblakai?  I will not.  Sha'ik Reborn says there is no loyalty within me.  Perhaps she is right.  I have seen too much.  Yet here I remain – have you ever wondered why?"

Karsa drew out a chisel and mallet.  "The light fades – and that makes the shadows deeper.  It is the light, I now realize.  That is what is different about them."

"The Apocalyptic, Toblakai.  Disintegration.  Annihilation.  Everything.  Every human... lowlander.  With our twisted horrors – all that we commit on each other.  The depredations, the cruelties.  For every gesture of kindness and compassion, there are ten thousand acts of brutality.  Loyalty?  Aye, I have none.  Not for my kind, and the sooner we obliterate ourselves the better this world will be."

QuoteThe notion of a life spent tilling fields was repellent to the Teblor warrior.  The rewards seemed to be exclusive to the highborn landowners, whilst the labourers themselves had only a minimal existence, prematurely aged and worn down by the ceaseless toil.  And the distinction between high and low status was born from farming itself – or so it appeared to Karsa.  Wealth was measured in control over other people, and the grip of that control could never be permitted to loosen.  Odd, then, that this rebellion had nothing to do with such inequities, that in truth it had been little more than a struggle between those who would be in charge.

Yet the majority of the suffering had descended upon the lowborn, upon the common folk.  What matter the colour of the collar around a man's neck, if the chains linked to them were identical?

Better to struggle against helplessness, as far as he was concerned.  This blood-soaked Apocalypse was pointless, a misdirected explosion of fury that, when it passed, left the world unchanged.

Quote"Do you not see patterns in history, Fist?  Are you blind to the cycles we all suffer through?  Look upon this desert, this wasteland you would cross.  Yours is not the first empire that would claim it.  And what of the tribes?  Before the Khundryl, before the Kherahn Dhobri and the Tregyn, there were the Sanid, and the Oruth, and before them there were others whose names have vanished.  Look upon the ruined cities, the old roads.  The past is all patterns, and those patterns remain beneath our feet, even as the stars above reveal their own patterns – for the stars we gaze upon each night are naught but an illusion from the past."  He raised the jug again and studied it for a moment.  "Thus, the past lies beneath and above the present, Fist.  This is the truth my shamans embrace, the bones upon which the future clings like muscle."

QuoteUrugal shrugged.  "It is of no significance, Karsa Orlong.  A struggle of long ago, an enemy now dust, a failure best forgotten.  We have known wars beyond counting, and what have they achieved?  The Jaghut were doomed to extinction – we but hastened the inevitable.  Other enemies announced themselves and stood in our path.  We were indifferent to their causes, none of which was sufficient to turn us aside.  And so we slaughtered them.  Again and again.  Wars without meaning, wars that changed virtually nothing.  To live is to suffer.  To exist – even as we do – is to resist."

"This is all that was learnt, Karsa Orlong," said the T'lan Imass woman known as 'Siballe.  "In its totality.  Stone, sea, forest, city – and every creature that has ever lived – all share the same struggle.  Being resists unbeing.  Order wars against the chaos of dissolution, of disorder.  Karsa Orlong, this is the only worthy truth, the greatest of all truths.  What do the gods themselves worship, but perfection?  The unattainable victory over nature, over nature's uncertainty.  There are many words for this struggle.  Order against chaos, structure against dissolution, light against dark, life against death.  But they all mean the same thing."

QuoteKarsa smiled at the T'lan Imass he had once knelt before, in a distant glade, in a time of youth – when the world he saw was both simple and ... perfect.  "You are not gods."

"We are," Urugual replied.  "To be a god is to possess worshippers."

"To guide them," 'Siballe added.

"You are wong, both of you," Karsa said.  "To be a god is to know the burden of believers.  Did you protect?  You did not.  Did you offer comfort, solace?  Were you possessed of compassion?  Even pity?  To the Teblor, T'lan Imass, you were slavemasters, eager and hungry, making harsh demands and expecting cruel sacrifices – all to feed your own desires.  You were the Teblor's unseen chains."  His eyes settled on 'Siballe.  "And you, woman, 'Siballe the Unfound, you were the taker of children."

"Imperfect children, Karsa Orlong, who would otherwise had died.  And they do not regret my gifts."

"No, I would imagine not.  The regret remains with the mothers and fathers who surrendered them.  No matter how brief a child's life, the love of the parents is a power that should not be denied.  And know this, 'Siballe, it is immune to imperfection."  His voice was harsh in his own ears, grating out from a constricted throat.  "Worship imperfection, you said.  A metaphor you made real by demanding that those children be sacrificed.  Yet you were – and remain – unmindful of the most crucial gift that comes from worship.  You have no understanding of what it is ease the burdens of those who would worship you.  But even that is not your worst crime.  No.  You then gave us your own burdens."  He shifted his gaze.  "Tell me, Urugal, what have the Teblor done to deserve that?"

Karsa Orlong can sense an info dump at 10 paces

Quote"Once, Karsa Orlong, these were the dominant trees across most of the world.  All things know their time, and when that time is past, they vanish-"

"But this one hasn't."

"No sharper an observation could be made.  And why, you ask?"

"I do not bother, for I know you shall tell me in any case."

Kamist Reloe is very, very worried

QuoteKamist Reloe wrapped his arms about himself as he continued pacing.  "It's not who we know to be among us that is the source of my concerns, Korbolo Dom, it's who is among us that we do not know."

The Napan scowled.  "And how many hundreds of spies do we have in this camp?  And what of the Whirlwind Goddess herself – do you imagine she will permit the infiltration of strangers?"

"Your flaw, Korbolo Dom, is that you think in a strictly linear fashion.  Ask that question again, only this time ask it in the context of the goddess having suspicions about us."

The High mage was too distracted to notice the Napan's half-step forward, one hand lifting.  But Korbolo Dom's blow died at that very moment, as the import of Kamist Reloe's challenge reached him. 

His eyes slowly widened.  He then shook his head.  "No, that would be too great a risk to take.  A Claw let loose in this camp would endanger everyone – there would be no way to predict their targets-"

"Would there be a need to?"

"What do you mean?"

"We are the Dogslayers, Korbolo Dom.  The murderers of Coltaine, the Seventh and the legions at Aren.  More, we possess the mage cadre for the Army of the Apocalypse.  Finally, who will be commanding that army on the day of battle?  How many reasons do the Claw need to strike at us, at us specifically?  What chance would Sha'ik have if we were all dead?  Why kill Sha'ik at all?  We can fight this war without her and her damn goddess – we've done it before.  And we're about to-"

"Enough of that, Kamist Reloe.  I see your point.  So you fear that the goddess will permit a Claw to infiltrate ... in order to deal with us.  With you, Febryl and myself.  An interesting possibility, but I still think it remote.  The goddess is too heavy-handed, too ensnared by emotion, to think with such devious, insidious clarity."

"She does not have to initiate the scheme, Korbolo Dom. She need only comprehend the offer, and then decide whether to acquiesce or not.  It is not her clarity that is relevant, but that of Laseen's Claw.  And do you doubt the cleverness of Topper?"

Growling under his breath, Korbolo Dom looked away for a moment.  "No," he finally admitted.  "But I do rely on the goddess being in no mind to accept communication from the Empress, from Topper, or anyone else who refuses to kneel to her will.  You have thought yourself into a nightmare, Kamist Reloe, and now you invite me to join you.  I decline the offer, High Mage.  We are well protected, and too far advanced in our efforts for all of this fretting."

"I have survived this long, Korbolo Dom, because of my talent in anticipating what my enemies would attempt.  Soldiers say no plan of battle survives contact with the enemy.  But the game of subterfuge is the very opposite.  Plans derive from persistent contact with the enemy.  Thus, you proceed on your terms and I will proceed on mine."

Smiler is a bit of a psycho

Quote"Spread the word.  First battle's tonight, one bell after we set camp."

Both soldiers swung their heads around at this.

"Tonight?"  Bottle asked.  "After what just-"

"You heard me.  Gesler and Borduke are getting their beauties primed, same as us.  We're ready, lads."

"It's going to draw quite a crowd," Corporal Tarr said, shaking his head.  "The lieutenant won't help but wonder-"

"Not just the lieutenant, I'd imagine," Strings replied.  "But there won't be much of a crowd.  We'll use the old word-line system.  Run the commentary back through the whole camp."

"Joyful's gonna get skewered," Bottle muttered, his expression growing sorrowful.  "And here I been feeding her, every night.  Big juicy capemoths... she'd just pounce real pretty, then start eating until there wasn't nothing left but a couple of wings and a crunched-up ball.  Then she'd spend half the night cleaning her pincers and licking her lips-"

"Lips?"  Smiles asked from behind the three men.  "What lips?  Scorpions don't have lips-"

"What do you even know?" Bottle shot back.  "You won't even get close-"

"When I get close to a scorpion I kill it.  Which is what any sane person would do."

"Sane?" the mage retorted.  "You pick them and start pulling things off!  Tails, pincers, legs – I ain't seen nothing so cruel in my life!"

"Well, ain't that close enough to see if it's got lips?"

Usually a good warning that something bad is about to happen, a scream of terror

Quote"And that crossbow can lob cussers far enough?  Hard to believe."
"Well, the idea is to aim and shoot, then bite a mouthful of dirt."
"I can see the wisdom in that, Fid.  Now, you let us all know when you're firing, right."
"Nice and loud, aye."
"And what word should we listen for?"
Fiddler noticed that the rest of his squad had ceased their preparations and were now waiting for his answer.  He shrugged.  "Duck.  Or sometimes what Hedge used to use."
"Which was?"
"A scream of terror."

Quote"What about protecting the Throne?"

"There are demons from Shadow on the island now.  Your patron god has clearly decided to take a more active role in defending the secret."
'Your patron god.'  Thanks for that, Apsalar.  And who was it who held your soul cupped in his two hands?  A killers hands. 

"Why not just take it back to the Shadow Realm?"

"No doubt if he could, he would," she replied.  "But when Anomander Rake placed his kin here to guard it, he also wrought sorcery around the Throne.  It will not be moved."

Cutter shipped the oars and began preparing the sail.  "Then Shadowthrone need only come here and plant his scrawny arse on it, right?"
He disliked her answering smile.  "Thus ensuring that no-one else could claim its power, or the position of King of High House Shadow. 

Unless, of course, they killed Shadowthrone first.  A god of courage and unassailable power might well plant his scrawny arse on that throne to end the argument once and for all.  But Shadowthrone did just that, once before, as Emperor Kellanved."

"He did?"

"He claimed the First Throne.  The throne of the T'lan Imass."

Oh.

"Fortunately," Apsalar continued, "as Shadowthrone, he has shown little interest in making use of his role as the Emperor of the T'lan Imass."

"Well, why bother?  This way, he negates the chance of anyone else ever finding out and taking that throne, while his avoidance of using it himself ensures that no-one takes notice that he has it in the first place – gods, I'm starting to sound like Kruppe!  In any case, that seems clever, not cowardly."

She studied him for a long moment.  "I had not thought of that.  You are right, of course.  Unveiling power invites convergence, after all.   It seems Shadowthrone has absorbed well his early residence in the Deadhouse.  More so, perhaps, than Cotillion has."

"Aye, it's an Azath tactic, isn't it?  Negation serves to disarm.  Given the chance, he'd probably plant himself in every throne in sight, then, will all the power accrued to him, he would do nothing with it.  Nothing at all."

Her eyes slowly widened.

He frowned at her expression.  Then his heart started pounding hard.  No.  I was only kidding.  That's not just ambitious, it's insane.  He could never pull it off... but what if he did?  "All the games of the gods..."

Quote"You should know, Crokus," Apsalar continued, "that they knew Surly was waiting for them.  They knew what she had planned.  Yet they returned none the less."

"But that makes no sense."

"Unless she proceeded to do precisely what they wanted her to do.  After all, we both know that the assassinations failed – failed in killing either of them.  The question then becomes: what did that entire mess achieve?"

"A rhetorical question?"

She cocked her head.  "No."  Surprised.

Cutter rubbed at the bristle on his jaw, then shrugged.  "All right.  It left Surly on the Malazan throne.  Empress Laseen was born.  It stripped from Kellanved his secular seat of power.  Hmm.  Let's ask it another way.  What if Kellanved and Dancer had returned and successfully reclaimed the imperial throne?  But, at the same time, they had taken over the Shadow Realm.  Thus, there would be an empire spanning two warrens, an empire of Shadow."  He paused, then slowly nodded.  "They wouldn't have stood for that – the gods, that is.  Ascendants of all kinds would have converged on the Malazan Empire.  They would have pounded the empire and the two men ruling it into dust."

"Probably.  And neither Kellanved nor Dancer was in any position to mount a successful resistance to such a protracted assault.  They'd yet to consolidate their claim on the Shadow Realm."

"Right, so they orchestrated their own deaths, and kept their identity as the new rulers of Shadow a secret for as long as they could, whilst laying out the groundwork for a resumption of their grand schemes.  Well, that's all very cosy, if more than a little diabolical.  But does it help us answer the question of what they're up to right now?  If anything, I'm more confused than ever."

After watching Karsa Orlong kill a Deragoth, Kalam comes up with a Cunning Plan:

QuoteKalam and Quick Ben slowly rose from behind the wall and stared in silence after the giant warrior.
   
Shadows had begun swarming in the darkness.  They gathered like capemoths to the carcass of the Deragoth, then sped away again as if in terror.
   
Kalam rolled his shoulders, then, long knives in his hands, he approached the hound.

Quick Ben followed.
   
They studied the mangled carcass.

"Wizard..."

"Aye?"

"Let's drop off the Napan and get out of here."

"A brilliant plan."

"I just thought it up."

"I like it very much.  Well done, Kalam."

"Like I've always told you, Quick, I ain't just a pretty face."

QuoteKarsa found his waterskin and drank deep.  Then he stared down at 'Siballe.  "You once said that if you were thrown into the sea, your soul would be freed.  That oblivion would come to you.  Is this true?"

"Yes."

With one hand, he lifted her from the ground, rose, and walked to the sea's edge.

"Wait!  Teblor, wait!  I do not understand!"

Karsa's expression soured.  "When I began this journey, I was young.  I believed in one thing.  I believed in glory.  I know now, 'Siballe, that glory is nothing.  Nothing.  That is what I now understand."

"What else do you now understand, Karsa Orlong?"

"Not much.  Just one other thing.  The same cannot be said for mercy."  He raised her higher, then swung her body outwards.

Book Five: Midnight Tides

QuoteUdinaas well understood his own kind.  To the Letherii, gold was all that mattered.  Gold and its possession defined their entire world.  Power, status, self-worth and respect – all were commodities that could be purchased by coin.  Indeed, debt bound the entire kingdom, defining every relationship, the motivation casting the shadow of every act, every decision.  This devious hunting of the seals was the opening move in a ploy the Letherii had used countless times, against every tribe beyond the borderlands.  To the Letherii, the Edur were no different.  But they are, you fools.

Quote"Money is sleight of hand," Tehol said, nodding.  "Unless you've got diamonds in your hand.  Then it's not just an idea any more.  If you want to know the cheat behind the whole game, it's right there, lasses.  Even when money's just an idea, it has power.  Only, it's not real power.  Just the promise of power.  But that promise is enough so long as everyone keeps pretending it is real.  Stop pretending and it all falls apart."

"Unless the diamonds are in your hands," Shand said.

"Right.  Then it's real power."

"That's what you began to suspect, isn't it?  So you went and tested it.  And everything came within a stumble of falling apart."

Tehol smiled.  "Imagine my dismay."

"You weren't dismayed," she said.  "You just realized how deadly an idea could be, in the wrong hands."

"They're all the wrong hands, Shand.  Including mine."

"So you walked away."

"And I'm not going back.  Do your worst with me.  Let Hull know.  Take it all down.  What's written off can be written back in.  The Tolls are good at that. In fact, you'll trigger a boom.  Everyone will sigh with relief, seeing that it was all in the game after all."

"That's not what we want," Shand said.  "You still don't get it.  When we buy the rest of the islands, Tehol, we do it the same way you did.  Ten peaks... disappearing."

"The entire economy will collapse!"

At that, all three women nodded.

QuoteThe Titse Edur rarely displayed much awareness of their slaves, and even less understanding of their ways.  It was, of course, the privilege of the conquerors to be that way, and the universal fate of the conquered to suffer that disregard.
   
Yet identities persisted.  On a personal level.  Freedom was little more than a tattered net, draped over a host of minor, self-imposed bindings.  Its stripping away changed little, except, perhaps, the comforting delusion of the ideal.  Mind bound to self, self to flesh, flesh to bone.  As the Errant wills, we are a latticework of cages, and whatever flutters within knows but one freedom, and that is death.
   
The conquerors always assumed that what they conquered was identity.  But the truth was, identity could only be killed from within, and even that gesture was a chimera.  Isolation had many children, and dissolution was but one of them – yet its path was unique, for that path began when identity was left behind.

QuoteWhy not worship money?  At least its rewards are obvious and immediate.  But no, that was simplistic.  Letherii worship was more subtle, its ethics bound to those traits and habits that well served the acquisition of wealth.  Diligence, discipline, hard work, optimism, the personalization of glory.  And the corresponding evils: sloth, despair and the anonymity of failure.  The world was brutal enough to winnow from one to the other and leave no room for doubt or mealy equivocation.  In this way, worship could become pragmatism, and pragmatism was a cold god.

Errant make ours a cold god, so we may act without restraint.  A suitable Letherii prayer, though none would utter it in such a bold fashion.  Feather Witch said that every act made was a prayer, and thus in the course of a day were served a host of gods.  Wine and nectar and rushleaf and the imbibing thereof was a prayer to death, she said.  Love was a prayer to life.  Vengeance was a prayer to the demons of righteousness.  Sealing a business pact was, she said with a faint smile, a prayer to the whisperer illusions.  Attainment for one was born of deprivation of another, after all.  A game played with two hands.

QuoteThe gifts of freedom, a will unchained unless one affixed upon oneself such chains – the crowding host's unaccountable, ever-rattling offers, each whispering promises of salvation against confusion – and wore them like an armour.

Trull Sengar saw the chains upon the Letherii.  He saw the impenetrable net which bound them, the links of reasoning woven together into a chaotic mass where no beginning and no end could be found.  He understood why they worshipped an empty throne.  And he knew the manner in which they would justify all that they did.  Progress was necessity, growth was pain.  Reciprocity belonged to fools and debt was the binding force of all nature, of every people and every civilization.  Debt was its own language, within which were used words like negotiation, compensation and justification, and legality was a skein of duplicity that blinded the eyes of justice.

An empty throne.  Atop a mountain of gold coins.

Father Shadow had sought a world wherein uncertainty could work its insidious poison against those who chose intransigence as their weapon – with which they held wisdom at bay.  Where every fortress eventually crumbled from within, from the very weight of those chains that exerted so inflexible an embrace.

QuoteBinadas shrugged.  "We have seen the traps you have laid out before the Nerek and the Tarthenal.  Each word is a knot in an invisible net.  Against it, the Nerek's swords were too blunt.  The Tarthenal too slow to anger.  The Faraed could only smile in their confusion.  We are not as those tribes."

"I know," Hull said.  "Friend, my people believe in the stacking of coins.  One atop another, climbing, ever climbing to glorious heights.  The climb signifies progress, and progress is the natural proclivity of civilization.  Progress, Binadas, is the belief from which emerge notions of destiny.  The Letherii believe in destiny – their own.  They are deserving of all things, born of their avowed virtues.  The empty throne is ever there for the taking."

Binadas was smiling at Hull's words, but it was a wry smile.  He turned suddenly to Seren Pedac.  "Acquitor.  Join us, please.  Do old wounds mar Hulll Beddict's view of Lether?"

"Destiny wounds us all," she replied, "and we Letherii wear the scars with pride.  Most of us," she added with an apologetic look at Hull.

"One of your virtues?"

"Yes, if you could call it that.  We have a talent for disguising greed under the cloak of freedom.  As for past acts of depravity, we prefer to ignore those.  Progress, after all, means to look ever forward, and whatever we have trampled in our wake is best forgotten."

"Progress, then," Binadas said, still smiling, "sees no end."

"Our wagons ever roll down the hill, Hiroth.  Faster and faster."

"Until they strike a wall."

"We crash through most of those."

The smile faded and Seren thought she detected a look of sadness in the Edur's eyes before he turned away.  "We live in different worlds."

QuoteGerun shrugged.  "In many ways, Tehol walked the path of the King's Leave long before me, and without the actual sanction."
"Tehol's never killed anyone-"
Gerun's smile grew feral.  "The day the Tolls collapsed, Brys, an even dozen financiers committed suicide.  And that collapse was solely and exclusively by Tehol's hand.  Perfectly, indeed brilliantly timed.  He had his own list, only he didn't stick a knife in their throats; instead he made them all his business partners.  And took every one of them down-"
"But he went down, too."
"He didn't kill himself over it, though, did he?  Didn't that tell you something.  It should have."
"Only that he didn't care."
"Precisely."
"You're suggesting diabolical genius, Gerun."
"I am.  Tehol possesses what Hull does not.  Knowledge is not enough.  It never is.  It's the capacity to do something with that knowledge.  To do it perfectly.  Absolute timing.  With devastating consequences.  That is what Tehol has.  Hull, Errant protect him, does not."

QuoteA holiday festival was approaching, this one dedicated to the Errant, that eternally mysterious purveyor of chance, fateful circumstance and ill-chosen impulses.  Or some such thing.  Tehol was never certain.  The Holds and their multitude of denizens were invented as dependable sources of blame for virtually anything, or so he suspected.  Evading responsibility was a proclivity of the human species, it seemed.

There are upsides to being dead

Quote"My apologies, Shurq Elalle, greetings.  Would you care for some tea?"
"Don't be absurd."
"Ah yes.  Thoughtless of me.  Your pardon."  Bugg walked over with the tray.
Tehol collected his cup and cautiously sniffed.  Then he frowned at his manservant.
Who shrugged.  "We don't have no herbs, master.  I had to improvise."
"With what?  Sheep hide?"
Bugg's brows rose.  "Very close, indeed.  I had some leftover wool."
"The yellow or the grey?"
"The grey."
"Well, that's all right, then."  He sipped.  "Smooth."
"Yes, it would be."
"We're not poisoning ourselves, are we?"
"Only mildly, master."
"There are times," Shurq Elalle said, "when I regret being dead.  This is not one of those times, however."

Quote"Oh, we talk of progress, but what we really desire is the perpetuation of the present.  With its seemingly endless excesses, its ravenous appetites.  Ever the same rules, ever the same game."

QuoteThe Crippled God scattered some deeds onto the brazier's coals.  Popping sounds, then more smoke.  "Peace.  Warm yourself, warrior, while I tell you of peace.  History is unerring, and even the least observant mortal can be made to understand through innumerable repetition.  Do you see peace as little more than the absence of war?  Perhaps, on a surface level, it is just that.  But let me describe the characteristics of peace, my young friend.  A pervasive dulling of the senses, a decadence afflicting the culture, evinced by a growing obsession with low entertainment.  The virtues of extremity – honour, loyalty, sacrifice – are lifted high as shoddy icons, currency for the cheapest of labours.  The longer peace lasts, the more those words are used, and the weaker they become.  Sentimentality pervades daily life.  All becomes a mockery of itself, and the spirit grows...restless."
   
The Crippled God paused, breath rasping.  "Is this a singular pessimism?  Allow me to continue with a description of what follows a period of peace.  Old warriors sit in taverns, telling tales of vigorous youth, their pasts when all things were simpler, clearer cut.  They are not blind to the decay all around them, are not immune to the loss of respect for themselves, for all that they gave for their king, their land, their fellow citizens."
   
"The young must not be abandoned to forgetfulness.  There are always enemies beyond the borders, and if none exist in truth, then one must be fashioned.  Old crimes dug out of indifferent earth.  Slights and open insults, or rumours thereof.  A suddenly perceived threat where none existed before.  The reasons matter not – what matters is that war is fashioned from peace, and once the journey is begun, an irresistible momentum is born."
   
"The old warriors are satisfied.  The young are on fire with zeal.  The king fears yet is relieved of domestic pressures.  The army draws its oil and whetstone.  Forges blast with molten iron, the anvils ring like temple bells.  Grain sellers and armourers and clothiers and horse-sellers and countless other suppliers smile with the pleasure of impending wealth.  A new energy has gripped the kingdom, and those few voices raised in objection are quickly silenced.  Charges of reason and summary execution soon persuade the doubters."
   
The Crippled God spread his hands.  "Peace, my young warrior, is born of relief, endured in exhaustion and dies with false remembrance.  False?  Ah, perhaps I am too cynical.  Too old, witness to far too much.  Do honour, loyalty and sacrifice truly exist?  Are such virtues born only from extremity?  What transforms them into empty words, words devalued from their overuse?  What are the rules of the economy of the spirit, that civilization repeatedly twists and mocks?"
   
He shifted slightly and Withal sensed the god's regard.  "Withal of the Third City.  You have fought wars.  You have forged weapons.  You have seen loyalty, and honour.  You have seen courage and sacrifice.  What say you to all this?"
   
"Nothing," Withal replied.

Hacking laughter.  "You fear angering me, yes?  No need, I give you leave to speak your mind."
   
"I have sat in my share of taverns," Withal said, "in the company of fellow veterans.  A select company, perhaps not grown so blind with sentimentality as to fashion nostalgia from times of horror and terror.  Did we spin out those days of our youth?  No.  Did we speak of war?  Not if we could avoid it, and we worked hard at avoiding it."

"Why?"

"Why?  Because the faces come back.  So young, one after another.  A flash of life, an eternity of death, there in our minds.  Because loyalty is not to be spoken of, and honour is to be endured.  Whilst courage is to be survived.  Those virtues, Chained One, belong to silence."

"Indeed." The god rasped, leaning forward.  "Yet how they proliferate in peace!  Crowed again and again, as if solemn pronouncement bestows those very qualities upon the speaker.  Do they not make you wince, every time you hear them?  Do they not twist in your gut, grip hard your throat?  Do you not feeling a building rage-"
   
"Aye," Withal growled, "when I hear them used to raise a people once more to war."

QuoteTehol swung round and approached Ublala Pung.  "Most beloved bodyguard, whatever is wrong?"
   
Red-rimmed eyes stared up at him.  "You're not interested.  Not really.  Nobody is."

"Of course I'm interested.  Bugg, I'm interested, aren't I?  It's in my nature, isn't it?"
   
"Absolutely, master.  Most of the time."

"It's the women, isn't it Ublala?  I can tell."
   
The huge man nodded miserably.

"Are they fighting over you?"
   
He shook his head.

"Have you fallen for one of them?"
   
"That's just it.  I haven't had a chance to."

Tehol glanced over at Bugg, then back to Ublala.  "You haven't had a chance to.  What a strange statement.  Can you elaborate?"
   
"It's not fair, that's what it is.  Not fair.  You won't understand.  It's not a problem you have.  I mean, what am I?  Am I to be nothing but a toy?  Just because I have a big-"
   
"Hold on a moment," Tehol cut in.  "Let's see if I fully understand you, Ublala.  You feel they're just using you.  Interested in only your, uh, attributes.  All they want from you is sex.  No commitment, no loyalty even.  They're happy taking turns with you, taking no account of your feelings, your sensitive nature.  They probably don't even want to cuddle afterwards or make small talk, right?"

Ublala nodded.
   
"And all that is making you miserable?"

He nodded again, snuffling, his lower lip protouding, his broad mouth downturned at the corners, a muscle twitching in his right cheek.
   
Tehol stared for a moment longer, then he tossed up his hands.  "Ublala!  Don't you understand?  You're in a man's paradise!  What all the rest of us can only dream about!"
   
"But I want something more!"

"No!  You don't!  Trust me!  Bugg, don't you agree?  Tell him!"
   
Bugg frowned, then said, "It is as Tehol says, Ublala.  Granted, a tragic truth, and granted, Master's nature is to revel in tragic truths which to many might seem unusual, unhealthy even-"
   
"Thanks for the affirmation, Bugg," Tehol interrupted with a scowl. 

Quote"As it now stands, then" Hannan Mosag said, "we begin this treaty in your debt."

"Yes."

"Based on the presumption that we possess the stolen harvest."

"Well, of course-"

"But we do not possess it, Prince Quillas Diskanar."

"What?  But you must!"

"You are welcome to visit our store houses for yourself," Hannan Mosag went on reasonably.  "We punished the harvesters, as was our right.  But we did not retrieve the harvest."

"The ships arrived in Trate with their holds empty!"

"Perhaps, in fleeing our wrath, they discharged their buden, so as to quicken their pace.  Without success, as it turned out."  As the prince simply started, Hannan Mosag went on, "Thus, we are not in your debt.  You, however, are in ours.  To the market value of the harvested tusked seals.  We are undecided, at the moment, on the nature of the recompense we will demand of you.  After all, we have no need of coin."

"We have brought gifts!" Quillas shouted.

"For which you will then charge us, with interest.  We are familiar with your pattern of cultural conquest among neighbouring tribes, Prince.  That the situation is now reversed earns our sympathy, but as you are wont to say, business is business."

Quote"In your world," the figure said, "the prophecy approaches its azimuth.  An emperor shall arise.  You are from a civilization that sees war as an extension of economics.  Stacked bones become the foundations for your roads of commerce and you see nothing untoward in that-"

"Some of us do."

"Irrelevant.  Your legacy of crushed cultures speaks its own truth.  You intend to conquer the Titse Edur.  You claim that each circumstance is different, unique, but is neither different nor unique.  It is all the same.  Your military might proves the virtue of your cause.  But I tell you this, Brys Beddict, there is no such thing as destiny.  Victory is not inevitable.  Your enemy lies in waiting, in your midst.  Your enemy hides without the need for disguise, when belligerence and implied threat are sufficient to cause your gaze to shy away.  It speaks your language, takes your words and uses them against you.  It mocks your belief in truths, for it has made itself the arbiter of those truths."

"Lether is not a tyranny-"

"You assume the spirit of your civilization is personified in your benign king.  It is not.  Your king exists because it is deemed permissible that he exist.  You are ruled by greed, a monstrous tyrant lit gold with glory.  It cannot be defeated, only annihilated."  Another gesture towards the fiery chaos below.  "That is your only hope of salvation, Brys Beddict.  For greed kills itself, when there is nothing left to hoard, when the countless legions of labourers are nought but bones, when the grisly face of starvation is revealed in the mirror."

Quote"I see little of exaltation and achievement in what we do, Finadd.  It would seem there is a growing imbalance-"

His laugh cut her off.  "And that is the truth of freedom, Seren Pedac."

She could feel her anger rising.  "I have always believed freedom concerned the granted right to be different, without fear or repression."

"A lofty notion, but you won't find it in the real world.  We have hammered freedom into a sword.  And if you won't be like us we will use that sword to kill you one by one, until your spirit is broken."

QuoteTrue to Tehol's prediction, Bugg's modest company was rising in the Tolls, frighteningly fast.  Since the list of shares was sealed, Bugg had managed to sell four thousand and twenty two per cent of shares, and still hold a controlling interest.

Quote"To achieve peace, destruction is delivered.  To give the gift of freedom, one promises eternal imprisonment.  Adjudication obviates the need for justice.  This is a studied, deliberate embrace of diametric opposition.  It is a belief in balance, a belief asserted with the conviction of religion.  But in this case, the proof of a god's power lies not in the cause but in the effect.  Accordingly, in this world and in all others, proof is achieved by action, and therefore all action – including the act of choosing inaction – is inherently moral.  No deed stands outside of the moral context.  At the same time, most morally perfect is the one taken in opposition to what has occurred before."

"What do the rooms look like, through those openings?"

"In this civilization," he continued, "its citizens were bound to acts of utmost savagery.  Vast cities were constructed beneath the world's surface.  Each chamber, every building, assembled as the physical expression of the quality of absence.  Solid rock matched by empty space.  From these places, where they did not dwell but simply gathered, they set out to achieve balance."

It seemed he would not lead her through any of the doorways, so she fixed her attention instead on the images.  "There are no faces."

"The opposite of identity, yes, Kettle."

"The bodies look strange."

"Physically unique.  In some ways, more primitive, but as a consequence, less...specialized, and so less constrained.  Profoundly long-lived, more so than any other species.  Very difficult to kill, and, it must be said, they needed to be killed.  Or so was the conclusion reached after any initial encounter with them.  Most of the time.  They did fashion the occasional alliance.  With the Jaghut, for example.  But that was yet another tactic aimed at reasserting balance, and it ultimately failed.  As did this entire civilization."

Kettle swung around to study that distant heap of...something.  "Those are bodies, aren't they?"

"Bones, scrapes of clothing, the harnesses they wore."

"Who killed them?"

"You have to understand, Kettle.  The one within you must understand.  My refutation of the Forkrul Assail belief in balance is absolute.  It is not that I am blind to the way in which force is ever countered, in the way in which the natural world strains towards balance.  But in that striving I see no proof of a god's power; I see no guiding hand behind such forces.  And, even if one such existed, I see no obvious connection with the actions of a self-chosen people for whom chaos is the only rational response to order.  Chaos needs no allies, for it dwells like a poison in every one of us.  The only relevant struggle for balance I acknowledge is that within ourselves.  Externalizing it presumes inner perfection, that the internal struggle is over, victory achieved."

QuoteSuch dark moments in Letherii history were systematically disregarded, she knew, and played virtually no role in their culture's vision of itself as bringers of progress, deliverers of freedom from the fetters of primitive ways of living, the cruel traditions and vicious rituals.  Liberators, then, destined to wrest from the savage tyrants their repressed victims, in the name of civilization.  That the Letherii then imposed their own rules of oppression was rarely acknowledged.  There was, after all, but one road to success and fulfilment, cold-cobbled and maintained by the Letherii toll-collectors, and only the free could walk it.

Free to profit from the same game.  Free to discover one's own inherent disadvantages.  Free to be abused.  Free to be exploited.  Free to be owned in the lieu of debt.  Free to be raped.

And to know misery.  It was a natural truth that some walked that road faster than others.  There would always be those who could only crawl.  Or fell to the wayside.  The most basic laws of existence, after all, were always harsh.

The statues before her were indifferent to all of that.  Their worshippers had died defending them, and all for nothing.  Memory was not loyal to the past, only to the exigencies of the present.  She wondered if the Titse Edur saw the world the same way.  How much of their own past had they selectively forgotten, how many unpleasant truths had they twisted into self-appeasing lies?  Did they suffer from the same flaw, this need to revise history to answer some deep-seated diffidence, a hollowness at the core that echoed with miserable uncertainty?  Was this entire drive for progress nothing more than a hopeless search for some kind of fulfilment, as if on some instinctive level there was a murky understanding, a recognition that the game had no value, and so victory was meaningless?

Such understanding would have to be murky, for clarity was hard, and the Letherii disliked things that were hard, and so rarely chose to think in that direction.  Baser emotions were the preferred response, and complex arguments were viewed with anger and suspicion.

Quote"The time has come, I think, to see Shand, Hejun and Rissarh on their way."
"Will they complain?"
"Less than one might suspect.  This is a nervous city.  The few non-Letherii remaining are being subjected to harassment, and not just by citizens.  The authorities are showing their racist underpinnings with all these suspicions and the eagerness to tread over hard-won rights."
"Proof that the freedoms once accorded non-Letherii peoples were born of both paternalism and a self-serving posture as a benign overseer.  What is given is taken away, just like that."
"Indeed Bugg.  Is it because, do you think, at the human core, we are naught but liars and cheats?"
"Probably."
"With no hope of ever overcoming our instinctive nastiness?"
"Hard to say.  How have we done so far?"
"That's not fair.  Oh, fine, it's perfectly fair.  But it doesn't bode well, does it?"
"Few things do, master."
"Well, this is uncharacteristically glum of you, Bugg."
"Alas, I fear the Titse Edur won't be any better.  Coin is the poison, after all, and it infects indiscriminately."

QuoteHe shrugged.  "The Letherii motive was, is and shall ever be but one thing.  Wealth.  Conquest as opportunity.  Opportunity as invitation.  Invitation as righteous claim.  Righteous claim as preordained destiny."  Something dark glittered in his eyes.  "Destiny as victory, victory as conquest, conquest as wealth.  But nowhere in that perfect scheme will you find the notion of defeat.  All failures are temporary, flawed in the particular.  Correct the particular and victory will be won, the next time round."

"Until a situation arises where there is no second opportunity."

"And future scholars will dissect every moment of these days, assembling their lists of the particulars, the specifics from which no generalization threatening the prime assumptions can ever be derived.  It is, in truth, an exquisite paradigm, the perfect mechanism ensuring the persistent survival of an entire host of terrible beliefs."

Quote"The Kenryll'ah have ruled a long time, Trull Sengar.  And have grown weak with complacency.  They cannot see their own impending demise.  It is always the way of things, such blindness.  No matter how long and perfect the succession of fallen empires and civilizations so clearly writ into the past, the belief remains that one's own shall live for ever, and is not subject to the indomitable rules of dissolution that bind all of nature."  The small, calm eyes of the demon looked down steadily upon Trull.  "I am a caster of nets.  Tyrants and emperors rise and fall.  Civilizations burgeon then die, but there are always casters of nets.  And tillers of the soil, and herders in the pastures.  We are where civilization begins, and when it ends, we are there to begin it again."

Iron Bars is a badass

Quote"We are the Seregahl," the lead Toblakai said.  "Before you hurt us, you might have begged for mercy.  You might have knelt in worship, and perhaps we would have accepted you.  But not now."
"No," the Avowed agreed, "I suppose not."
"That is all you would say?"
He shrugged.  "Nothing else comes to mind."
"You are frowning.  Why?"
"Well I've already killed a god today," Iron Bars said.  "If I had known this was going to be a day for killing gods, I might have paced myself better."

Ublala Pung explains why the Tarthenal pray to the Sereghal

Quote"Hello, half-blood," he said.  "Have you come to worship your gods?"
The giant figure looked down at Corlo.  "Is it too late?" he asked.
"No, they're still alive.  Only one man opposes them, and not for much longer.  I'm doing all I can, but it's no easy thing to confuse gods."
The Tarthenal half-blood frowned.  "Do you know why we pray to the Seregahl?"
An odd question.  "To gain their favour?"
"No," Ublala replied, "we pray for them to stay away."

Quote"So, if you could kill all those warriors.  Heal me.  Walk under a river.  Answer me this then.  Why didn't you kill all of them?  Halt this invasion in its tracks?"

"I have my reasons."

"To see Lether conquered?  Don't you like us?"

"Lether?  Not much.  You take your natural vices and call them virtues.  Of which geed is the most despicable.  That and betrayal of commonality.  After all, whoever decided that competition is always and without exception a healthy attribute?  Why that particular path to self-esteem?  Your heel on the hand of the one below.  This is worth something?  Let me tell you, it's worth nothing.  Nothing lasting.  Every monument that exists beyond the moment – no matter which king, emperor or warrior lays claim to it – is actually a testament to the common, to co-operation, to the plural rather than the singular."

"Ah," Tehol interjected, managing to raise a finger to mark his objection, "without a king, general or whomever – without a leader, no monument gets built."

"Only because you mortals know only two possibilities.  To follow or lead.  Nothing else."

"Hold on.  I've seen consortiums and co-operatives at work, Bugg.  They're nightmares."

"Aye, breeding grounds for all those virtues such as greed, envy, betrayal and so on.  In other words, each within the group seeks to impose a structure of followers and leaders.  Dispense with a formal hierarchy, and you have a contest of personalities."

"So what's the solution?"

"Would you be greatly disappointed to hear that you're not it?"

"Who?  Me?"

"Your species.  Don't feel bad.  None have been, as of yet.  Still, who knows what the future will bring?"

OK, that's enough for one day.

 :argh!:

TOO MUCH QUOTES TO READ!!!!!!

I guess I'll have to check out the books.

Wow, that's a fuckton of stuff. Definitely appreciating the wry humor.

The fact that you found so many excerpts to be worthy of putting in here just confirms that I must set up an appointment at the nearest bookstore.

Coyote, you are more than welcome to read the 10,000 bajillion or so pages that make up the series.  Trust me, as numerous as these seem, this is nothing compared to the books themselves.

Cainad, yes, agreed, although the fact every book could be used to bludgeon Afghan detainees to death, and it's a 10 book series (with another seven spinoffs) does explain why quotes are easy to find.

Book Six: The Bonehunters. 

Apsalar meets a pair of ghosts while mucking around in the Meanas Warren:

QuoteApsalar crossed her arms.  "Your name?"
"Curdle."
"Curdle."
"I do not last long."
"Which is what brought us to this sorry demise in the first place," Telorast said.  "You were supposed to watch the path-"
"I did watch it!"
"But failed to see the Hound Baran-"
"I saw Baran, but I was watching the path."
"All right," Apsalar said, sighing, "why should I provide you two with an escort?  Give me a reason, please.  Any reason at all."
"We're loyal companions," Telorast said.  "We will stand by you no matter what horrible end you may come to."
"We'll guard your torn-up body for eternity," Curdle added, "or at least until someone else comes along-"
"Unless it's Edgewalker."
"Well, that goes without saying, Telorast," Curdle said.  "We don't like him."
"Or the Hounds."
"Of course-"
"Or Shadowthrone, or Cotillion, or an Apotorian, or one of those-"
"All right!" Curdle shrieked.
"I will escort you," Apsalar said, "to a gate.  Whereupon you may leave this realm, since that seems to be your desire.  In all probability, you will find yourselves walking through Hood's Gate, which would be a mercy to everyone, except perhaps Hood himself."

Cotillion has a friendly chat with some imprisoned dragons who had the misfortune to be on the wrong side of Anomander Rake:

Quote"Ah, I think I can now assume I know who imprisoned the three of you."
"He very nearly killed us," said the female dragon.  "An overreaction on his part.  After all, better Eleint on the Throne of Shadow than another Titse Edur, or worse, a usurper."
"And how would Eleint not be usurpers?"
"Your pedantry does not impress us."
"Was all this before or after the Sundering of the Realm?"
"Such distinctions are meaningless.  The Sundering continues to this day, and as far as the forces that conspired to trigger the dread event, those were many and varied.  Like a pack of enkar'al closing on a wounded drypthara.  What is vulnerable attracts... feeders."
"Thus," said Cotillion, "if freed, you would once again seek the Shadow Throne.  Only this time, someone occupies that throne."
"The veracity of that claim is subject to debate," the female dragon said.
"A matter," added the first dragon, "of semantics.  Shadows cast by shadows."
"You believe that Ammanas is sitting on the wrong Shadow Throne?"
"The true throne is not even in this fragment of Emurlahn."
Cotillion crossed his arms and smiled.  "And is Ammanas?"
The dragons said nothing, and he sensed, with great satisfaction, their sudden disquiet.

It may be hard to believe, but Telorast and Curdle are extremely dangerous.  Erikson is in love with the Obsfucating Stupidity trope.  The first book has Kruppe, the second Iskaral Pust, the third Kruppe (again), the fifth Tehol and Bugg.  Even Shadowthrone gets in on the act...depending on whether you think his insanity is genuine or yet another ploy to make people underestimate him.

QuoteThe warren crumbled around them.  The sky to the east was lightening.  They stood on the trader's track at the base of a winding climb to the coastal ridge, rhizan darting through the air around them.
"The sun returns!  Not again!  Telorast, we need to hide!  Somewhere!"
"No we don't, you idiot.  We just get harder to see, that's all, unless you not mindful.  Of course, Curdle, you are incapable of being mindful, so I look forward to your wailing dissolution.  Peace, at least.  For a while, at least-"
"You are evil Telorast!  I've always known it, even before you went and used that knife on-"
"Be quiet!  I never used that knife on anyone."
"And you're a liar!"
"Say that again and I'll stick you!"
"You can't, I'm dissolving!"

Quote"I told you there'd be a forest," Telorast said.
Apsalar gestured at the wreckage on the slope immediately before them.  "What happened here?"
"Sorcery," Curdle said.  "Dragons."
"Not dragons."
"No, not dragons.  Telorast is right.  Not dragons."
"Demons."
"Yes, terrible demons, whose very breath is a warren's gate, oh don't jump down those throats!"
"No breath, Curdle," Telorast said.  "Just demons.  Small ones.  But lots of them.  Pushing trees down, one by one, because they're mean and inclined to senseless acts of destruction."
"Like children."
"Right, as Curdle says, like children.  Children demons.  But strong.  Very strong.  Huge, muscled arms."
"So," Apsalar said, "dragons fought here."
"Yes," Telorast said.

Paran on the nature of enemies:

Quote"We are in a war," Paran said.  "Oddly enough, there was something one of my sisters once said to me, when we were young, pitching toy armies against each other.  To win a war, you must come to know all the players.  All of them.  Living ones, who will face you across the field.  Dead ones, whose legends are wielded like weapons, or held like eternally beating hearts.  Hidden players, inanimate players – the land itself, or the sea, if you will.  Forests, hills, mountains, rivers.  Currents both seen and unseen – no, Tavore didn't say all that; she was far more succinct, but it's taken me a long time to fully understand.  It's not "know your enemy."  That's simplistic and facile.  No, it's "know your enemies".  There's a big difference, Apsalar, because one of your enemies could be the face in the silver mirror."
"Yet you now call them players, rather than enemies," she said.  "Suggesting to me a certain shift in perspective – what comes, yes, of being the Master of the Deck of Dragons?"
"Huh, I hadn't thought about that.  Players.  Enemies.  Is there a difference?"
"The former implies... manipulation."

Never interrupt a Dal Honese death-dirge. Unless you're a mage.

Quote"Sergeant, Captain wants a meeting-"
"Shut up, I'm busy."
"Dusk, in the sheep pen-"
"Interrupt a Dal Honese death dirge and you'll know a thousand thousand lifetimes of curses, your bloodlines for ever.  Hairy old women will steal your children and your children's children and chop them up with vegetables and tubers and a few precious threads of saffron-"
"I'm done, Sergeant.  Orders delivered.  Goodbye."
"- and Dal Honese warlocks wearing snake girdles will lie with your woman and she'll birth venomous worms all covered in curly black hair-"
"Keep it up, Sergeant, and I'll make a doll of you-"
Balm leapt from the pit, eyes suddenly wide.  "You evil man!  Get away from me!  I never done nothing to you!"  He spun around and ran away, gazelle-skins flapping.

Gesler asks a rather good question while preparing an assault:

Quote"Anyway, why ain't there a few hands of Claw to do the dirty work?  You know, infiltrate the city and the palace and stick a knife in Leoman and be done with it.  Why do we have to get messed up with a real fight?  What kind of empire are we, these days?"

Balm is kind of a dick

Quote"You stop moving again," Balm snarled to the child in front of him, "and the lizards will get you.  Eat you alive.  Eat us all alive.  Those are crypt lizards, you damned whelp.  You know what crypt lizards do?  I'll tell you what they do.  They eat human flesh.  That's why they're called crypt lizards, only they don't mind if it's living flesh-"
"For Hood's sake!" Deadsmell growled behind him.  "Sergeant – that ain't the way –"
"Shut your mouth!  He's still moving, ain't he?  Oh yes, ain't he just.  Crypt lizards, runt!  Oh yes!"
"Hope you ain't nobody's uncle, Sergeant."
"You're getting as bad as Whiddershins, Corporal, with that babbling mouth of yours.  I want a new squad-"
"Nobody'll have you, not after this-"
"You don't know nothing, Deadsmell."
"I know if I was that child in front of you, I'd shit right in your face."
Quiet!  You give him ideas, damn you!  Do it boy, and I'll tie you up, oh yes, and leave you for the crypt lizards-"
"Listen to me, little one!" Deadsmell called out, his voice echoing.  "Them crypt lizard, they're about as long as your thumb!  Balm's just being a-"
"I'm going to skewer you, Deadsmell, I swear it!"

People complain the gods are dicks, but then, so are their worshippers:

Quote"No-one worships me, Ganath."
"They will.  You are newly ascended.  Even in this world of yours, I am certain that there is no shortage of followers, of those who are desperate to believe.  And they will hunt down others and make of them victims.  They will cut them and fill bowls with their innocent blood, in your name, Ganoes Paran, and so beseech your intercession, your adherence to whatever cause they righteously fashion.  The Errant thought to defeat them, as you might well seek to do, and so he became the god of change.  He walked the path of neutrality, yet flavoured it with a pleasure taken in impermanence.  The Errant's enemy was ennui, stagnation.  That is why the Forkrul Assail sought to annihilate him.  And all his mortal followers."  She paused, then added, "Perhaps they succeeded.  The Assail were never easily diverted from their chosen course."

Quote"Look at you.  You were a priest of Fener, and now you're a priest of Treach.  Both gods of war.  Heboric, how many faces do you think the god of war has?  Thousands.  And in ages long past.  Tens of thousands.  Every damned tribe, old man.  All different, but all the same."  She lit her pipe, smoke wreathing her face, then said "Wouldn't surprise me if all the gods are aspects of just one god, and all this fighting is just proof that that one god is insane."
"Insane?"  Heboric was trembling.  He could feel his heart hammering away like some ghastly demon at the door to his soul.
"Or maybe just confused.  All those bickering worshippers, each one convinced that their version is the right one.  Imagine getting prayers from ten million believers, not one of them believing the same thing as the one kneeling beside him or her.  Imagine all those Holy Books, not one of them agreeing on anything, yet all of them purporting to be the word of that one god.  Imagine two armies annihilating each other, both in that god's name.  Who wouldn't be driven mad by all that?"

Shadowthrone Is Not An Idiot:

QuoteShadowthrone raised a long-fingered hand that filled most of the card.  Closed it into a fist.  "Let me see," the god's voice purred, "if I understand you."  One dinger snapped upwards.  "The Nameless Idiots go and release Dejim Nebrahl.  Why?  Because they're idiots.  Their own lies caught up with them, so they needed to get rid of a servant who was doing what they wanted him to do in the first place, only doing it too well!"  Shadowthrone's voice was steadily climbing in pitch and volume.  A second finger shot into view.  "Then, you, the Master Idiot of the Deck of Dragons, decide to release the Deragoth, to get rid of Dejim Nebrahl.  But wait, even better!"  A third finger.  "Some other serious nasty wandering Seven Cities just killed two Deragoth, and maybe that nasty is still close by, and would like a few more trophies to drag behind his damned horse!"  His voice was now a shriek.  And now!  Now!"  The hand closed back into a fist, shaking about.  "You want me to send the Hounds of Shadow to Seven Cities!  Because it's finally occurred to that worm-ridden walnut you call a brain that the Deragoth won't bother with Dejim Nebrahl until they find my Hounds!  And if they come looking here in my realm, there'll be no stopping them!"  He halted suddenly, the fist motionless.  Then various fingers sprang into view, in an increasingly chaotic pattern.  Shadowthrone snarled, and the frenzied hand vanished.  A whisper: "Pure genius.  Why didn't I think of that?"  The tone began rising once more.  "Why?  Because I'm not an idiot!"

Quote"We discovered the glory of civilization – and you, Teblor, hold still to your misplaced pride, holding up your ignorance of such glory as a virtue.  And so you still do not comprehend the great gift of civilization-"
"I comprehend it fine," Karsa Orlong replied around a mouthful of meat.  "The savage proceeds into civilization through improvements-"
"Yes!
"Improvements in the manner and efficiency of killing people."
"Hold on-"
"Improvements in the unassailable rules of degradation and misery."
"Karsa-"
"Improvements in ways to humiliate, impose suffering and justify slaughtering those savages too stupid and too trusting to resist what you hold as inevitable.  Namely, their extinction.  Between you and me, Samar Dev," he added, swallowing, "who should the Anibar fear more?"

Quote"A civilization at war chooses only the most obvious enemy, and often also the one perceived, at first, to be the most easily defeatable.  But that enemy is not the true enemy, nor is it the greatest threat to that civilization.  Thus, a civilization at war often chooses the wrong enemy.  Tell me, Mappo Runt, for my two hypothetical kingdoms, where hid the truest threat?"
He shook his head.
"Yes, difficult to answer, because the threats were many, seemingly disconnected, and they appeared, disappeared then reappeared over a long period of time.  The game that was hunted to extinction, the forests that were cut down, the goats that were loosed on the hills, the very irrigation ditches that were dug.  And yet more: the surplus of food, the burgeoning population and its accumulating wastes.  And then diseases, soils blown or washed away; and kings – one after another – who could or would do nothing, or indeed saw nothing untoward beyond their fanatical focus on the ones they sought to blame."
"Alas," she said, leaning now on the rail, her face to the wind, "there is nothing simple in seeking to oppose such a host of threats.  First, one must recognize them, and to achieve that one must think in the long term; and then one must discern the intricate linkages that exist between all things, the manner in which one problem feeds into another.  From there, one must devise solutions and finally, one must motivate the population into concerted effort, and not just in one's own population, but that of neighbouring kingdoms, all of whom are participating in self-destruction.  Tell me, can you imagine such a leader ever coming to power?  Or staying there for long?  Me neither.  The hoarders of wealth will band together to destroy such a man or woman.  Besides, it is much easier to create an enemy and wage war, although why such hoarders of wealth actually believe they would survive such a war is beyond me.  But they do, again and again.  Indeed, it seems they believe they will outlive civilization."
"You propose little hope for civilization, Spite."
"Oh, my lack of hope extends far beyond mere civilization.  The Trell were pastoralists, yes?  You managed the half-wild bhederin herds of the Masai plains.  Actually a fairly successful way of living, all things considered."
"Until traders and settlers came."
"Yes, until those who coveted your land, driven as they were by enterprise or the wasting of their own lands, or by the poverty in their cities.  Each and all sought a new source of wealth.  To achieve it, alas, they first had to destroy your people."

The artistic version of wearing a hair shirt

Quote"What is it, Hurlochel?"
"Where are we going?"
"To visit the imperial artist."
"Oh, him.  May I ask why?"
"Why suffer such torment, you mean?  Well, I have a request to make of him."
"High Fist?"
I need a new Deck of Dragons.  "Is he skilled, do you know?"
"A subject of constant debate, High Fist."
"Really?  Among whom?  The soldiers?  I find that hard to believe."
"Ormulogun has, accompanying him everywhere, a critic."
Oh, the poor man.

Yet another reason why the Grey Swords are awesome

QuoteDiscipline is the greatest weapon against the self-righteous.  We must measure the virtue of our own controlled response when answering the atrocities of fanatics.  And yet, let it not be claimed, in our own oratory of piety, that we are without our own fanatics; for the self-righteous breed wherever tradition holds, and most often when there exists the perception that tradition is under assault.  Fanatics can be created as easily in an environment of moral decay (whether real or imagined) as in an environment of legitimate inequity or under the banner of common cause.  Discipline is as much facing the enemy within as the enemy before you; for without critical judgement, the weapon you wield delivers – and let us not be coy here – naught but murder.
And its first victim is the moral probity of your cause.
               (Words to the Adherents)
               Mortal Sword Brukhalian, the Grey Swords

QuoteKalam pushed his way forward, slumped once more at Quick Ben's side.  "It's official," he said in the gloom of the hold.
"What is?"
"We're still alive."
"Oh, that's good, Kal.  I was sitting on coals down here waiting for that news."
"I prefer that image to the reality, Quick."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the idea that you were hiding, your loincloth suddenly baggy and a puddle spreading beneath you."
"You don't know anything.  I do.  I know more than I'd ever want to-"
"Impossible.  You drink in secrets like Hellian does rum.  The more you know, the drunker and more obnoxious you get."
"Oh yeah?  Well I know things you'd want to know, and I was going to tell you, but now I think I'll change my mind-"
"Out with it wizard, before I got back up and tell the Adjunct where she can find you."
"You can't do that.  I need time to think, damn you."
"So talk.  You can think while you're doing that, since with you the two activities are clearly distinct and mostly unrelated."

Kalam is too slow to be insane.  Unfortunately, this does not apply to Quick Ben.  Then again, none of the Bridgeburners are poster-children for sanity.

Quote"So, how did you hide from Hood?"
"I was part of the Gate, of course.  Just another corpse, another staring face."
"Hey, now that's clever."
"Wasn't it?"
"What was it like, among all those bones and stuff?"
"Kind of...comforting..."
I can see that.  Kalam scowled again.  Hold on... I wonder... is there maybe something wrong with us?  "Quick, you and me?"
"Yes?"
"I think we're insane."
"You're not."
"What do you mean?"
"You're too slow.  You can't be insane if you only just realized we're insane.  Understand?"
"No."
"As I said, then."
"Well," the assassin grunted, "that's a relief."
"For you, yes."

Captain Kindly, the meanest bastard in the entire Malazan Army:

QuoteKindly regarded him as he would a skewered grub.  "Your powers of observation are truly pathetic.  That ship is filled with Untans.  Coddled, noble-born pups.  Look at those damned uniforms, will you?  The only stains they got on them is gull shit, and that's because the gulls keep mistaking them for dead, bloated seals."

QuoteIt seemed so easy for so many people to divide war from peace, to confine their definitions to the unambivalent.  Marching soldiers, pitched battles and slaughter.  Locked armouries, treaties, fetes, and city gates opened wide.  But Fiddler knew that suffering thrived in both realms of existence – he'd witnessed too many faces of the poor, ancient crones and babes in mothers arms, figures lying motionless on the roadside or in the gutters of streets – where sewage flowed unceasing like rivers gathering their spent souls.  And he had come to a conviction, lodged like an iron nail in his heart, and with its burning, searing realization, he could no longer look upon things the way he used to, he could no longer walk and see what he saw with a neatly partitioned mind, replete with its host of judgements – that critical act of moral relativity – this is less, that is more.  The truth in his heart was this: he no longer believed in peace.

It did not exist except as an ideal to which endless lofty words paid service, a litany offering up the delusion that the absence of overt violence was sufficient in itself, was proof that one was better than the other.  There was no dichotomy between war and peace – no true opposition except in their particular expressions of a ubiquitous inequity.  Suffering was all-pervasive.  Children starved at the feet of wealthy lords no matter how secure or unchallenged their rule.

There was too much compassion within him – he knew that, for he could feel the pain, the helplessness, the invitation to despair, and from that despair came the desire – the need – to disengage, to throw up his hands and simply walk away, turn his back on all that he saw, all that he knew.  If he could do nothing, then, damnit, he would see nothing.  What other choice did he have?

Quote from: Cain on April 06, 2012, 12:53:16 PM
Coyote, you are more than welcome to read the 10,000 bajillion or so pages that make up the series.  Trust me, as numerous as these seem, this is nothing compared to the books themselves.

Cainad, yes, agreed, although the fact every book could be used to bludgeon Afghan detainees to death, and it's a 10 book series (with another seven spinoffs) does explain why quotes are easy to find.

Sweet merciful fuck; I've seen how thick they are, too. And I though the Taltos Cycle by Steven Brust, at 18 (much smaller) books, was huge. :eek:

BUMP

Keeping it near the top for easy findings.

Ah, yeah, I should probably do the second half of this, shouldn't I?

Alright then, Book Seven, Reaper's Gale:

QuoteThis was a detail Tanal had come to appreciate, one of Karos Invictad's perfect laws of compulsion and control, emphasized again and again in the vast treatise the Invigilator was penning on the subject most dear to his heart. Take any segment of population, impose strict yet clear definitions on their particular characteristics, then target them for compliance. Bribe the weak to expose the strong. Kill the strong, and the rest are yours. Move on to the next segment.

Quote'Tanal, our guest is being most insistent with respect to his suspicions. Sufficient to convince me that we must devote considerable attention to finding the source of the threat.'

'Invigilator, is the intent sedition or treason, or are we dealing with a thief?'

'A thief, I should think,' Karos replied, glancing over at Rautos Hivanar. The man's cheeks bulged, before he released a slow sigh.

'I am not so sure. On the surface, we appear to be facing an obsessive individual, consumed by greed and, accordingly, hoarding wealth. But only as actual coin, and this is why it is proving so difficult to find a trail. No properties, no ostentation, no flouting of privilege. Now, as subtle consequence, the shortage of coin is finally noticeable. True, no actual damage to the empire's financial structure has occurred. Yet. But, if the depletion continues,' he shook his head, 'we will begin to feel the strain.'

QuoteTanal Yathvanar snorted softly. 'Hear him. Such naivety.'

Karos Invictad, standing beside him on the balcony, gave him a sharp look. 'You foolish man, Tanal Yathvanar.'

'Invigilator?' Karos Invictad leaned his forearms on the railing and squinted down at the prisoner. Fingers like bloated riverworms slowly entwined. From somewhere overhead a gull was laughing. 'Who poses the greatest threat to the empire, Yathvanar?'

'Fanatics,' Tanal replied after a moment. 'Like that one below.'

'Incorrect. Listen to his words. He is possessed of certainty. He holds to a secure vision of the world, a man with the correct answers – that the prerequisite questions were themselves the correct ones goes without saying. A citizen with certainty, Yathvanar, can be swayed, turned, can be made into a most diligent ally. All one needs to do is find what threatens them the most. Ignite their fear, burn to cinders the foundations of their certainty, then offer an equally certain alternate way of thinking, of seeing the world. They will reach across, no matter how wide the gulf, and grasp and hold on to you with all their strength. No, the certain are not our enemies. Presently misguided, as in the case of the man below, but always most vulnerable to fear. Take away the comfort of their convictions, then coax them with seemingly cogent and reasonable convictions of our own making. Their eventual embrace is assured.'

'I see.'

'Tanal Yathvanar, our greatest enemies are those who are without certainty. The ones with questions, the ones who regard our tidy answers with unquenchable scepticism. Those questions assail us, undermine us. They . . . agitate. Understand, these dangerous citizens understand that nothing is simple; their stance is the very opposite of naivety. They are humbled by the ambivalence to which they are witness, and they defy our simple, comforting assertions of clarity, of a black and white world. Yathvanar, when you wish to deliver the gravest insult to such a citizen, call them naive. You will leave them incensed; indeed, virtually speechless . . . until you watch their minds back-tracking, revealed by a cascade of expressions, as they ask themselves: who is it that would call me naive? Well, comes the answer, clearly a person possessing certainty, with all the arrogance and pretension that position entails; a confidence, then, that permits the offhand judgement, the derisive dismissal uttered from a most lofty height. And from all this, into your victim's eyes will come the light of recognition – in you he faces his enemy, his truest enemy. And he will know fear. Indeed, terror.'

'You invite the question, then, Invigilator . . .' Karos Invictad smiled. 'Do I possess certainty? Or am I in fact plagued by questions, doubts, do I flounder in the wild currents of complexity?' He was silent for a moment, then he said, 'I hold to but one certainty. Power shapes the face of the world. In itself, it is neither benign nor malicious, it is simply the tool by which its wielder reshapes all that is around him or herself, reshapes it to suit his or her own . . . comforts. Of course, to express power is to enact tyranny, which can be most subtle and soft, or cruel and hard. Implicit in power – political, familial, as you like – is the threat of coercion. Against all who choose to resist. And know this: if coercion is available, it will be used.' He gestured. 'Listen to that man. He does my work for me. Down in the dungeons, his cellmates hear his ravings, and some among them join in chorus – the guards take note of who, and that is a list of names I peruse daily, for they are the ones I can win over. The ones who say nothing, or turn away, now that is the list of those who must die.'

'So,' said Tanal, 'we let him scream.'

'Yes. The irony is, he truly is naive, although not of course as you originally meant. It is his very certainty that reveals his blithe ignorance. It is a further irony that both extremes of the political spectrum reveal a convergence of the means and methods and indeed the very attitudes of the believers – their ferocity against naysayers, the blood they willingly spill for their cause, defending their version of reality. The hatred they reveal for those who voice doubts. Scepticism disguises contempt, after all, and to be held in contempt by one who holds to nothing is to feel the deepest, most cutting wound. And so we who hold to certainty, Yathvanar, soon find it our mission to root out and annihilate the questioners. And my, the pleasure we derive from that . . .'

Tanal Yathvanar said nothing, inundated with a storm of suspicions, none of which he could isolate, chase down. Karos Invictad said, 'You were so quick to judge, weren't you? Ah, you revealed so much with that contemptuous utterance. And I admit to being amused at my own instinctive response to your words. Naive. Errant take me, I wanted to rip your head from your body, like decapitating a swamp-fly. I wanted to show you true contempt. Mine. For you and your kind. I wanted to take that dismissive expression on your face and push it through an offal grinder. You think you have all the answers? You must, given the ease of your voiced judgement. Well, you pathetic little creature, one day uncertainty will come to your door, will clamber down your throat, and it will be a race to see which arrives first, humility or death. Either way, I will spare you a moment's compassion, which is what sets you and me apart, isn't it?

QuoteOne of the first victims in this new regime had been the Rat Catchers' Guild. Karos Invictad, the Invigilator of the Patriotists, had acted on his first day of officialdom, despatching fully a hundred agents to Scale House, the modest Guild headquarters, whereupon they effected arrests on scores of Rat Catchers, all of whom, it later turned out, were illusions – a detail unadvertised, of course, lest the dread Patriotists announce their arrival to cries of ridicule. Which would not do. After all, tyranny has no sense of humour. Too thin-skinned, too thoroughly full of its own self-importance. Accordingly, it presents an almost overwhelming temptation – how can I not be excused the occasional mockery? Alas, the Patriotists lacked flexibility in such matters – the deadliest weapon against them was derisive laughter, and they knew it.

QuoteFaces stared up at Redmask. Not a single warrior among them seemed bold enough to venture closer. The dogs were less cowed by the presence of a lone warrior. Growling, hackles raised, they crept in a half-circle towards him. Then, catching an unexpected scent, the beasts suddenly shrank back, tails dipping, thin whines coming from their throats. Finally, one young warrior edged forward a step. 'You cannot be him,' he said.

Redmask sighed. 'Where is your war leader?' he demanded. The youth filled his chest and straightened. 'I am this clan's war leader. Masarch, son of Nayrud.'

'When was your death night?'

'Those are the old ways,' Masarch said, baring his teeth in a snarl. 'We have abandoned such foolishness.' Another spoke up behind the war leader. 'The old ways have failed us! We have cast them out!'

Masarch said, 'Remove that mask; it is not for you. You seek to deceive us. You ride a Letherii horse – you are one of the Factor's spies.'

Redmask made no immediate reply. His gaze slid past the war leader and his followers, fixing once more on the camp below. A crowd was gathering at the near edge, watching.

He was silent for another twenty heartbeats, then he said, 'You have set out no pickets. A Letherii troop could line this ridge and plunge down into your midst, and you would not be prepared. Your women cry out their distress, a sound that can be heard for leagues on a still night like this. Your people are starving, war leader, yet they light an excess of fires, enough to make above you a cloud of smoke that will not move, and reflects the light from below. You have been culling the newborn rodara and myrid, instead of butchering the ageing males and females past bearing. You must have no shouldermen, for if you did, they would bury you in the earth and force upon you the death night, so that you might emerge, born anew and, hopefully, gifted with new wisdom – wisdom you clearly lack.'

Quote'You should choose a better god to worship, Ventrala. Tortured spirits like company, even a god's.' He paused, then said, 'Then again, perhaps it is the likes of you who have in turn shaped the Crippled God. Perhaps, without his broken, malformed worshippers, he would have healed long ago.'

QuoteThe Jaghut had come to comprehend the nature of futility, inspiring the Errant to a certain modicum of empathy for those most tragic of people. Where was Gothos now, he wondered. Probably long dead, all things considered. He had written a multiple-volumed suicide note – his Folly – that presumably concluded at some point, although the Errant had neither seen nor heard that such a conclusion existed. Perhaps, he considered with sudden suspicion, there was some hidden message in a suicidal testimonial without end, but if so, such meaning was too obscure for the mind of anyone but a Jaghut.

Quote'You two,' Hood said, turning away, 'are worse than advocates. And you don't want to know what I do with the souls of advocates.' A heartbeat later and the Lord of Death was gone.

Menandore frowned. 'Shadowthrone, what are advocates?'

'A profession devoted to the subversion of laws for profit,' he replied, his cane inexplicably tapping as he shuffled back into the woods. 'When I was Emperor, I considered butchering them all.'

'So why didn't you?' she asked as he began to fade into a miasma of gloom beneath the trees.

Faintly came the reply, 'The Royal Advocate said it'd be a terrible mistake.'

Quote'Give me my throne. You promised.'

'Is it worth it?'

'I beg you—'

'They all beg me, and call it prayer. What sour benediction must I swallow from this eternal fount of dread and spite and bald greed? Will you never see? Never understand? I must find the broken ones, just do not expect my reach, my touch. No-one understands, how the gods fear freedom. No-one.'

'You have lied to me.'

'You have lied to yourself. You all do, and call it faith. I am your god. I am what you made me. You all decry my indifference, but I assure you, you would greater decry my attention. No, make no proclamations otherwise. I know what you claim to do in my name. I know your greatest fear is that I will one day call you on it – and that is the real game here, this knuckles of the soul. Watch me, mortal, watch me call you on it. Every one of you.'

'My god is mad.'

'As you would have me, so I am.'

'I want my throne.'

'You always want.'

'Why won't you give it to me?'

'I answer as a god: if I give you what you want, we all die. Hah, I know – you don't care! Oh, you humans, you are something else. You make my every breath agony. And my every convulsion is your ecstasy. Very well, mortal, I will answer your prayers. I promise. Just do not ever say I didn't warn you. Do not. Ever.'

QuoteThe argument was this: a civilization shackled to the strictures of excessive control on its populace, from choice of religion through to the production of goods, will sap the will and the ingenuity of its people – for whom such qualities are no longer given sufficient incentive or reward. At face value, this is accurate enough. Trouble arrives when the opponents to such a system institute its extreme opposite, where individualism becomes godlike and sacrosanct, and no greater service to any other ideal (including community) is possible. In such a system rapacious greed thrives behind the guise of freedom, and the worst aspects of human nature come to the fore, a kind of intransigence as fierce and nonsensical as its maternalistic counterpart. And so, in the clash of these two extreme systems, one is witness to brute stupidity and blood-splashed insensitivity; two belligerent faces glowering at each other across the unfathomed distance, and yet, in deed and in fanatic regard, they are but mirror reflections. This would be amusing if it weren't so pathetically idiotic . . .

In Defence of Compassion, Denabaris of Letheras, 4th century

Quote
The Elder God carried the starved, brutalized woman into one of those side passages, the cantilevered door swinging shut noiselessly behind him. In his mind there was recrimination, a seething torrent of anger at himself. He had not imagined the full extent of depravity and slaughter conducted by the Patriotists, and he was sorely tempted to awaken himself, unleashing his fullest wrath upon these unmitigated sadists. Of course, that would lead to unwarranted attention, which would no doubt result in yet greater slaughter, and one that made no distinction between those who deserved death and those who did not. This was the curse of power, after all.

Quote'It suits your grand quest, for the moment at least, doesn't it? Into the viper's den – every hero needs to do that, right? And moments before your doom arrives, out hisses your enchanted sword and evil minions die by the score. Ever wondered what the aftermath of such slaughter must be? Dread depopulation, shattered families, wailing babes – and should that crucial threshold be crossed, then inevitable extinction is assured, hovering before them like a grisly spectre. Oh yes, I heard my share when I was a child, of epic tales and poems and all the rest. But I always started worrying . . . about those evil minions, the victims of those bright heroes and their intractable righteousness. I mean, someone invades your hide-out, your cherished home, and of course you try to kill and eat them. Who wouldn't? There they were, nominally ugly and shifty-looking, busy with their own little lives, plaiting nooses or some such thing. Then shock! The alarms are raised! The intruders have somehow slipped their chains and death is a whirlwind in every corridor!'

Quote'All right,' Udinaas said, sighing, 'let me ask you this. Why wasn't that sword offered to some Letherii – a brilliant officer of an army, a cold-blooded merchant prince? Why not Ezgara himself? Or better still, his son, Quillas? Now there was ambition and stupidity in perfect balance. And if not a Letherii, then why not a Nerek shaman? Or a Fent or a Tarthenal? Of course, all those others, well, those tribes were mostly obliterated – at least, all the taboos, traditions and rules of every sort that kept people in line – all gone, thanks to the Letherii.'

'Very well,' Seren Pedac said, 'why not a Letherii?'

Udinaas shrugged. 'The wrong fatal flaws, obviously. The Chained One recognized the absolute perfection of the Tiste Edur – their politics, their history, their culture and their political situation.'

'Now I understand,' Fear murmured, his arms crossed.

'Understand what?'

'Why Rhulad so valued you, Udinaas. You were wasted scraping fish scales all day when by the measure of your intelligence and your vision, you could sit tall on any kingdom's throne.'

The slave's grin was hard with malice. 'Damn you, Fear Sengar.'

'How did that offend you?'

'You just stated the central argument – both for and against the institution of slavery. I was wasted, was I? Or of necessity kept under firm heel. Too many people like me on the loose and no ruler, tyrant or otherwise, could sit assured on a throne. We would stir things up, again and again. We would challenge, we would protest, we would defy. By being enlightened, we would cause utter mayhem. So, Fear, kick another basket of fish over here, it's better for everyone.'

'Except you.'

'No, even me. This way, all my brilliance remains ineffectual, harmless to anyone and therefore especially to myself, lest my lofty ideas loose a torrent of blood.'

Seren Pedac grunted, 'You are frightened by your own ideas, Udinaas?'

'All the time, Acquitor. Aren't you?'

Quote'Togg's teats, Redmask, that's a long speech coming from you.'

'I hold words in contempt, Anaster Toc. What do you mean when you say "Togg's teats"?'

'Togg's a god.'

'Not a goddess?'

'No.'

'Then its teats are—'

'Useless. Precisely.'

'What of the others? "Hood's Breath"?'

'Hood is the Lord of Death.'

'Thus . . . no breath.'

'Correct.'

'Beru's mercy?'

'She has no mercy.'

'Mowri fend?'

'The Lady of the Poor fends off nothing.'

Redmask regarded the foreigner. 'Your people have a strange relationship with your gods.'

'I suppose we do. Some decry it as cynical and they may have a point. It's all to do with power, Redmask, and what it does to those who possess it. Gods not excepted.'

'If they are so unhelpful, why do you worship them?'

'Imagine how much more unhelpful they'd be if we didn't.'

QuoteThe Errant gestured, and flames rose once more from the clamshell niches low on the dome's ring-wall, casting wavering shadows across the mosaic floor. A sledgehammer had been taken to the altar on its raised dais. The shattered stones seemed to bleed recrimination still in the Errant's eyes. Who served whom, damn you? I went out, among you, to make a difference – so that I could deliver wisdom, whatever wisdom I possessed. I thought – I thought you would be grateful. But you preferred shedding blood in my name. My words just got in your way, my cries for mercy for your fellow citizens – oh, how that enraged you.

QuoteTehol stared down through the roof hatch in unmitigated horror. 'That was a mistake,' he said.

Leaning beside him, also looking down, Bugg nodded. 'It was an act of mercy, Master. Twelve hens in a sack, half crushing each other, jostled about in fetid darkness. There was the risk of suffocation.'

'Precisely! Peaceful demise, remote, unseen. No wringing of necks required! But now look at them! They've taken over our room! My house. My abode, my very hearth—'

'About that – seems one of them has caught fire, Master.'

'It's smouldering, and too brainless to care. If we wait we can dine on roast chicken for breakfast. And which one laid that egg?'

'Hmm, a most gravid mystery indeed.'

'You may find this amusing right now, Bugg, but you are the one who will be sleeping down there. They'll peck your eyes out, you know. Evil has been bred into them, generation after generation, until their tiny black bean brains are condensed knots of malice—'

Quote'My friends, welcome. Two matters on the agenda. We will first address the one that I suspect is foremost in your minds at the moment. We have reached a state of crisis – the dearth of hard coin, of silver, of gold, of cut gems and indeed of copper bars, is now acute. Someone is actively sabotaging our empire's economy—'

'We knew this was coming,' interrupted Uster Taran. 'Yet what measures were taken by the Consign? As far as I can see, none. Rautos Hivanar, as much on the minds of those assembled here is the question of your continued position as Master.'

'I see. Very well, present to me your list of concerns in that regard.'

Uster's craggy face reddened. 'List? Concerns? Errant take us, Rautos, have you not even set the Patriotists on the trail of this mad creature? Or creatures? Could this not be an effort from the outside – from one of the border kingdoms – to destabilize us prior to invasion? News of this Bolkando Conspiracy should have—'

'A moment, please. One issue at a time, Uster. The Patriotists are indeed pursuing an investigation, without result to date. A general announcement to that effect, while potentially alleviating your anxieties, would have been, in my judgement, equally likely to trigger panic. Accordingly, I chose to keep the matter private. My own inquiries, in the meantime, have led me to eliminate external sources to this financial assault. The source, my friends, is here in Letheras—'

'Then why haven't we caught the bastard?' demanded Druz Thennict, his head seeming to bob atop its long, thin neck.

'The trails are most cleverly obscured, good Druz,' said Rautos. 'Quite simply, we are at war with a genius.'

From the far end of the table, Horul Rinnesict snorted, then said, 'Why not just mint more coins and take the pressure off?'

'We could,' Rautos replied, 'although it would not be easy. There is a fixed yield from the Imperial Mines and it is, of necessity, modest. And, unfortunately, rather inflexible. Beyond that concern, you might ask yourself: what would I do then, were I this saboteur? A sudden influx of new coin? If you sought to create chaos in the economy, what would you do?'

'Release my hoard,' Barrakta Ilk said in a growl, 'setting off runaway inflation. We'd be drowning in worthless coin.'

QuoteThe One God strode out – a puppet trailing severed strings – from the conflagration. Another city destroyed, another people cut down in their tens of thousands. Who among us, witnessing his emergence, could not but conclude that madness had taken him? For all the power of creation he possessed, he delivered naught but death and destruction. Stealer of Life, Slayer and Reaper, in his eyes where moments earlier there had been the blaze of unreasoning rage, now there was calm. He knew nothing. He could not resolve the blood on his own hands. He begged us for answers, but we could say nothing. We could weep. We could laugh. We chose laughter.

Creed of the Mockers Cabal

QuoteThe eastern wastelands. A typical description for a place the name-givers found inhospitable or unconquerable. We can't claim it so it is worthless, a wasted land, a wasteland. Hah, and you thought us without imaginations! Haunted by ghosts, or demons, the earth blasted, where every blade of grass clings to a neighbour in abject terror. The sun's light is darker, its warmth colder. Shadows are smudged. Water brackish and quite possibly poisonous. Two-headed babies are common. Every tribe needed such a place. For heroic war leaders to wander into on some fraught quest rife with obscure motivations that could easily be bludgeoned into morality tales. And, alas, this particular tale is far from done. The hero needs to return, to deliver his people. Or annihilate them.

Quote'You are dangerous, Karsa Orlong. Your will, your strength, your . . . disregard. You present the quaint and appalling argument that through wilful ignorance of the laws and rules of the universe you cannot suffer their influence. As you might imagine, your very success poses evidence of that tenet, and it is one I cannot reconcile, since it runs contrary to a lifetime of observation.'

Quote'In the civil war on Theft, a warlord who captured a rival's army then destroyed them – not by slaughter; no, he simply gave the order that each soldier's weapon hand lose its index finger. The maimed soldiers were then sent back to the warlord's rival. Twelve thousand useless men and women. To feed, to send home, to swallow the bitter taste of defeat.'

QuoteBut Captain Faradan Sort laid a hand on his shoulder. 'No need, Beak. These bodies – Jaghut?'

'No. Forkrul Assail and Tiste Liosan. They fought on the ruins. During what they called the Just Wars. Here, it was only a skirmish, but nobody survived. They killed each other, and the last warrior standing had a hole in her throat and she bled out right where the Fist is standing. She was Forkrul Assail, and her last thought was about how victory proved they were right and the enemy was wrong. Then she died.'

'It's the only dry land anywhere in sight,' Fist Keneb said. 'Can any mage here banish the ghosts? No? Hood's breath. Beak, what are they capable of doing to us anyway?'

'They'll eat into our brains and make us think terrible things, so that we all end up killing each other. That's the thing with the Just Wars – they never end and never will because Justice is a weak god with too many names. The Liosan called it Serkanos and the Assail called it Rynthan. Anyway, no matter what language it spoke, its followers could not understand it. A mystery language, which is why it has no power because all its followers believe the wrong things – things they just make up and nobody can agree and that's why the wars never end.'

Quote'Brooding's different,' he muttered to the empty chair across from him. 'Could be any subject, for one thing. A subject not at all cynical. Like the meddling of the gods – no, all right, not like that one. Smithing, yes. Horseshoes. Nothing cynical about horseshoes . . . I don't think. Sure. Keeping horses comfortable. So they can gallop into battle and die horribly.' He fell silent. Scowling.

Quote'Think we're the first to draw blood?' Tavos Pond asked, crouching to clean the blade of his sword on the cloak of the older Edur.

'Big fat war, Tavos Pond. That's what we got ourselves here.'

'They weren't so hard, Sergeant.'

'Wasn't expecting nothing either, were they? You think we can just ambush our way all the way to Letheras? Think again.' She drank a couple more mouthfuls, then sighed and glowered over at Urb. 'How soon before they're the ones doing the ambushin'? That's why I mean for us to ride – we're gonna stay ahead of the bad news 's long as we can. That way we can be the bad news, right? The way it's s'posed t'be.'

Quote'Come on, it's time to ride.'

'And if we run into a troop of Letherii?' Hellian frowned.

'Then we do as Keneb told us. We talk to 'em.'

'And if they don't like what we say?'

'Then we kill 'em, of course.'

'And we're riding for Letheras?'

She smiled at Urb. Then tapped the side of her slightly numb head with one finger. 'I memmored th'map – ized, memmized the map. There's towns, Urb. An' the closer we get t'Letheras, the more of them. Wha's in towns, Urb? Taverns. Bars. So, we're not takin' a straight, pre-dic-table route.'

'We're invading Lether from tavern to tavern?'

'Aye.'

'Hellian, I hate to say this, but that's kind of clever.'

'Aye. And that way we can eat real cooked food, too. It's the civilized way of conductin' war. Hellian's way.'

QuoteThe father of the man named Throatslitter used to tell stories of the Emperor's conquest of Li Heng, long before Kellanved was emperor of anywhere. True, he'd usurped Mock on Malaz Island and had proclaimed himself the island's ruler, but since when was Malaz Island anything but a squalid haven for pirates? Few on the mainland took much notice of such things. A new tyrannical criminal in place of the old tyrannical criminal.

The conquest of Li Heng changed all that.

There'd been no fleet of ships crowding the river mouth to the south and east of the city; nothing, in fact, to announce the assault. Instead, on a fine spring morning no different from countless other such mornings, Throatslitter's father, along with thousands of other doughty citizens, had, upon a casual glance towards the Inner Focus where stood the Palace of the Protectress, noted the sudden inexplicable presence of strange figures on the walls and battlements. Squat, wide, wearing furs and wielding misshapen swords and axes. Helmed in bone.

What had happened to the vaunted Guard? And why were tendrils of smoke rising from the barracks of the courtyard and parade ground? And was it – was it truly – the Protectress herself who had been seen plunging from the High Tower beside the City Temple at the heart of the cynosure?

Someone had cut off Li Heng's head in the Palace. Undead warriors stood sentinel on the walls and, a short time later, emerged in their thousands from the Inner Focus Gate to occupy the city. Li Heng's standing army – after a half-dozen suicidal skirmishes – capitulated that same day. Kellanved now ruled the city-state, and officers and nobles of the high court knelt in fealty, and the reverberations of this conquest rattled the windows of palaces across the entire mainland of Quon Tali.

'This, son, was the awakening of the Logros T'lan Imass. The Emperor's undead army. I was there, on the streets, and saw with my own eyes those terrible warriors with their pitted eyeholes, the stretched, torn skin, the wisps of hair bleached of all colour. They say, son, that the Logros were always there, below Reacher's Falls. Maybe in the Crevasse, maybe not. Maybe just the very dust that blew in from the west every damned day and night – who can say? But he woke them, he commanded them, and I tell you after that day every ruler on Quon Tali saw a skull's face in their silver mirror, aye.

'The fleet of ships came later, under the command of three madmen – Crust, Urko and Nok – but first to step ashore was none other than Surly and you know who she'd become, don't you?' Didn't he just.

Command of the T'lan Imass didn't stop the knife in the back, did it? This detail was the defining revelation of Throatslitter's life. Command thousands, tens of thousands. Command sorcerors and imperial fleets. Hold in your hand the lives of a million citizens. The real power was none of this. The real power was the knife in the hand, the hand at a fool's neck.

QuoteThe lie of simplicity. Rhulad still believed it. In that he was no different from every other ruler, through every age, in every place where people gathered to fashion a common, the weal of community with its necessity for organization and division.

Power is violence, its promise, its deed. Power cares nothing for reason, nothing for justice, nothing for compassion. It is, in fact, the singular abnegation of these things – once the cloak of deceits is stripped away, this one truth is revealed.

And the Errant was tired of it. All of it. Mael once said there was no answer. For any of this. He said it was the way of things and always would be, and the only redemption that could be found was that all power, no matter how vast, how centralized, no matter how dominant, will destroy itself in the end. What entertained then was witnessing all those expressions of surprise on the faces of the wielders.

This seemed a far too bitter reward, as far as the Errant was concerned. I have naught of Mael's capacity for cold, depthless regard. Nor his legendary patience. Nor, for that matter, his temper. No Elder God was blind to the folly of those who would reign in the many worlds. Assuming it was able to think at all, of course, and for some that was in no way a certain thing.

Anomander Rake saw it clearly enough, and so he turned away from its vastness, instead choosing to concentrate on specific, minor conflicts. And he denied his worshippers, a crime so profound to them that they simply rejected it out of hand. Osserc, on the other hand, voiced his own refusal – of the hopeless truth – and so tried again and again and failed every time. For Osserc, Anomander Rake's very existence became an unconscionable insult.

Quote'Because, regardless of how we've insinuated ourselves in the machinery of Lether's vast commerce, the most bitter truth is that the causes behind this impending chaos are in fact systemic. Granted, we're hastening things somewhat, but dissolution – in its truest sense – is an integral flaw in the system itself. It may well view itself as immortal, eminently adaptable and all that, but that's all both illusional and delusional. Resources are never infinite, though they might seem that way. And those resources include more than just the raw product of earth and sea. They also include labour, and the manifest conceit of a monetary system with its arbitrary notions of value – the two forces we set our sights on, by the way. Shipping out the lowest classes – the dispossessed – to pressure the infrastructure, and then stripping away hard currency to escalate a recession – why are you two staring at me like that?'

QuoteThere is no lure to the glow of fanatical worship. There is only smug intransigence and the hidden knives of sharp judgement.

QuoteThe army set out, all mounted for the moment – including the dog-masters – but that would not last.

Nor, Toc suspected, would the force remain united. Redmask saw no battle as a singular event. Rather, he saw a collection of clashes, an engagement of wills; where one was blunted he would shift his attention to resume the sparring elsewhere, and it was in the orchestration of these numerous meetings that a battle was won or lost. Flanking elements would spin off from the main column. More than one attack, more than one objective.

Toc understood this well enough. It was, he suspected, the essence of tactics among successful commanders the world over. Certainly the Malazans had fought that way, with great success. Eschewing the notion of feints, every engagement was deliberate and deliberately intended to lock an enemy down, into fierce, desperate combat.

'Leave feints to the nobility,' Kellanved had once said. 'And they can take their clever elegance to the barrow.' That had been while he and Dassem Ultor had observed the Untan knights on the field of battle east of Jurda. Riding back and forth, back and forth. Tiring their burdened warhorses, sowing confusion in the dust-clouds engulfing their own ranks. Feint and blind.

Dassem had ignored the pureblood fools, and before the day's battle was done he had shattered the entire Untan army, including those vaunted, once-feared knights.

QuotePerhaps, if seen from the outside, from some borderland where real power was as ephemeral, as elusive, as a cloud on the face of the moon, there would be a sense of astonishment and, indeed, disbelief. That the mortal woman commanding the most powerful empire in the world could find herself so . . . helpless. So bound to the ambitions and lusts of the faceless players behind the tapestries.

Folk blissfully unaware of the machinations of politics might well believe that someone like Empress Laseen was omnipotent, that she could do entirely as she pleased. And that a High Mage, such as Tayschrenn, was likewise free, unconstrained in his ambitions. For people with such simplistic world views, Banaschar knew, catastrophes were disconnected things, isolated in and of themselves. There was no sense of cause and effect beyond the immediate, beyond the directly observable. A cliff collapses onto a village, killing hundreds. The effect: death. The cause: the cliff 's collapse.

Of course, if one were to then speak of cutting down every tree within sight, including those above that cliff, as the true cause of the disaster – a cause that, in its essence, lay at the feet of the very victims, then fierce denial was the response; or, even more pathetic, blank confusion. And if one were to then elaborate on the economic pressures that demanded such rapacious deforestation, ranging from the need for firewood among the locals and the desire to clear land for pasture to increase herds all the way to the hunger for wood to meet the shipbuilding needs of a port city leagues distant, in order to go to war with a neighbouring kingdom over contested fishing areas – contested because the shoals were vanishing, leading to the threat of starvation in both kingdoms, which in turn might destabilize the ruling families, thus raising the spectre of civil war . . . well, then, the entire notion of cause and effect, suddenly revealing its true level of complexity, simply overwhelmed.

Rebellion in Seven Cities, followed by terrible plague, and suddenly the heart of the Malazan Empire – Quon Tali – was faced with a shortage of grain. But no, Banaschar knew, one could go yet further back. Why did the rebellion occur at all? Never mind the convenient prophecies of apocalypse. The crisis was born in the aftermath of Laseen's coup, when virtually all of Kellanved's commanders vanished – drowned, as the grisly joke went. She sat herself down on the throne, only to find her most able governors and military leaders gone.

And into the vacuum of their departure came far less capable and far less reliable people. She should not have been surprised at their avarice and corruption – for the chapter she had begun in the history of the empire had been announced with betrayal and blood. Cast bitter seeds yield bitter fruit, as the saying went. Corruption and incompetence. These were rebellion's sparks. Born in the imperial palace in Unta, only to return with a vengeance. Laseen had used the Claw to achieve her coup. In her arrogance she clearly imagined no-one could do the same; could infiltrate her deadly cadre of assassins. Yet, Banaschar now believed, that is what had happened.

And so the most powerful mortal woman in the world had suddenly found herself emasculated, indeed trapped by a host of exigencies, unbearable pressures, inescapable demands. And her most deadly weapon of internal control had been irrevocably compromised. There had been no civil war – the Adjunct had seen to that – yet the enfilade at Malaz City might well have driven the final spike into the labouring heart of Laseen's rule. The Claw had been decimated, perhaps so much so that no-one could use it for years to come. The Claw had declared war on the wrong people.

And so, at long last, Cotillion – who had once been Dancer – had his revenge on the organization that had destroyed his own Talon and then lifted Laseen onto the throne. For, that night in Malaz City, there had been a Shadow Dance. Causes and effects, they were like the gossamer strands spanning the towers of Kartool City, a deadly web, a skein tethered to a thousand places. And to imagine that things were simple was to be naive, often fatally so.

QuoteBanaschar slowly blinked, then said, 'There's nothing to worry about, Curdle. Now, will you two leave? I have more brooding to do and half the night's gone.'

Telorast's razor-beaked head swung to Curdle. 'See? Everything's fine. We're close because we have to be. Because it's where Edgewalker wants—'

'Quiet!' Curdle hissed.

Telorast ducked. 'Oh. We have to kill him now, don't we?'

'No, that would be messy. We just have to hope for a terrible accident. Quick, Telorast, think of a terrible accident!'

Quote'The Letherii will drown nonetheless.'

'Those tarps, Torrent, will not stay dry for long. And then there are the mages.'

'Redmask has his Guardians for those cowards.'

'Cowards?' Toc asked, amused. 'Because they wield sorcery instead of swords?'

'And hide behind rows of soldiers, yes. They care nothing for glory. For honour.'

'True: the only thing they care about is winning. Leaving them free to talk about honour and glory afterwards. The chief spoil of the victors, that privilege.'

Quote'I do not understand your sarcasm, Errant. Nothing has gone astray. Our cult grows day by day, among the Letherii slaves, and now the Indebted—'

'The disaffected, you mean. And what is it you are promising them, Feather Witch? In my name?'

'The golden age of the past. When you stood ascendant among all other gods. When yours was the worship of all the Letherii. Our glory was long ago, and to that we must return.'

'There was never a golden age. Worship of me to the exclusion of all other gods has never existed among the Letherii. The time you speak of was an age of plurality, of tolerance, a culture flowering—'

'Never mind the truth. The past is what I say it is. That is the freedom of teaching the ignorant.'

He had laughed then. 'The High Priestess stumbles upon a vast wisdom. Yes, gather your disaffected, ignorant fools, then. Fill their heads with the noble glory of a non-existent past, then send them out with their eyes blazing in stupid – but comforting – fervour. And this will begin our new golden age, an exultation in the pleasures of repression and tyrannical control over the lives of everyone. Hail the mighty Errant, the god who brooks no dissent.'

QuoteHellian was never drinking that stuff again. Imagine, sick, still drunk, thirsty and hallucinating all at once. Almost as bad as that night of the Paralt Festival in Kartool, with all those people wearing giant spider costumes and Hellian, in a screaming frenzy, trying to stamp on all of them.

Quote'Why so impatient?'

'I expect he wants to tie up in Letheras well before this army arrives. And take on panicky nobles with all their worldly goods. Then we head back out before the Malazan storm, dump the nobles over the side and share out the spoils.'

'As any proper pirate would do.'

'Precisely.'

'Do you enjoy your profession, Captain? Does it not get stale after a time?'

'No, that's me who gets stale after a time. As for the profession, why yes, I do enjoy it, Withal.'

'Even throwing nobles overboard?'

'With all that money they should have paid for swimming lessons.'

'Belated financial advice.'

Book Eight, Toll the Hounds

QuoteRubbing his eyes, High Alchemist Baruk leaned back. The original version of this, he suspected, was not the mannered shambles he had just read through. Those quaint but overused phrases belonged to an interim age when the style among historians sought to resurrect some oral legacy in an effort to reinforce the veracity of eyewitnesses to the events described. The result had given him a headache. He had never heard of the Thousand Gods, and this pantheon could not be found in any other compendium but Dillat's Dark and Light. Baruk suspected Dillat had simply made them up, which prompted the question: how much else did she invent?

QuoteSkintick snorted. 'Necessity, now there's a word to feed every outrage on decency.'

QuoteYouth was a time for harsh judgement. Such fires ebbed with age. Certainty itself withered. Dreams of salvation died on the vine and who could challenge that blighted truth? They had walked through a citadel peopled by the dead, the broken open, the spilled out. Like the violent opening of bodies, the tensions, rivalries and feuds could no longer be contained. Chaos delivered in a raw and bloody birth, and now the child squatted amidst its mangled playthings, with eyes that burned.

QuoteToo much weight was given to history, as far as Kallor was concerned. One's own history; that of peoples, cultures, landscapes. What value peering at past errors in judgement, at mischance and carelessness, when the only reward after all that effort was regret? Bah! Regret was the refuge of fools, and Kallor was no fool. He had lived out his every ambition, after all, lived each one out until all colour was drained away, leaving a bleached, wan knowledge that there wasn't much in life truly worth the effort to achieve it. That the rewards proved ephemeral; nay, worthless.

Every emperor in every realm, through all of time itself, soon found that the lofty title and all its power was an existence devoid of humour. Even excess and indulgences palled, eventually. And the faces of the dying, the tortured, well, they were all the same, and not one of those twisted expressions vouchsafed a glimmer of revelation, the discovery of some profound, last-breath secret that answered all the great questions. No, every face simply pulled into itself, shrank and recoiled even as agony tugged and stretched, and whatever the bulging eyes saw at the last moment was, Kallor now understood, something utterly . . . banal.

Now there was an enemy – banality. The demesne of the witless, the proud tower of the stupid. One did not need to be an emperor to witness it – scan the faces of people encircling an overturned carriage, the gleam of their eyes as they strain and stretch to catch a glimpse of blood, of broken limbs, relishing some pointless tragedy that tops up their murky inkwells of life. Watch, yes, those vultures of grief, and then speak of noble humanity, so wise and so virtuous.

QuoteWas this the driving force behind the quest for power? To tear away anonymity, to raise fame and infamy up like a blazing shield and shining sword? To voice a cry that would be heard beyond the gates of one's own life? But oh, Duiker had heard enough such cries. He had stood, cowering, in the midst of howls of defiance and triumph, all turning sour with despair, with senseless rage. The echoes of power were uniform, yes, in their essential emptiness. Any historian worthy of the title could see that. No, there was no value in writing. No more effect than a babe's fists battering at the silence that ignored every cry. History meant nothing, because the only continuity was human stupidity. Oh, there were moments of greatness, of bright deeds, but how long did the light of such glory last? From one breath to the next, aye, and no more than that. No more than that. As for the rest, kick through the bones and wreckage for they are what remain, what lasts until all turns to dust.

QuoteSordiko Qualm shut the door and locked it. 'Now, you claim to be a High Priest. From where?'

'Seven Cities, the secret monastery.'

'What monastery?'

'The one that's a secret, of course. You don't need to know and I don't need to tell you. Show me to my chambers, I'm tired. And hungry. I want a seven-course supper, plenty of expensive, suitably delicate wine, and nubile female servants eager to appease my delighted whim.'

'I cannot, alas, think of a single servant here who would touch your whim, as you so quaintly call it.'

QuoteClearing her throat, Blend said, 'They just won the war, didn't they?' Picker looked at her.

'A damned slaughter, too.' Antsy moaned. 'We got to drink it, don't we?' The two women nodded.

'Well,' he said, 'I once plunged straight into a squad of Crimson Guard—'

'You fell out of the tree—'

'—and made it out alive. And I once stood down a charging wild boar—'

'Wasn't wild, Antsy. It was Trotts's pet, and you made a grunt that sounded just like a sow.'

'—and at the last moment I jumped right over it—'

'It threw you into a wall.'

'—so if anyone here's got the guts to start, it's me.'

And with that he reached for the bottle of Quorl Milk. Paused to study the sigil on the stopper. 'Green Moranth. The cheap brand. Figures.' The normal dosage was a thimbleful. Sold exclusively to women who wanted to get pregnant. Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't. Maybe all it did was shock the body into pregnancy – anything to avoid another taste of that stuff.

QuoteLowering the stick, she sighed. 'Torvald Nom. You're late.'

'Sorry, love,' he replied. 'I got waylaid. Slavers. Ocean voyages. Toblakai, dhenrabi, torture and crucifixion, a sinking ship.'

'I had no idea going out for a loaf of bread could be so dangerous.'

Quote'The miracle of hindsight is how it transforms great military geniuses of the past into incompetent idiots, and incompetent idiots of the present into great military geniuses. There is the door, and be sure to take all your pompous second-guessing delusions with you . . .'

Emperor Kellanved, On the occasion of the conquest of Falari's Grand Council (the Trial of Crust)

QuoteConspiracies are the way of the civilized world, both those real and those imagined, and in all the perambulations of move and countermove, why, the veracity of such schemes is irrelevant.

Quote'I admit, I have some serious difficulties with this cult's root tenets – oh, as I said, I greatly admired Itkovian, the Shield Anvil of the Grey Swords. I even understand, to some extent, his gesture with the Kron T'lan Imass. As the Redeemer, however . . . I cannot but wonder at a god so willing to assume the crimes and moral flaws of its followers, while in turn demanding nothing – no expectation of a change in behaviour, no threat of punishment should they continue to transgress. Absolution – yes, I grasp the notion, but absolution is not the same as redemption, is it? The former is passive. The latter demands an effort, one with implicit sacrifice and hardship, one demanding all the higher qualities of what we call virtues.'

'Yet he is called the Redeemer.'

'Because he takes on the task of redemption for all who come to him, all who pray to him. And yes, it is an act of profound courage. But he does not expect the same of his people – he appears to possess no expectations whatsoever.'

This was most loquacious of his Lord, evidence of a long, careful condensation of thought, of considerable energy devoted to the nature of the cult clinging to the very edge of Black Coral and Night, all of which seemed . . . unusual.

'He leads by example, then.'

QuoteChildren made perfect soldiers, perfect killers. They had no sense of mortality. They did not fear death. They took bright pleasure in destruction, even when that destruction involved taking a life. They played with cruelty to watch the results. They understood the simplicity of power found there in the weapon held in the hand.

QuoteOnce, long ago it seemed now, he had set out to find glory, only to discover that it was nothing like what he had imagined it to be. It was a brutal truth that his companions then had understood so much better than he had, despite his being War Leader. Nevertheless, they had let themselves be pulled into his wake, and for this they had died. The power of Karsa's own will had overwhelmed them. What could be learned from that? Followers will follow, even unto their own deaths. There was a flaw to such people – the willingness to override one's own instinct for self-preservation. And this flaw invited exploitation, perhaps even required it. Confusion and uncertainty surrendered to simplicity, so comforting, so deadly. Without followers this Captain would have achieved nothing. The same the world over. Wars would disintegrate into the chaos of raids, skirmishes, massacres of the innocent, the vendetta of blood-feuds, and little else. Monuments would never be raised. No temples, no streets and roads, no cities. No ships, no bridges. Every patch of ploughed land would shrink to what a few could manage. Without followers, civilization would never have been born. He would tell his people all this. He would make them not his followers, but his companions. And together they would bring civilization to ruin, whenever and wherever they found it. Because, for all the good it created, its sole purpose was to breed followers – enough to heave into motion forces of destruction, spreading a tide of blood at the whim of those few cynical tyrants born to lead. Lead, yes, with lies, with iron words – duty, honour, patriotism, freedom – that fed the wilfully stupid with grand purpose, with reason for misery and delivering misery in kind. He had seen the enemy's face, its twin masks of abject self-sacrifice and cold-eyed command.

Quote'And yet, destitution results, with all its misery, its stresses and anxieties, its foul vapours of the soul. It can be said that the wealthy grain merchant wages subtle war.' Kruppe studied the wine through the crystal. 'And so the poor remain poor and, mayhap, even poorer. The employed but scarcely getting by cling all the harder to their jobs, even unto accepting despicable working conditions – which in turn permits the employers to fill their purses unto bulging, thus satisfying whatever hidden pathetic inadequacies they harbour. A balance can be said to exist, one never iterated, whereby the eternal war is held in check, so as to avoid anarchy. Should the grain merchant charge too high, then revolution may well explode into life.'

'Whereupon everyone loses.'

'For a time. Until the new generation of the wealthy emerge, to begin once again their predations on the poor. Balance is framed by imbalances and so it seems such things might persist for all eternity. Alas, in any long view, one sees that this is not so. The structure of society is far more fragile than most believe. To set too much faith in its resilience is to know a moment of pristine astonishment at the instant of its utter collapse – before the wolves close in.'

QuoteAmong plants . . . 'I think of the breath we give them – our gift.'

'And the breath they give back,' said the warlord, 'that burns if touched. I am fortunate, I think,' he continued, 'that I have no appreciation of irony.'

'It is a false gift, for with it we claim ownership. Like crooked merchants, every one of us. We give so that we can then justify taking it back. I have come to believe that this exchange is the central tenet of our relationship . . . with everything in the world. Any world. Human, Andii, Edur, Liosan. Imass, Barghast, Jaghut—'

'Not Jaghut,' cut in Caladan Brood.

'Ah,' said Endest Silann. 'I know little of them, in truth. What then was their bargain?'

'Between them and the world? I don't even know if an explanation is possible, or at least within the limits of my sorry wit. Until the forging of the ice – defending against the Imass – the Jaghut gave far more than they took. Excepting the Tyrants, of course, which is what made such tyranny all the more reprehensible in the eyes of other Jaghut.'

'So, they were stewards.' 'No. The notion of stewardship implies superiority. A certain arrogance.'

'An earned one, surely, since the power to destroy exists.'

'Well, the illusion of power, I would say, Endest. After all, if you destroy the things around you, eventually you destroy yourself. It is arrogance that asserts a kind of separation, and from that the notion that we can shape and reshape the world to suit our purposes, and that we can use it, as if it was no more than a living tool composed of a million parts.'

Quote'Few recall,' Traveller was saying, 'the chaos of the Malazan Empire in those early days. The madness only began with Kellanved, the Emperor. His first cadre of lieutenants were all Napan, each one secretly sworn to a young woman named Surly, who was heiress to the crown of the Nap Isles – in hiding ever since the Untan conquest.'

He paused. 'Or so goes the tale. Was it true? Was Surly truly the last of the Napan royal line? Who can say, but it came in handy when she changed her name to Laseen and attained the throne of the Empire. In any case, those lieutenants were crocked, every one of them. Urko, Crust, Nok, all of them. Quick to fanaticism, willing to do anything and everything to advance the Empire.'

'The Empire, or Surly?' asked Karsa Orlong. 'Does it not seem just as likely that they were simply using Kellanved?'

'A fair suspicion, except that only Nok remained once Laseen became Empress. The others each . . . drowned.'

'Drowned?'

'Officially. That cause of death quickly became euphemistic. Put it this way. They disappeared.'

'There was someone else,' Samar Dev said.

'Dancer—'

'Not him, Traveller. There was the First Sword. There was Dassem Ultor, commander of all the Emperor's armies. He was not Napan. He was Dal Honese.'

Traveller glanced across at her. 'He fell in Seven Cities, shortly before Laseen took power.'

'Surly had him assassinated,' said Samar Dev.

Karsa Orlong grunted. 'Eliminating potential rivals – she needed to clear the path. That, witch, is neither savage nor civilized. You will see such things in dirt-nosed tribes and in empires both. This truth belongs to power.'

'I would not dispute your words, Toblakai. Do you want to know what happened after you killed Emperor Rhulad?'

'The Tiste Edur quit the Empire.'

'How – how did you know that?'

He bared his teeth. 'I guessed, witch.'

'Just like that?'

'Yes. They did not want to be there.'

Traveller said, 'I expect the Tiste Edur discovered rather quickly the curse of occupation. It acts like a newly opened wound, infecting and poisoning both the oppressors and the oppressed. Both cultures become malformed, bitter with extremes. Hatred, fear, greed, betrayal, paranoia, and appalling indifference to suffering.'

'Yet the Malazans occupied Seven Cities—'

'No, Samar Dev. The Malazans conquered Seven Cities. That is different. Kellanved understood that much. If one must grip hard in enemy territory, then that grip must be hidden – at the very cusp of local power. And so no more than a handful is being strictly controlled – everyone else, merchants and herders and farmers and tradefolk – everyone – is to be shown better circumstances, as quickly as possible.
"Conquer as a rogue wave, rule in quiet ripples." The Emperor's own words.'

'This is what the Claw did, isn't it? Infiltrate and paralyse the rulers—'

'The less blood spilled, the better.'

Quote'I have looked upon the face of civilization, and I am not impressed.'

'There is no flaw in being critical.'

'He's not just being critical,' said Samar Dev. 'He intends to destroy it. Civilization, I mean. The whole thing, from sea to sea. When Karsa Orlong is done, not a single city in the world will remain standing, isn't that right, Toblakai?'

'I see no value in modest ambitions, witch.'

Quote"The first law of the multitude is conformity. Civilization is the mechanism of controlling and maintaining that multitude. The more civilized a nation, the more conformed its population, until that civilization's last age arrives, when multiplicity wages war with conformity. The former grows ever wilder, ever more dysfunctional in its extremities; whilst the latter seeks to increase its measure of control, until such efforts acquire diabolical tyranny."

'More of Kellanved?' Samar Dev asked.

Traveller snorted. 'Hardly. That was Duiker, the Imperial Historian.'

QuoteThe gods are fools, alas, in believing every piece in the game is known. That the rules are fixed and accepted by all; that every wager is counted and marked, exposed and glittering on the table. The gods lay out their perfect paths to the perfect thrones, each one representing perfect power. The gods are fools because it never occurs to them that not everyone uses paths.

QuoteA throne, Emperor Kellanved once said, is made of many parts. And then he had added, any one of which can break, to the king's eternal discomfort. No, it did no good to simply sit on a throne, deluding oneself of its eternal solidity. He had known that long before Kellanved ever cast an acquisitive eye on empire. But he was not one for resonant quotations.

QuoteBullies learn nothing when bullied in turn; there are no lessons, no about-face in their squalid natures. The principle of righteous justice is a peculiar domain where propriety and vengeance become confused, almost indistinguishable. The bullied bully is shown but the other side of the same fear he or she has lived with all his or her life. The about-face happens there, on the outside, not the inside. Inside, the bully and everything that haunts the bully's soul remains unchanged. It is an abject truth, but conscience cannot be shoved down the throat. If only it could.

Quote'I am of a mind to test you,' said Tulas Shorn after a moment.

'You want the Throne of Shadow, do you?'

'My first rule was cut short. I have learned since—'

'Hardly. You died.' Shadowthrone waved one ephemeral hand. 'Whatever you learned, you did not learn well enough. Obviously.'

'You seem certain of that.'

'He is,' said Cotillion.

'Is it simply megalomania, then, that so afflicts him?'

'Well, yes, but that's beside the point.'

'And what is the point?'

'That you clearly have not learned anything worthwhile.'

'And why do you say that?'

'Because you've just said that you were of a mind to test us.'

QuoteSeerdomin bared his teeth. 'Don't you start with me, Redeemer. The enemy never questions motivations – the enemy doesn't chew the ground out beneath its own feet.'

He jabbed a finger back at the woman kneeling in the basin. 'She has no questions. No doubts. What she has instead is strength. Power.'

'That is true,' said the Redeemer. 'All of it. It is why those haunted by uncertainty must ever retreat. They cannot stand before the self-righteous. Instead, they must slink away, they must hide, they must slip behind the enemy's lines—'

'Where every damned one of them is hunted down and silenced – no, Redeemer, you forget, I lived in a tyranny. I kicked in doors. I dragged people away. Do you truly believe unbelievers will be tolerated? Scepticism is a criminal act. Wave the standard or someone else will, and they'll be coming for you. Redeemer, I have looked in the eyes of my enemy, and they are hard, cold, emptied of everything but hate. I have, yes, seen my own reflection – it haunts me still.'

QuoteToo often scholars and historians saw the principle of convergence with narrow, truncated focus. In terms of ascendants and gods and great powers. But Kallor understood that the events they described and pored over after the fact were but concentrated expressions of something far vaster. Entire ages converged, in chaos and tumult, in the anarchy of Nature itself. And more often than not, very few comprehended the disaster erupting all around them. No, they simply went on day after day with their pathetic tasks, eyes to the ground, pretending that everything was just fine. Nature wasn't interested in clutching their collars and giving them a rattling shake, forcing their eyes open. No, Nature just wiped them off the board.

QuoteEveryone needed a god. Slapped together and shaped with frantic hands, a thing of clay and sticks. Built up of wants and all those unanswerable questions that plagued the mortal soul. Neuroses carved in stone. Malign obsessions given a hard, judgemental face – he had seen them, all the variations, in city after city, on the long campaigns of the Malazan Empire. They lined the friezes in temples; they leered down from balustrades. Ten thousand gods, one for every damned mood, it seemed. A pantheon of exaggerated flaws.

Book Nine, The Dust of Dreams

QuoteA final war had begun. Facing an enemy against whom no defence was possible. Neither words nor deeds could fool this clear-eyed arbiter. Immune to lies, indifferent to excuses and vapid discourses on necessity, on the weighing of two evils and the facile righteousness of choosing the lesser one—and yes, these were the arguments he was hearing, empty as the ether they travelled. We stood tall in paradise. And then called forth the gods of war, to bring destruction down upon ourselves, our world, the very earth, its air, its water, its myriad life. No, show me no surprise, no innocent bewilderment. I see now with the eyes of the Abyss. I see now with my enemy's eyes, and so I shall speak with its voice. Behold, my friends, I am justice.

Quote'You might know the answer to this,' said Banaschar. 'Listen, if life is a joke, what kind of joke? The funny ha ha kind? Or the "I'm going to puke" kind? Is it a clever joke or a stupid one that's repeated over and over again so that even if it was funny to begin with it's not funny any more? Is it the kind of joke to make you laugh or make you cry? How many other ways can I ask this simple question?'

QuoteThe matted wicker bars of the pen wall between them, Captain Kindly and the Wickan cattle-dog Bent glared at each other with bared teeth. 'Listen to me, dog,' said Kindly, 'I want you to find Sinn, and Grub. Any funny business, like trying to rip out my throat, and I'll stick you. Mouth to butt, straight through. Then I'll saw off your head and sink it in the river. I'll chop off your paws and sell 'em to ugly witches. I'll strip your hide and get it cut up and made into codpieces for penitent sex-addicts-turned-priests, the ones with certain items hidden under their cots. And I'll do all this while you're still alive. Am I understood?'

Quote'People do not understand power. They view it exclusively as a contest, this against that; which is the greater? Which wins, which fails? Power is less about actual conflict—recognizing as it does the mutual damage conflict entails, with such damage making one vulnerable—less about actual conflict, then, than it is about statements. Presence, Acquitor, is power's truest expression. And presence is, at its core, the occupation of space. An assertion, if you will. One that must be acknowledged by other powers, lesser or greater, it matters not.'

QuoteSo much gnawed at him at the moment, however, that he was anxious and wary about doing much of anything. The caster had been... frightening. The ones who were made miserable by the use of their own power ever disturbed the Errant, for he could not fathom such creatures, did not understand their reluctance, the self-imposed rules governing their behaviour. Motives were essential—one could not understand one's enemy without a sense of what they wanted, what they hungered for. But that caster, all he had hungered for was to be left alone. Perhaps that in itself could be exploited. Except that, clearly, when the caster was pushed, he did not hesitate to push back. Unblinking, smiling, appallingly confident.

QuoteInvaders did not stay invaders for ever. Eventually, they became no different from every other tribe or people in a land. Languages muddied, blended, surrendered. Habits were exchanged like currency, and before too long everyone saw the world the same way as everyone else. And if that way was wrong, then misery was assured, for virtually everyone, for virtually ever.

QuoteThe Awl should have bowed to the Letherii. They would be alive now, instead of lying in jumbled heaps of mouldering bones in the mud of a dead sea. Redmask had sought to stop time itself. Of course he failed. Sometimes, belief was suicide.

Quote'Aye,' Cuttle went on, 'I've listened to your drunken stories—' and his tone invited them to sit at his table: knowing and wise and damned near... sympathetic. 'And aye, I've seen for myself that raw, ugly pig you call magic hereabouts. Undisciplined—no finesse—brutal power but nothing clever. So, for you lot, battle means eating dirt, and a battlefield is where hundreds die for no good reason. Your mages have made war a miserable, useless joke—' and he spun round and stepped up to one soldier, nose to nose. 'You! How many times has this brigade taken fifty per cent or more losses in a single battle?'

The soldier—and Cuttle had chosen well—almost bared his teeth. 'Seven times, Braven Sergeant!'

'Seventy-five per cent losses?'

'Four, Braven Sergeant!'

'Losses at ninety?'

'Once, Braven Sergeant, but not ninety—one hundred per cent, Braven Sergeant.'

Cuttle let his jaw drop. 'One hundred?'

'Yes, Braven Sergeant!'

'Wiped out to the last soldier?'

'Yes, Braven Sergeant!' And Cuttle leaned even closer, his face turning crimson. In a bellowing shout, he said, 'And has it not once occurred to you—any of you—that you might do better by murdering all your mages at the very start of the battle?'

'Then the other side would—'

'You parley with 'em first, of course—you all agree to butcher the bastards!' He reeled back and threw up his hands. 'You don't fight wars! You don't fight battles! You just all form up and make new cemeteries!' He wheeled on them. 'Are you all idiots?'

QuoteCuttle stepped close to Tarr and hissed, 'Gods below, Corporal, they're worse than sheep!'

'Been thrashed too many times, that's their problem.'

'So what do we do with them?'

Tarr shrugged. 'All I can think of is thrash 'em again.'

Cuttle's small eyes narrowed on his corporal. 'Somehow, that don't sound right.'

QuoteThe look he shot her was bleak, wretched. 'Justice is a sweet notion. Too bad its practice ends up awash in innocent blood. Honest judgement is cruel, Adjunct, so very cruel. And what makes it a disaster is the way it spreads outward, swallowing everything in its path. Allow me to quote Imperial Historian Duiker: "The object of justice is to drain the world of colour." '

Quote'Are the gods united on this?'

'Of course not—excuse me, Adjunct. Rather, the gods are never united, even when in agreement. Betrayals are virtually guaranteed—which is why I cannot fathom Shadowthrone's thinking. He's not that stupid—he can't be that stupid—'

'He has outwitted you,' Tavore said. 'You "cannot fathom" his innermost intentions. High Mage, the first god you have mentioned here is one that most of us wouldn't expect to be at the forefront of all of this. Hood, yes. Togg, Fanderay—even Fener. Or Oponn. And what of the Elder Gods? Mael, K'rul, Kilmandaros. No. Instead, you speak of Shadowthrone, the upstart—'

'The once Emperor of the Malazan Empire,' cut in Keneb.

Quick Ben scowled. 'Aye, even back then—and it's not easy to admit this—he was a wily bastard. The times I thought I'd worked round him, beat him clean, it turned out he had been playing me all along. He was the ruler of shadows long before he even ascended to that title. Dancer gave him the civilized face, that mask of honest morality—just as Cotillion does now. But don't be fooled, those two are ruthless—none of us mortals are worth a damned thing, except as a means to an end—'

'And what, High Mage, would that end be?'

Quick Ben threw up his hands and leaned back. 'I have little more than rude guesses, Adjunct.'

But Lostara saw something shining in the wizard's eyes, as if he had been stirred into wakefulness from a long, long sleep. She wondered if this was how he had been with Whiskeyjack, with Dujek Onearm. No wonder they saw him as their shaved knuckle in the hole.

'I would hear those guesses,' the Adjunct said.

'The pantheon comes crashing down—and what emerges from the dust and ashes is almost unrecognizable. The same for sorcery—the warrens—the realm of K'rul. All fundamentally changed.'

'Yet, one assumes, at the pinnacle... Shadowthrone and Cotillion.'

'A safe assumption,' Quick Ben admitted, 'which is why I don't trust it.'

Tavore looked startled. 'Altruism from those two?'

'I don't even believe in altruism, Adjunct.'

'Thus,' she observed, 'your confusion.'

QuoteEven common sense was an enemy to the harvesters of the future. The beast that was civilization ever faced forward, and in making its present world it devoured the world to come. It was an appalling truth that one's own children could be so callously sacrificed to immediate comforts, yet this was so and it had always been so.

Quote'What now?' Curdle whispered.

'What kind of question is that? What now? What now? Have you lost your mind?'

'Well, what now, Telorast?'

'How should I know! But listen, we need to do something! That Errant—he's... he's—well, I hate him, is what! And worse, he's using Banaschar, our very own ex-priest.'

'Our pet.'

'That's right. Our pet—not his!'

'We should kill him.'

'Who? Banaschar or the Errant?'

'If we kill Banaschar, then nobody has a pet. If we kill the Errant, then we can keep Banaschar all to ourselves.'

'Right, Curdle,' Telorast said, nodding, 'but which one would make the Errant angrier?'

'Good question. We need something to make him go mad, completely mad—that's the best revenge for stealing our pet.'

'And then we kill him.'

'Who?'

'It doesn't matter! Why are you being so thick? Oh, what a ridiculous question! Listen, Curdle, now we got ourselves a plan and that's good. It's a start. So let's think some more. Vengeance against the Errant.'

'The Elder God.'

'Right.'

'Who's still around.'

'Right.'

'Stealing pets.'

'Curdle—'

'I'm just thinking out loud, that's all!'

'You call that thinking? No wonder we ended up torn to pieces and dead and worse than dead!'

'Oh, and what are you thinking, then?'

'I didn't have any time to, since I had to answer all your questions!'

'You always got an excuse, Telorast, did you know that? Always.'

'And you're it, Curdle, did you know that?'

QuoteIt wasn't that the Letherii scouts were especially bad. It was more the case that their tradition of warfare kept them trapped in the idea of huge armies clashing on open fields. Where scouts were employed simply to find the enemy encampments. The notion of a foe that could melt into the landscape the way the Malazans could, or even the idea that the enemy might split its forces, avoid direct clashes, and whittle the Letherii down with raids, ambushes and disrupted supply lines—none of that was part of their military thinking. The Tiste Edur had been tougher by far. Their fighting style was much closer to the Malazan one, which probably explained why the Edur conquered the Letherii the first time round. Of course, the Malazans could stand firm in a big scrap, but it made sense to have spent some time demoralizing and weakening their foe beforehand.

Quote'There is no single god. There can never be a single god. For there to be one face, there must be another. The Nah'ruk did not see it in such terms, of course. They spoke of forces in opposition, of the necessity of tension. All that binds must be bound to two foci, at the minimum. Even should a god exist alone, isolated in its perfection, it will come to comprehend the need for a force outside itself, beyond its omniscience. If all remains within, Destriant—exclusively within, that is—then there is no reason for anything to exist, no reason for creation itself. If all is ordered, untouched by chaos, then the universe that was, is and will ever be, is without meaning. Without value. The god would quickly comprehend, then, that its own existence is also without meaning, and so it would cease. It would succumb to the logic of despair.'

Quote'This is a court, sire. The court plots and schemes with the same need that we—uh, you—breathe. A necessity. It's healthy, in fact.'

'Oh now, really.'

'All right, not healthy, unless of course one can achieve a perfect equilibrium, each faction played off against the others. The true measure of success for a king's Intelligence Wing.'

Tehol frowned. 'Who's flapping that, by the way?'

'Your Intelligence Wing?'

'That's the one.'

'I am.'

'Oh. How goes it?'

'I fly in circles, sire.'

'Lame, Bugg.'

'As it must be.'

'We need to invent another wing, I think.'

'Do we now?'

Tehol nodded, plucking another fruit and studying it contemplatively. 'To fly true, yes. A counter-balance. We could call it the King's Stupidity Wing.'

QuoteBlackdog. Still a name that could send chills through a Malazan soldier, whether they'd been in it or not. Cuttle wondered how a place—a happening now years and years old—could sink into a people, like scars passed from parents to child. Scars, aye, and stains, and the sour taste of horror and misery—was it even possible? Or was it the stories—stories like the one Fiddler just told? Not even a story, was it? Just a detail. Exaggerated, aye, but still a detail. Enough details, muttered here and there, every now and then, and something started clumping up inside, like a ball of wet clay, smearing everything. And before too long, there it is, compacted and hard as a damned rock, perfect to rattle around inside a man's head, knocking about his thoughts and confusing him. And confusion was what hid behind fear, after all. Every soldier knew it, and knew how deadly it could be, especially in the storm of battle. Confusion led to mistakes, bad judgements, and sure enough, blind panic was the first stinking flower confusion plucked when it was time to dance in the fields.

QuoteHe coughed and turned to study all the other recruits. 'Running from debt I understand,' he said. 'Same for armies the world over. Indebted, criminal, misfit, pervert, patriot and insane, and that list's from my very own military application. And look at me, promoted up to Lieutenant and sideways to Master Sergeant. So, dear recruits,' and Pores slapped on a broad smile, which was answered by everyone in the line, 'nobody knows better where you're coming from, and nobody knows better where you're going to end up, which is probably in either the infirmary or the stockade. And I mean to get you there in no time flat!'

QuoteFiddler snorted. 'Sapper, listen to me. It's easy to listen and even easier to hear wrongly, so pay attention. I'm no wise man, but in my life I've learned that knowing something—seeing it clearly—offers no real excuse for giving up on it. And when you put what you see into words, give 'em to somebody else, that ain't no invitation neither. Being optimistic's worthless if it means ignoring the suffering of this world. Worse than worthless. It's bloody evil. And being pessimistic, well, that's just the first step on the path, and it's a path that might take you down Hood's road, or it takes you to a place where you can settle into doing what you can, hold fast in your fight against that suffering. And that's an honest place, Cuttle.'

Quote
Is there anything more worthless than excuses?

- Kellanved

Quote'Is there precedent for our assistance in such conflicts?' Tehol asked, settling his chin in one hand.

'There is. We ask, you say "no", and we go home. Sometimes,' he added, 'you say, "Of course, but first let us have half a thousand brokes of pasture land and twenty ranks of tanned hides, oh, and renounce sovereignty of the Kryn Freetrade Lands and maybe a royal hostage or two." To which we make a rude gesture and march home.'

QuoteUnder normal circumstances, it was easy to hide in an army, even as an officer. Volunteer for nothing, offer no suggestions, stay in the back at briefings, or better still, miss them altogether. Most command structures made allowances for useless officers—no different from the allowances made for useless soldiers in the field.

'Take a thousand soldiers. Four hundred will stand in a fight but do nothing. Two hundred will run given the chance. Another hundred will get confused. That leaves three hundred you can count on. Your task in commanding that thousand is all down to knowing where to put that three hundred.'

Not Malazan doctrine, that. Some Theftian general, he suspected. Not Korelri, that was certain. Korelri would just keep the three hundred and execute the rest.

QuoteFiddler shrugged. 'I wasn't a sergeant back then, so I really can't say. But something tells me they did plenty of chewing. Don't forget from about Blackdog all the way down to Darujhistan somebody in the empire wanted them dead. Now, maybe they never had much to complain about when it came to Dujek Onearm, but at the same time it's not like they knew what their High Fist was up to—it wasn't their business.'

'Even when that business killed soldiers?' Sinter asked.

Fiddler's laugh was harsh and cutting. 'If that isn't a commander's business, what is? The Adjunct's not our Hood-damned mother, Sinter. She's the will behind the fist and we're the fist. And sometimes we get bloodied, but that's what comes when you're hammering an enemy in the face.'

Quote'Enough wasting our time. Face me, Onos T'oolan—I challenge your right to lead the White Face Barghast!'

Tool sighed. 'Use your eyes, Riggis. What shifting of the earth leaves no cracks? Pushes to one side hilltops without touching their roots? Drives three—possibly more—furrows across the plain, each one converging on this valley, each one striking for the heart of the Snakehunter camp?'

He pointed to the north channel of the valley. 'What earthquake cuts down fleeing Barghast in the hundreds? See them, Riggis—that road of bones?'

'Akryn raiders, taking advantage of the broken state of the survivors. Answer my challenge, coward!'

Tool studied the enormous warrior. Not yet thirty, his belt crowded with trophies. He turned to the others and raised his voice, 'Do any of you challenge Riggis and his desire to be Warleader of the White Face Barghast?'

'He is not yet Warleader,' growled Bakal.

Tool nodded. 'And should I kill Riggis here, now, will you draw your weapon and voice your challenge to me, Bakal?' He scanned the others. 'How many of you will seek the same? Shall we stand here over the broken graveyard of the Snakehunter clan and spill yet more Barghast blood? Is this how you will honour your fallen White Faces?'

'They will not follow you,' Riggis said, his eyes bright. 'Unless you answer my challenge.'

'Ah, and so, if I do answer you, Riggis, they will then follow me?'

The Senan warrior's laugh was derisive. 'I am not yet ready to speak for them—'

'You just did.'

'Spar no more with empty words, Onos Toolan.' He widened his stance and readied his heavy-bladed weapon, teeth gleaming amidst his braided beard.

'Were you Warleader, Riggis,' Tool said, still standing relaxed, hands at his sides, 'would you slay your best warriors simply to prove your right to rule?'

'Any who dared oppose me, yes!'

'Then, you would command out of a lust for power, not out of a duty to your people.'

'My finest warriors,' Riggis replied, 'would find no cause to challenge me in the first place.'

'They would, as soon as they decided to disagree with you, Riggis. And this would haunt you, in the back of your mind. With every decision you made, you would find yourself weighing the risks, and before long you would gather to yourself an entourage of cohorts—the ones whose loyalty you have purchased with favours—and you would sit like a spider in the centre of your web, starting at every tremble of the silk. How well can you trust your friends, knowing how you yourself bought them? How soon before you find yourself swaying to every gust of desire among your people? Suddenly, that power you so hungered for proves to be a prison. You seek to please everyone and so please no one. You search the eyes of those closest to you, wondering if you can trust them, wondering if their smiles are but lying masks, wondering what they say behind your back—'

'Enough!' Riggis roared, and then charged.

The flint sword appeared as if conjured in Tool's hands. It seemed to flicker. Riggis staggered to one side, down on to one knee. His broken tulwar thumped to the ground four paces away, the warrior's hand still wrapped tight about the grip. He blinked down at his own chest, as if looking for something, and blood ran from the stump of his wrist—ran, but the flow was ebbing. With his remaining hand he reached up to touch an elongated slit in his boiled-leather hauberk, from which the faint glisten of blood slowly welled. A slit directly above his heart.

He looked up at Tool, perplexed, and then sat back. A moment later, Riggis fell on to his side, and no further movement came from him.

QuoteThe swordswoman continued. 'Human, you keep strange company. They will teach you nothing of value, these Che'Malle. It is their curse to repeat their mistakes, again and again, until they have destroyed themselves and everyone else. They have no gifts for you.'

'It seems,' said Kalyth of the Elan, 'we humans have already learned all they could teach us, whether we ever knew it or not.'

Quote'Stupid Bolkando. What value fielding an army that crawls like a bhederin with its legs cut off? We could dance round it and strike straight for the capital. I could drag that King off his throne and plant myself in it sloppy as a drunk, and that would be that.'

He snorted. 'Generals and commanders understand nothing. They think a battle answers everything, like fists in an alley. Coltaine knew better—war is the means, not the end—the goal is not to wage slaughter—it is to achieve domination in the bargaining that follows.'

Quote'That's what the Malazans have taught us, if they've taught us anything. A smith's hammer in the hand, or a sword—it's all business, and each and every one of us is in it. The side with the most people using their brains is the side that wins.'

QuoteThe track lifted and then wound down over the ridge to converge with a broad cobbled road. At the junction three squat, square granaries plumed columns of black smoke. A waste—the locals had lit their own harvest rather than yield it to the Khundryl.

Pernicious attitudes annoyed Gall, as if war was an excuse for anything. He recalled a story he'd heard from a Malazan—Fist Keneb, he believed—about a company of royal guard in the city of Bloor on Quon Tali, who, surrounded in a square, had used children as shields against the Emperor's archers. Dassem Ultor's face had darkened with disgust, and he'd had siege weapons brought in to fling nets instead of bolts, and once all the soldiers were tangled and brought down, the First Sword had sent in troops to extricate the children from their clutches.

Among all the enemies of the Empire during Dassem Ultor's command, those guards had been the only ones ever impaled and left to die slowly, in terrible agony. Some things were inexcusable. Gall would have skinned the bastards first. 

Destroying perfectly good food wasn't quite as atrocious, but the sentiment behind the gesture was little different from that of those Bloorian guards, as far as he was concerned. Without the crimes that had launched this war, the Khundryl would have paid good gold for that grain. This was how things fell apart when stupidity stole the crown. War was the ultimate disintegration of civility, and, for that matter, simple logic.

QuoteThe Barghast were presented on the left flank, as Yelk had noted. The ranks were uneven, with some of the mercenaries sitting, helms doffed and shields down. The tall standards rising above their companies were all adorned with human skulls and braids of hair. Right of the centre legion earthworks mottled the crest and slope of the hills, and pikes were visible jutting above the trenches. Probably regulars, Gall surmised. Slippery discipline, ill-trained, but in numbers sufficient to fix any enemy they faced, long enough for the centre and left to wheel round after breaking whatever charge Gall might throw at them. Behind all three elements and spilling out to the wings were archers and skirmishers.

'Yelk, tell me how you would engage what you see here.'

'I wouldn't, Warleader.'

Gall glanced over, his eyes brightening. 'Go on. Would you flap your tail in flight? Surrender? Cower in bulging breeches and sue for peace? Spill out endless concessions until the shackles close round the ankles of every living Khundryl?'

'I'd present our own wings and face them for most of a day, Warleader.'

'And then?'

'With dusk, we would retire from the field. Wait until the sun was fully down, and then peel out to either side and ride round the enemy army. We'd strike just before dawn, from behind, with flaming arrows and madness. We'd burn their baggage camp, scatter their archers, and then chew up the backsides of the legions. We'd attack in waves, with half a bell between them. By noon we would be gone.'

'Leaving them to crawl bloodied back to their city—'

'We would hit them again and again on that retreat—'

'And use up all your arrows?'

'Yes. As if we had millions of them, Warleader, an unending supply. And once we've chased them through the city gate, they would be ready to beg for peace.'

QuoteThey did not choose their parents—who does? They're just... unlucky. But that is the way of the world. Spawn of rulers inherit more than power—they inherit what happens when that power collapses.

Quote'This is already unravelling, Errant. War is like that—all the players lose control. "Chaos takes the sword.'"

Quote'Histories, they're just what's survived. But they're not the whole story, because the whole story can never be known. Think of all the histories we've gone and lost. Not just kingdoms and empires, but the histories inside every one of us, every person who ever lived

QuoteThere'd be a few flick-blade duels this night, she expected. There always were, night before battle. Stupid, of course. Pointless. But, as Onos Toolan might say, the real meaning of 'tradition' was... what had he called it? 'Stupidity on purpose', that's what he said.

QuoteHis bleary, raw eyes settled on the battleaxe and he scowled. It wasn't even pretty, was it.

'Smash,' he mumbled. 'Crush. Its name is Rilk, but it never says anything. How'd it tell anybody its name? I'm alone. Everybody must be dead. Sorry, crow, you were last other thing left alive! In the whole world! And I killed you!'

'Sorry I missed it,' said a voice behind him. Ublala Pung climbed to his feet and turned round.

'Life!'

'I share your exultation, friend.'

'It's all cold around you,' Ublala said.

'That will pass.'

'Are you a god?'

'More or less, Toblakai. Does that frighten you?'

Ublala Pung shook his head. 'I've met gods before. They collect chickens.'

'We possess mysterious ways indeed.'

QuoteWhat must be understood is this: attackers attack as a form of defence. It is their instinctive response to threat, real or perceived. It maybe desperate or it may be habit, or both, when desperation becomes a way of life. Behind the assault hides a fragile person.' He was silent then, and Ryadd understood that Silchas sought to invite some contemplation of the things just said.

Weighing of self-judgement, perhaps. Was he an attacker or a defender? He had done both, he knew, and there had been times when he had attacked when he should have defended, and so too the other way round. I do not know which of the two I am. Not yet. But, I think, I know this much: when I feel threatened, I attack.

'Cultures tend to invite the dominance of one over the other, as a means by which an individual succeeds and advances or, conversely, fails and falls. A culture dominated by attackers—and one in which the qualities of attacking are admired, often overtly encouraged—tends to breed people with a thick skin, which nonetheless still serves to protect a most brittle self. Thus the wounds bleed but stay well hidden beneath the surface. Cultures favouring the defender promote thin skin and quickness to take offence—its own kind of aggression, I am sure you see. The culture of attackers seeks submission and demands evidence of that submission as proof of superiority over the subdued. The culture of defenders seeks compliance through conformity, punishing dissenters and so gaining the smug superiority of enforcing silence, and from silence, complicity.'

Quote'Toc bears a wolf's eye.'

'Because he is the Herald of War.'

The title chilled her. 'Then why is his other eye not a wolf's eye, too?'

'It was human, I'm sure.'

'Exactly. Why?'

Cartographer made the mistake of scratching his temple, and came away with a swath of crinkled skin impaled on his fingernails. He fluttered his fingers to send it drifting away into the night. 'Because, I imagine, humans are the true heralds of war, don't you think?'

Quote'You're trying to keep me awake, aren't you?'

'You landed on your head, Faint. For a time there, you spoke in tongues.'

'I did what?'

'Well, it was a mix of languages, sixteen that I could identify, and some others I could not. An extraordinary display, Faint. There is a scholar who states that we possess every language, deep within our minds, and that the potential exists for perhaps ten thousand languages in all. She would have delighted in witnessing your feat. Then there is a dystigier, a dissector of human corpses, living in Ehrlitan, who claims that the brain is nothing more than a clumped mass of snarled chains. Most links are fused, but some are not. Some can be prised open and fitted anew. Any major head injury, he says, can result in a link breaking. This is usually permanent, but on rare occasions a new link is forged. Chains, Faint, packed inside our skull.'

'Only they don't look like chains, do they?'

'No, alas, they don't. It is the curse of theory disconnected from physical observation. Of course, Icarium would argue that one should not always test theory solely on the basis of pragmatic observation. Sometimes, he would say, theory needs to be interpreted more poetically, as metaphor, perhaps.'

'I have a metaphor for you, Mappo.'

'Oh?'

'A woman lies on the ground, brain addled, listening to a hairy Trell with tusks discussing possible interpretations of theory. What does this mean?'

'I don't know, but whatever it may be, I doubt it would qualify as a metaphor.'

'I'm sure you're right, since I don't even know what a metaphor is, truth be told.'

Quote'I doubt my Queen would take kindly to one of her court lieutenants shucking all this to wear turtle shells and dance naked under the moon.'

Spax smiled. 'Saw that, did you?' Gaedis nodded. 'It was a show, you understand. Don't you?'

'Warchief?'

'The Queen's clutch of scholars—we made something up to give them something to write about and then ponder its meaning for the rest of their dull, useless lives. Spirits below, a man's grapes get tiny in the cold night—why'd you think we kept jumping over the fire?'

Quote'It's what makes us so different from them,' observed Shelemasa. 'We don't invent useless things, or make up needs that don't exist. If civilization—as they call it—has a true definition, then that must be it. Don't you think, Mahib?'

The ancient honorific for a pregnant woman pleased Hanavat. Though these two were young, they remembered the old ways and all the respect those ways accorded people.

'You may be right in that, Shelemasa. But I wonder, perhaps it's not the objects that so define a civilization—perhaps it's the attitudes that give rise to them, and to the strangely overwrought value attached to them. The privilege of making useless things is the important thing, since it implies wealth and abundance, leisure and all the rest.'

QuoteSechul Lath was the arbiter of all they sought. 'Save me.' 'Save us.' 'Make us rich.' 'Make us fruitful.' The gods never even heard such supplications from their followers. The need, the desire, snared each prayer, spun them swirling into Sechul's domain. He could open himself, even now, to the cries of mortals beyond counting, each and every one begging for an instant of his time, his regard. His blessing.

But he'd stopped listening long ago. He'd spawned the Twins and left them to inherit the pathetic game. How could one not grow weary of that litany of prayers? Each and every desire, so heartfelt, invariably reduced to a knot of sordidness. To gain for oneself, someone else must lose. Joy was purchased in reams of sorrow. Triumphs stood tall on heaps of bones. Save my child? Another must die. Balance! All must balance! Can existence be any crueller than that? Can justice be any emptier? To bless you with chance, I must curse another with mischance. To this law even the gods must bow. Creation, destruction, life, death—no, I am done with it! Done with it all!

QuoteA city of stone, built upward instead of outward—what was the point of that? Well. Self defence. But we've already seen how that didn't work. And what if some lower section caught fire? There'd be no escape for everyone trapped above. No, these were the constructs of idiots, and he wanted nothing to do with them.

What's wrong with a hut? A hooped tent of hides—you can pick it up and carry it anywhere you want to go. Leaving nothing behind. Rest lightly on the soil—so the elders always said. But why did they say that? Because it made running away easier. Until we ran out of places to run.

If we'd built cities, just like the Letherii, why, they would have had to respect us and our claim to the lands we lived on. We would have had rights. But with those huts, with all that resting lightly, they never had to take us seriously, and that made killing us all that much easier.

Quote'Great One, we are abject. We grovel in servitude—'

The other cut in, 'Does she believe all that? Keep trying!'

'Be quiet, Telorast! How can I concentrate on lying with you barging in all the time! Now shhh! Oh, never mind, it's too late—look at them, they can both hear us. You, especially.'

The creature named Telorast had crept closer to Olar Ethil, almost on all fours. 'Servitude! As my sister said. Not a real lie. Just a... a... a temporary truth! Allegiance of convenience, so long as it's convenient. What could be more honest?'

Olar Ethil grunted and then said, 'I have no need of allies among the Eleint.'

'Not true!' cried Telorast.

'Calm down,' hissed the other one. 'This is called bargaining. She says we're useless. We say we don't really need her help. She says—well, something. Let's wait to hear what she says, and then we say something back. Eventually, we strike a deal. You see? It's simple.'

'I can't think!' complained Telorast. 'I'm too terrified! Curdle, take over—before my bones fall apart!'

The one named Curdle snapped its head back and forth, as if seeking somewhere to hide.

'You don't fool me,' said Olar Ethil. 'You two almost won the Throne of Shadow. You killed a dozen of your kin to get there. Who stopped you? Was it Anomander Rake? Edgewalker? Kilmandaros?' At each name the two skeletons cringed.

'What is it you seek now?' the bonecaster asked.

'Power,' said Telorast.

'Wealth,' said Curdle.

'Survival,' said Telorast.

Curdle nodded, head bobbing. 'Terrible times. Things will die.'

'Lots of things,' added Telorast. 'But it will be safe in your shadow, Great One.'

'Yes,' said Curdle. 'Safe!'

'In turn, we will guard your back.'

'Yes! That's it exactly!'

'Until,' said Olar Ethil, 'you find it expedient to betray me. You see my dilemma. You guard my back from other threats, but who will guard my back from you two?'

'Curdle can't be trusted,' said Telorast. 'I'll protect you from her, I swear it!'

'As will I from my sister!' Curdle spun to face Telorast and snapped her tiny jaws. Clack clack clack! Telorast hissed in reply.

Olar Ethil turned to Torrent. 'Eleint,' she said.

Eleint? Dragons? These two? 'I always imagined they'd be bigger.'

QuoteBlistig needed to be pushed aside. He could think of a number of officers sharp enough to take on the role of Fist. Faradan Sort, Raband, Ruthan Gudd. Kindly. Kindly, now there's an idea. Has seniority. Instils a healthy dose of terror in his soldiers. Brilliantly unreasonable.

Quote'Wait,' said Quick Ben. 'Who said anything about T'lan Imass?'

'I did,' Bottle replied. 'You were the one talking about winged K'Chain Che'Malle.'

Fiddler snorted. 'No doubt the Adjunct will talk to us about the fucking Forkrul Assail. Who's left? Oh, the Jaghut—'

'Still days away—' said Bottle and Quick Ben in unison, and then glared at each other.

Fiddler's face reddened. 'You bastards,' he hissed under his breath.

Quote'It concerns a squad in one of my companies, Blistig. Do me a favour, ride the fuck back to your Legion and get them in order. If new commands are going to come down, leave it to the Adjunct's staff. If she wanted you she'd have invited you.'

The man's face darkened. 'You've turned into a real shit, Keneb. Don't settle in Letheras—the city ain't big enough for both of us.'

'Go away, Blistig.'

'Once we're disbanded, I'm coming looking for you, Keneb.'

'The day that happens, Blistig, you won't make it out of your Legion's camp. They'll cut you down not two steps from your tent.'

QuoteHe'd been thinking about Leoman lately. No real reason, as far as he could tell, except maybe it was the way Leoman had managed to lead soldiers, turn them into fanatical followers, in fact. He'd once believed that was a gift, a talent. But now he was no longer so sure. In some ways, that gift was the kind that made a man dangerous. Being a follower was risky. Especially when the truth showed up, that truth being that the one doing the leading didn't really care a whit for any of them. Leoman and people like him collected fanatics the way a rich merchant collected coins, and then he spent them without a moment's thought. No, the Adjunct was better, no matter what everyone said. They talked as if they wanted a Leoman, but Corabb knew how that was. They didn't. If they got a Leoman, every one of them would end up getting killed. He believed the Adjunct cared about them, maybe even too much. But between the two, he'd stay with her every time.

Quote'Scam,' said Drawfirst. 'Lookback, we all been taken.'

'What's new about that? Marines never play fair—'

'They just play to win,' Drawfirst finished, scowling at the old Bridgeburner adage.

QuoteStormy's eyes flashed. 'What did I tell you, Gesler! My dreams! I saw—'

'What you said you saw made no sense. Still doesn't! The point is, this woman here calls herself the Destriant to the K'Chain Che'Malle, and if that's not dumb enough, she's calling me the Mortal Sword and you the Shield Anvil.'

Stormy flinched, hands up covering his face. He spoke behind his palms. 'Where's my sword? Where's my boots? Where the fuck is breakfast?'

'Didn't you hear me?'

'I heard you, Gesler. Dreams. It was those damned scaled rats. Every time I saw one on the trail I got the shivers.'

'Rats ain't K'Chain Che'Malle. You know, if you had even half a brain maybe you could've figured out your dreams, and maybe we wouldn't be in this mess!'

Stormy dropped his hands, swung his shaggy head to regard Kalyth. 'Look at her,' he muttered.

'What about her?'

'Reminds me of my mother.'

Gesler's hands twitched, closed into fists. 'Don't even think it, Stormy.'

'Can't help it. She does—'

'No, she doesn't. Your mother had red hair—'

'Not the point. Around her eyes, see it? You should know, Ges, you went and bedded her enough times—'

'That was an accident—'

'A what?'

'I mean, how did I know she went around seducing your friends?'

'She didn't. Just you.'

'But you said—'

'So I lied! I was just trying to make you feel better! No, fuck that, I was trying to make you feel that you're nobody important—your head's swelled up bad enough as it is. Anyway, it don't matter any more, does it? Forget it. I forgave you, remember—'

'You were drunk and we'd just trashed an alley trying to kill each other—'

'Then I forgave you. Forget it, I said.'

'I wish I could! Now you go and say this one looks like—'

'But she does!'

'I know she does! Now just shut the fuck up! We ain't—we ain't—'

'Yes, we are. You know it, Ges. You don't like it, but you know it. We been cut loose. We got us a destiny. Right here. Right now. She's Destriant and you're Shield Anvil and I'm Mortal Sword—'

'Wrong way round,' Gesler snarled. 'I'm the Mortal Sword—'

'Good. Glad we got that settled. Now get her to cook us something—'

'Oh, is that what Destriants do, then? Cook for us?'

'I'm hungry and I got no food!'

'Then ask her. Politely.'

Book Ten, The Crippled God

QuoteThe voice of K'rul, Elder God of the Warrens, drifted out from within his hood. 'If all existence is a dialogue, how is it there is still so much left unsaid?'

Mael scratched the stubble on his jaw. 'Me with mine, you with yours, him with his, and yet still we fail to convince the world of its inherent absurdity.'

Quote'Mael, do they truly have a chance?'

He looked down at K'rul. 'The Malazan Empire conjured them out of nothing. Dassem's First Sword, the Bridgeburners, and now the Bonehunters. What can I tell you? It is as if they were born of another age, a golden age lost to the past, and the thing of it is: they don't even know it. Perhaps that is why she wishes them to remain unwitnessed in all that they do.'

'What do you mean?'

'She doesn't want the rest of the world to be reminded of what they once were.'

Quote'Not even you can breach the power surrounding this keep,' the god said. 'You have blinded yourself. Open your gate again, Ganoes Paran, find somewhere else to lodge your army. This is pointless.' He flung the web away and gestured with the head of his cane. 'You cannot defeat those two, we both know that.'

'But they don't, do they?'

Quote'So what brought the Adjudicators to the place,' Gesler wondered, 'if it was already suffering?'

'Weakness,' said Stormy. 'Take any starving land, and you'll find a fat king. Nobody'd weep at that slaughter in the throne room. Priests blathering on about justice. Must have sounded sweet, at least to start with.'

QuoteSo many lusted after power. It was the crushing step of history, in every civilization that had ever existed. Gu'Rull had no taste for it. Better that more of his kind existed, behind every throne, to cut the throat at the first hint of mad ambition. Enough heads rolling down the ages and perhaps the lesson would finally be learned, though he doubted it.

The assassin must never die. The shadows must ever remain. We hold the world in check. We are the arbiters of reason. It is our duty, our purpose. I have seen them. I have seen what they can do, and the joy in their eyes at the devastation they can unleash. But their throats are soft. If I must, I will rid the world of them.

The power was sickly, a swathe of something vile. It leaked from their indifferent minds and fouled the sweet scents of his kin – their joy at victory, their gratitude to the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil, their love for Kalyth, the Destriant of the K'Chain Che'Malle. Their faith in a new future. But these children. They need to die. Soon.

Quote'Get the Matron to order that assassin down here.'

'I will.'

'When?'

'When I feel like it.'

Stormy's face reddened. 'You're still a Hood-shitting sergeant, you know that? Mortal Sword? Mortal Bunghole is more like it! Gods, to think I been taking orders from you for how long?'

'Well, who's a better Shield Anvil than a man with an anvil for a head?'

Stormy grunted, and then said, 'I'm hungry.'

'Aye,' said Gesler. 'Let's go and eat.' They set out for the feeding area.

'Do you remember, when we were young – too young? That cliff—'

'Don't go on about that damned cliff, Stormy. I still get nightmares about it.'

'It's guilt you're feeling.' Gesler

halted. 'Guilt? You damned fool. I saved your life up there!'

'After nearly killing me! If that rock coming down had hit me in the head—'

'But it didn't, did it? No, just your shoulder. A tap, a bit of dust, and then I—'

'The point is,' Stormy interrupted, 'we did stupid things back then. We should've learned, only it's turning out we never learned a damned thing.'

'That's not the problem,' Gesler retorted. 'We got busted down all those times for good reason. We can't handle responsibilities, that's our problem. We start bickering – you start thinking and that's as bad as bad can get. Stop thinking, Stormy, and that's an order.'

'You can't order me, I'm the Shield Anvil, and if I want to think, that's damn well what I'll do.'

Gesler set out again. 'Be sure to let me know when you start. In the meantime, stop moaning about everything. It's tiresome.'

Quote'Something hides. It's all around us, subtle as smoke. It has manifested only once thus far, and that was at the battle, among the Malazans – at the place where the Adjunct fell unconscious. There is a hidden hand in all of this, Brys, and I don't trust it.'

'Where the Adjunct fell? But Aranict, what happened there saved Tavore's life, and quite possibly the lives of the rest of the Bonehunters. The Nah'ruk reeled from that place.'

'Yet still I fear it,' she insisted, plucking out another rustleaf stick. 'Allies should show themselves.' She drew out the small silver box containing the resin sparker. The night wind defeated her efforts to scrape a flame to life, so she stepped close against Brys and tried again.

'Allies,' he said, 'have their own enemies. Showing themselves imposes a risk, I imagine.'

QuoteSkanarow looked away guiltily, but Sort's eyes hardened to flint. 'Your own soldiers are close to mutiny, Kindly – I can't believe you ordered—'

'A kit inspection? Why not? Forced them all to scrape the shit out of their breeches, a bit of tidying that was long overdue.'

Faradan Sort was studying him. 'It's not an act, is it?'

'Some advice,' Kindly said. 'The keep is on fire, the black stomach plague is killing the kitchen staff, the rats won't eat your supper and hearing the circus is in the yard your wife has oiled the hinges on the bedroom door. So I walk in and blister your ear about your scuffy boots. When I leave, what are you thinking about?'

Skanarow answered. 'I'm thinking up inventive ways to kill you, sir.'

Kindly adjusted his weapon belt. 'The sun has cracked the sky, my dears. Time for my constitutional morning walk.'

'Want a few bodyguards, sir?'

'Generous offer, Captain, but I will be fine.'

QuoteWatching him walk off, Faradan Sort sighed and rubbed at her face. 'All right,' she muttered, 'the bastard has a point.'

'That's why he's a bastard, sir.'

Sort glanced over. 'Are you impugning a Fist's reputation, Captain?'

Skanarow straightened. 'Absolutely not, Fist. I was stating a fact. Fist Kindly is a bastard, sir. He was one when he was captain, lieutenant, corporal, and seven-year-old bully. Sir.'

QuoteBerrach was frowning. 'Do we not honour their memories, sir?'

Hedge bared his teeth in anything but a smile. 'Honour whoever you want in your spare time, Captain, only you ain't got any spare time any more, because you're now a Bridgeburner, and us Bridgeburners honour only one thing.'

'And that is, sir?'

'Killing the enemy, Captain.'

QuoteWhat do you think makes criminals in the first place?'

'Stupidity and greed.'

'Besides those? I'll tell you. It's looking around, real carefully. It's seeing what's really there, and who wins every time, and it's deciding that despair tastes like shit. It's deciding to do whatever it takes to sneak through, to win what you can for yourself. It's also condemning your fellow humans to whatever misery finds them – even if that misery is by your own hand. To hurt another human being is to announce your hatred of humanity – but mostly your thinking is about hating back what already hates you. A thief steals telling herself she's evening out crooked scales. That's how we sleep at night, y'see.'

QuoteBut there was betrayal, long ago. How could the Liosan forget? How could they set it aside? Judgement, the coarse, thorn-studded brambles of retribution, they could snag an entire people, and as the blood streamed down each body was lifted higher, lifted from the ground. The vicious snare carried them into the righteous sky. Reason could not reach that high, and in the heavens madness spun untamed.

QuoteChance is a miserable bitch, a hard bastard. It shows a smile, but it is a wolf's smile. What is learned? Only that every ambition must kneel to that which cannot be anticipated. And you can duck and dodge for only so long. It'll take you down in the end. A man slips the noose. A civilization steps from the path of its own hubris. Once. Twice. Thrice even. But what of the twentieth time? The fiftieth? Triumph falters. It always does. There was never a balance.

Quote'Mortal Sword, do not think I do not love my brothers and sisters. Do not think I would stand here and lie. I am the Shield Anvil, and for all Run'Thurvian's doubts – for all your doubts, Krughava – I hold to my duty. We are divided, yes. But what divides us is so fundamental that to put it into words could strike one as absurd. Upon the side of the Adjunct, we are offered a place among mortals, among humans – flawed, weak, uncertain in their cause. Upon the other side, our covenant of faith. The Wolves of Winter, the Wolves of War. The Lord and the Lady of the Beast Hold. And in this faith we choose to stand alongside the beasts. We avow our swords in the name of their freedom, their right to live, to share this and every other world.

The question – so absurd – is this: are we to be human, or are we to be humanity's slayers? And if the latter, then what will come of us should we win? Should we somehow lead a rebellion of the wilds, and so destroy every last human on this world? Must we then fall upon our own swords?'

He paused then, suddenly drained, and met Krughava's eyes. 'Run'Thurvian was right. There will be betrayal. In fact, in choosing one side, we cannot but betray the other. Mortal Sword, you set your sword down before the Adjunct. But long before that moment you pledged that selfsame weapon in the name of our gods. No matter how strong the sword's forging,' he said, 'no weapon can long withstand contrary pressures. It weakens. It shatters. No weapon has ever bridged a divide, and once drawn, a sword can only cut. For all the virtues of iron, Mortal Sword, we are flesh and blood. What awaits us, Krughava? Which path shall you lead us upon? Shall it be to your personal glory, there at the Adjunct's side? Or shall it be in the name of the gods we are sworn to serve?'

Quote'Write the following: "Private missive, from Lieutenant Master-Sergeant Field Quartermaster Pores, to Fist Kindly. Warmest salutations and congratulations on your promotion, sir. As one might observe from your advancement and, indeed, mine, cream doth rise, etc. In as much as I am ever delighted in corresponding with you, discussing all manner of subjects in all possible idioms, alas, this subject is rather more official in nature. In short, we are faced with a crisis of the highest order. Accordingly, I humbly seek your advice and would suggest we arrange a most private meeting at the earliest convenience. Yours affectionately, Pores." Got that, Himble?'

'Yes sir.'

'Please read it back to me.'

Himble cleared his throat, squinted at the tablet. '"Pores to Kindly meet in secret when?"'

'Excellent. Dispatch that at once.'

Quote'How stands the rank and file, soldier?'

'Standin' true, Fist.' 'Do the enlisted say much about the Adjunct, soldier? Off the record here.'

The watery eyes flicked momentarily to her, then away again.

'Occasionally, sir.'

'And what do they say?'

'Not much, sir. Mostly, it's all them rumours.'

'You discuss them.' 'No sir. We chew 'em up till there's nothing left. And then invent new ones, sir.'

'To sow dissension?'

Brows lifted beneath the rim of the helm. 'No, Fist. It's ... er ... entertainment. Beats boredom, sir. Boredom leads to laziness, sir, and laziness can get a soldier up and killt. Or the one beside 'im, which is e'en worse. We hate being bored, sir, that's all.'

Quote'Skulldeath.'

'What about him?'

'Why's he so girly, for one?'

'He's a prince, Sergeant. From some tribe in Seven Cities. He's the heir, in fact—'

'Then what in Hood's name is he doing here?'

She shrugged. 'They sent him to grow up somewhere else. With us. T'see the world and all that.'

Gaunt-Eye bared crooked teeth. 'Bet he's regretting that.'

'No reason why,' Flashwit said. 'Not yet, anyway.'

'So, he grew up all pampered and perfumed, then.'

'I suppose.'

'So how did he get that stupid name?'

Flashwit squinted at the sergeant. 'Beggin' yer pardon, Sergeant, but where was you and your squad? Back at the Trench, I mean.'

He shot her a vicious look. 'What difference does that make?'

'Well, you couldn't have not seen him then. Skulldeath. He jumps high, y'see. He was the only one of us cutting Nah'ruk throats, right? Jumps high, like I said. See those eight notches on his left wrist?'

'Those burns?'

'Aye. One for each Nah'ruk he personally throat-cut.'

Gaunt-Eye snorted. 'A liar, too, then. About what I figured.'

'But he never counted, Sergeant. Never does. Eight is what we saw him do, those who saw him at all, I mean. We talked about it, comparing and all that. Eight. So we told him and he burned those marks on his wrist. When we asked him how many he gutted, he said he didn't know. When we asked him how many he hamstrung, he didn't know that either. The rest of us couldn't come up with numbers on those. Lot more than eight, though. But since we seen him burn himself, we decided not to tell him how many. He'd be one big burn now, right? And since he's so pretty, well, that'd be a shame.'

QuoteThey were stacking Liosan corpses, making a wall across the breach. The contempt of that gesture was as calculated as everything else Yedan did. Rage is the enemy. Beware that, Liosan. He will make your rage your downfall, if he can. You cannot make my brother angry. He's not like you. He's not like any of us. And his army will follow his lead. They will look to him and take inside what he gives. It's cold. Lifeless. They'll take it in and it will change them all.

Quote'Captain, the Liosan are no different. Helmed and armed doesn't make an army. They are conscripts – I could see as much the first time.' He chewed on the thought and then added, 'Soft.'

'You saying they don't want any of this?'

'Like us,' he replied, 'they have no choice. We're in a war that began long ago, and it has never ended, Captain.'

'Pithy says they look no different from the Tiste Andii, barring their snowy skin.' He shrugged.

'Why should that matter? It's all down to disagreeing about how things should be.'

'We can't win, can we?' He glanced at her.

'Among mortals, every victory is temporary. In the end, we all lose.' She spat on to the white sand.

'You ain't cheering me at all, sir. If we ain't got no hope of winning against 'em, what's the point?'

'Ever won a scrap, Captain? Ever stood over the corpses of your enemy? No? When you do, come find me. Come tell me how sweet victory tastes.' He lifted the sword and pointed down to the breach. 'You can win even when you lose. Because, even in losing, you might still succeed in making your point. In saying that you refuse the way they want it.'

'Well now, that makes me feel better.'

'I can't do the rousing speeches, Captain.'

'I noticed.'

Quote'The Empty Hold is awake once more,' Aranict replied. 'It is the Hold of the Unseen, the realms of the mind. Perception, knowledge, illusion, delusion. Faith, despair, curiosity, fear. Its weapon is the false belief in chance, in random fate.'

Precious was shaking her head. 'Listen. Chance is real. You can't say it isn't. And mischance, too. You said your army got caught in a fight nobody was looking for – what was that?'

'I dread to think,' Aranict replied. 'But I assure you it was not blind chance. In any case, your vocabulary has improved dramatically. Your comprehension is sound—'

'So you can stop shoving stuff in, right?'

Aranict nodded. 'Drink. Rest now.'

'I have too many questions for that, Atri-Ceda. Why is the Hold empty?'

'Because it is home to all which cannot be possessed, cannot be owned. And so too is the throne within the Hold empty, left eternally vacant. Because the very nature of rule is itself an illusion, a conceit and the product of a grand conspiracy. To have a ruler one must choose to be ruled over, and that forces notions of inequity to the fore, until they become, well, formalized. Made central to education, made essential as a binding force in society, until everything exists to prop up those in power. The Empty Throne reminds us of all that. Well, some of us, anyway.'

QuotePrecious sat back on her haunches. 'I am from One-Eye Cat, a city of Genabackis. We were conquered by the Malazans. Winning is all that matters to them, Atri-Ceda. They will lie. They will backstab. Whatever you see on the surface, don't believe it. Don't. With them, nothing is as it seems, not ever.'

'They are a complicated people—'

Precious snorted. 'Their first emperor was where it all started. The sleight of hand, the deadly misdirection – everything the Malazan Empire became infamous for started with him. And though he's now dead and gone, nothing has changed. Tell your commander, Aranict. Tell him. The Malazans – they'll betray you. They'll betray you.'

Quote'What do your shamans tell you, Spax, about your Barghast gods?'

He blinked. 'Why, nothing, Firehair. Why should they? I'm the Warchief. I deal in matters of war. All that other rubbish is for them to worry over.'

'And are they?'

'Are they what?'

'Worried.'

'They're warlocks, they're always worried.'

'Spax.' He grimaced.

'The Barghast gods are idiots. Like sixteen children locked in a small room. For days. They'll start eating each other next.'

'So there are sixteen of them?'

'What? No. That was a just a number I threw out – spirits below, Firehair, you keep taking me literally – I'm Spax, remember? I make things up, to entertain myself. You want me to talk about my gods? Well, they're worse than me. They probably made themselves up.'

'What do your shamans say?'

Spax scowled. 'I don't care what they say!'

'Is it that bad?'

He shrugged. 'Could be our gods suddenly get smart. Could be they realize that their best chance of surviving what's to come is to keep their heads down. Could be they can cure the world's ills with one sweet kiss, too.' He held up his knives. 'But I ain't holding my breath.'

Quote'I have had visions of the future, and each and every one of them ends up in the same place. Don't ask me what it means. I already know. That's the problem with visions of the future.' Emperor Kellanved

QuoteWhen the wound was breached, the Eleint would enter this world. There was no hope of stopping them. T'iam could not be denied, not with what was coming. The only unknown, to her mind, was the Crippled God. The Forkrul Assail were simple enough, as bound to the insanity of final arguments as were the Tiste Liosan. Kin in spirit, those two. And she believed she knew what her brother intended to do, and she would leave him to it, and if her blessing meant anything, well then he had it, with all her heart. No, the Crippled God was the only force that troubled her. She remembered the earth's pain when he was brought down from the sky. She remembered his fury and his agony when first he was chained. But the gods were hardly done with him. They returned again and again, crushing him down, destroying his every attempt to find a place for himself. If he cried out for justice, no one was interested in listening. If he howled in wretched suffering, they but turned away. But the Crippled God was not alone in that neglect. The mortal realm was crowded with those who were just as wounded, just as broken, just as forgotten. In this way, all that he had become – his very place in the pantheon – had been forged by the gods themselves. And now they feared him. Now, they meant to kill him. 'Because the gods will not answer mortal suffering. It is too much ... work.'

Quote'Ryadd Eleis, there is a kind of fish, living in rivers, that when in small numbers – two or perhaps three – is peaceful enough. But when the school grows, when a certain threshold is reached, these fish go mad. They tear things apart. They can devour the life in a river for a league's length, and only when their bellies start bursting do they finally scatter.'

'What has that to do with anything?' Ryadd turned to glare at Silchas Ruin.

The Tiste Andii sighed. 'When the gate of Starvald Demelain opens, the Eleint will come through in vast numbers. Most will be young, by themselves little threat, but among them there will be the last of the Ancients. Leviathans of appalling power – but they are incomplete. They will arrive hunting their kin. Ryadd, if you and I had remained, seeking to oppose the opening of that gate, we would lose our minds. We would in mindless desire join the Storm of the Eleint. We would follow the Ancients – have you never wondered why, in all the realms but Starvald Demelain itself, one will never find more than five or six dragons in one place? Even that many demands the mastery of at least one Ancient. Indeed, to be safe, Eleint tend to travel in threes.' Silchas Ruin walked up to stand beside Ryadd, and stared out at the vista. 'We are the blood of chaos, Ryadd Eleis, and when too many of us gather in one place, the blood boils.'

QuoteThe simple act of setting eyes upon a T'lan Imass depressed Ruthan Gudd. There was shame in making the wrong choice – only a fool would deny that. And just as one had to live with the choice, so too was one forced to live with the shame. Well, perhaps live wasn't the right word, not with the T'lan Imass. Poor fools. Make yourselves the servants of war. Surrender everything else. Bury your memories. Pretend that the choice was a noble one, and that this wretched existence is good enough. Since when did vengeance answer anything? Anything of worth? I know all about punishment. Retribution. Wish I didn't but I do. It all comes down to eliminating that which offends. As if one could empty the world of bastards, or scour it clean of evil acts. Well, that would be nice. Too bad it never works. And all that satisfaction, well, it proves short-lived. Tasting like ... dust. No poet could find a more powerful symbol of futility than the T'lan Imass. Futility and obstinate stupidity. In war you need something to fight for. But you took that away, didn't you? All that you fought to preserve had ceased to exist. You condemned your entire world to oblivion, extinction. Leaving what? What shining purpose to drive you on and on? Oh yes, I remember now. Vengeance.

QuotePores scratched something on his wax ledger, read over what he'd written and then nodded. 'The real mutiny is brewing with the haul teams. That food is killing us. Sure, chewing on dried meat works up some juices, but it's like swallowing a bhederin cow's afterbirth after it's been ten days in the sun.'

Faradan Sort made a choking sound. 'Wall's foot, Pores, couldn't you paint a nicer picture?'

Pores raised his eyebrows. 'But Fist, I worked on that one all day.'

QuoteIf Kadagar Fant stood alone at the end of all this; if he sat in the gloom of an empty throne room in an empty palace, in an empty city, he would still count it a triumph. Winning Kharkanas was meaningless; what mattered to the Lord of Light was the absolute annihilation of those who opposed him. On both sides of the breach.

Quote'There is little time left! Gruntle, do not challenge this!'

She lifted her arms out to the sides. 'Look at me! I am Kilava Onass, a Bonecaster of the Imass. I defied the Ritual of Tellann, and my power beggars that of your human gods. What will occur here not even I can prevent – do you understand me? It is ... necessary ...' He had expected such words, but still his hackles rose. It's what we always hear, isn't it? From generals and warlords and miserable tyrants. Justifying yet another nightmare epoch of slaughter. Of suffering, misery and despair. And what do we all do? We duck down and weather it. We tell ourselves that this is how it must be – I stood on the roof of a building, and all around me people were dying. And by my hand – gods! That building wept blood! For what? They all died – the whole fucking city – all those people – they just died anyway! I told Trake he chose wrongly. I was never a soldier – I despise war. I detest all the sordid lies about glory and honour – you, Kilava, if you have lived as long as you say you have, if Trake is your get, then you have seen a child of yours kneel to war – as if war itself was a damned god! But still, you want him to live – you want your child-god, your First fucking Hero, to go on, and on. Wars without end. And the sword shall swing down and they shall fall – for ever more!

'Gruntle, why are you here?' He advanced, feeling the blood within him rise to a boil.

Haven't you guessed? I'm going to fight. I'm going to bring your son down – here and now. I'm going to kill the bastard. An end to the god of slaughter, of horror, of rape— Kilava howled in sudden rage, vanished inside a blur of darkness. Veered into a panther as huge as Gruntle himself, she coiled to spring. In his mind, he saw a single, quick nod. Yes. Baring his fangs, Gruntle lunged to meet her.

Quote'How would the Bridgeburners have handled this, sir? Back in the day?'

'Simple. Sniff out the yappers and kill 'em. It's the ones who can't stop bitching, talking it up, egging on the stupider ones to do something stupid. Hoping it all busts out. Me' – he nodded to the column walking beside them – 'I'd jump Blistig and drag him off into the desert – and for a whole damned day nobody'd be sleeping, 'cause of all the screaming.'

'No wonder you all got outlawed,' Bavedict muttered.

Quote'No spiders,' said Hellian, settling her head back on the bedroll. 'This is the best there is. This desert, it's paradise. Let the flies and capemoths take my corpse. Even those damned meat-eating locusts. You won't find a spider making a nest in my skull's eye sockets – what could be better than that?'

'What got you so scared of 'em, Sergeant?'

She thought about that. But then her mind wandered away, and she saw heaps of skulls, all of them smiling. And why not? Oh, yes, no spiders. 'My father tells a story, especially when he's drunk. He thinks it's damned funny, that story. Oh, wait, is that my father? Could be my uncle. Or even my stepfather. Might even be my brother's father, who lives down the lane. Anyway, it was a story and how he laughed. You got to know Kartool, Maybe. Spiders big enough to eat gulls, right?'

'Been there once, aye, Sergeant. Creepy place.'

'The redbacks are the worst. Not big, not much poisonous by themselves. One at a time, I mean. Thing is, when they hatch, there's thousands, and they stick together for days, so they can kill big prey and all of them feed on it, right? And the egg-sacs, why, they can be hidden anywhere. 'So, I was maybe two. Spent all day in a crib, every day, since my mother had another baby on the way only she kept getting fevers and eventually she went and lost it, which was stupid, since we had a good healer down the street, but Father drank up all the coin he made. Anyway. I had this doll—'

'Oh gods, Sergeant—'

'Aye, they came out of its head. Ate right through the stuffing, and then out through the eyes and the mouth and everywhere else. And there I was: food. It was my half-brother who came in and found me. My head was swollen to twice its size – couldn't even see my eyes – and I was choking. Counted two hundred bites, maybe more, since they were mostly in my hair. Now, as far as prey goes, I was too big even for a thousand redback babies. But they tried damned hard.'

'And that story made him laugh? What kind of fucked-up—'

'Watch it, that's my father you're talking about there. Or uncle, or stepfather, or the guy down the lane.'

'Now I see it, Sergeant,' said Touchy. 'It's all right. I see it. That'd scar anyone for life.'

'The story ain't finished, Corporal. I ain't got to the whole point of it. Y'see, I was eating them damned spiders. Eating 'em like candy. They said my belly was more swollen than my head, and that's why I was choking so bad – they were biting me all the way down. So they brought in the healer, and she conjured up big chunks of ice. Into my mouth. Back of the throat. And all around my neck, too. Story goes that I had a stroke, from all that ice. Killed the part of my brain that knows when it's time to stop.'

She stared up at the brightening sky. 'They say I stole my first jug from my father's stash when I was six. Got so drunk they needed to bring the healer back a second time. And that's when she scried me inside and said I was in for a life of trouble.' A hand brushed her upper arm.

'That's a heartbreaking tale, Sergeant.'

'Is it?' I suppose it is. Of course, I just made it up. Tug those heartstrings, see all that sweet sympathy in their sweet little faces. They'll forgive me anything now. Why do I hate spiders? Gods, who doesn't? What a stupid question.

Quote'Well, it sounds as if you feel a need to justify killing us, and while you have pity for the lesser beasts of this world, your definition of "lesser beasts" does not include humans. Yet, ironically, your justification is predicated on the very same notion of arrogant superiority that you found so reprehensible in the Kolanse royal family. The beast that knows no better can be slain with impunity. Of course, there is no logic to that notion at all, is there?'

Sister Belie sighed. 'That was most enjoyable. Now I need you to take your own life, so that we may end this pointless battle. I would like to be able to tell you that your army will be well treated, and so on. But the truth is, I will command them – just as I command the Shriven. And with the power of my voice I will set them against my enemies, whoever they may be, and they will fight without fear. They will fight with a ferocity the like of which has never been seen among your kind, because I intend to use them, the way you use horses, or war dogs. In other words, like well-trained beasts.'

'What a depressing notion, Forkrul Assail. Those pathetic needs I talked about? They all come down to power. The king killed those animals because he had the power to do so, and expressing that power made him feel good. But it never lasts long, so out he goes to kill some more. I find it pathetic. And all that you have just said to me here, well, it's really the same old shit. By your voice and the sorcery of Akhrast Korvalain you will seek to fill that void in your soul, the void that is the hunger for control, when the bitter truth is, you really control nothing, and the universe is destined to swallow you up just as it does everything else.'

'You do not believe in the power to do good? To do what is right?'

'The Hold of the Beasts wants vengeance. It wants to redress the balance of slaughter. Messy as that would be, at least I see the logic of it. But I fear it's too late. Their age is past, for now.'

'We will prove the lie of your words, human.'

'No, you won't. Because, Forkrul Assail, you are going to fail, and in failing you fail your allies as well, and for them the misery simply goes on and on. The only end to the tragedy of the beasts will come at the hands of humans – and to the Wolves I would advise patience. They need do nothing more, because we humans will destroy ourselves. It may take a while, because there's lots of us, but we'll do it in the end, because we are nothing if not thorough. As for you and your kind – you're not even relevant.'

Quote'The sheer scale of contingencies ... well, for all his peculiarities, let no one accuse Shadowthrone of failings in the matter of intelligence. The same can be said for Cotillion, for the patron of assassins well comprehended that just as certain individuals deserve a knife through the heart, so too do certain ... ideas.'

QuoteThose dark eyes fixed on Faint's. 'What do you know of the Forkrul Assail?'

'Not much,' she admitted. 'An ancient race – back in Darujhistan, where I come from, most people think of them as, well, mythical. Ruling in an age when justice prevailed over all the world. We've long since fallen from that age, of course, and much as people might bemoan our state no one wants it back, if you know what I mean.'

'Why not?'

'Because then we'd actually be taken to task for all the terrible stuff we do. Besides, being fallen excuses our worst traits. We're not what we once were, too bad, but that's just how it is.'

QuoteFaint frowned, and then shook her head. 'Then why fight the Forkrul Assail?'

'Because the Forkrul Assail have judged us – they came among my people, so this I know all too well. And in that judgement, they have decided that we must all die. Not just in Kolanse, not just on the Plains of Elan. But everywhere.'

'Given our history, that's not too surprising.'

'But, Faint of the Trygalle Trade Guild, the Forkrul Assail are in no position to judge. I have tasted the ancient flavours of the K'Chain Che'Malle, and it is as if that history was now my own. The Age of Justice – and the time of the Forkrul Assail – ended not at the hand of enemies, or foreign races, but at the hands of the Forkrul Assail themselves.'

'How?'

'They judged their own god, and found him wanting. And for his imperfections, they finally killed him.'

QuoteAnd the day Grunter got killed, well, he should've known better than trying to slide all the way under that wagon, and Corabb's kicking him in the head a few times had nothing to do with his tragic end. Nobody liked Grunter anyway, though Corabb probably shouldn't have used that for his defence at the trial.

Quote'Karsa Orlong, where are all the gods of peace?'

He stepped outside, straightening. 'I know not.'

Picker turned to face the city. Many troubles there. Perhaps at last they had begun to settle. But ... all that boiled beneath the surface, well, that never went away.

'Do you know how to get there?' He eyed her.

'I know how to get there.' She drew a deep breath – she could hear movement inside the hut behind the giant. Picker lifted her gaze until it locked with the Toblakai's. 'I call upon the vow you made long ago, Karsa Orlong of the Teblor. When you walk to where you must go, a crippled priest will find you. In the street, a broken man, a beggar, and he will speak to you. And by his words, you shall understand.'

'I already understand, Malazan.'

'Karsa—'

'There are too many gods of war.' And then he took up his sword, and inside the hut a woman began weeping. 'And not one of them understands the truth.'

'Karsa—'

His teeth were bared as he said, 'When it comes to war, woman, who needs gods?'

Quote'The Fallen God has forced their hand, Sister Reverence. We cannot determine precisely how, chained and weakened as he is, but I remain convinced that he is behind this gambit.'

'Perhaps that is as it should be,' she mused. 'After all, is not his creed the very antithesis of our own? The flawed, the helpless and the hopeless ... daring to stand before holy perfection. The weak of spirit against the indomitable of spirit, the broken against the complete. What astonishes me, Brother Diligence, is their audacity in thinking they could defeat us! Before they even arrive, why, by their very doubts and mutual mistrust, they are already lost.'

Diligence's gaunt face pinched into a faint smile. '"In a war between fanatics and sceptics, the fanatics win every time."' At her frown he shrugged. 'In the vaults of the palace, Sister, our archivists came upon some ancient Jaghut scrolls. Gothos' Folly. I have been acquainting myself with its peculiar perspective.'

She grimaced. 'Fanaticism, Brother Diligence, is the harbour of delusions. While to others we may appear no different from fanatics, we are. Fundamentally different, for our cause is a justice beyond our own selves, beyond even our kind. And for all that we Forkrul Assail can but aspire to true perfection, justice stands outside and its state of perfection cannot be questioned.' '"When wisdom drips blood fools stand triumphant."'

Reverence shot him a look. 'Have those scrolls burned, Brother Diligence. That is a command, not a request.'

QuoteAre you done with your moment of doubt?' Shadowthrone asked. 'Good. It ill-suited you. Listen, she's a woman, and that alone makes her the most terrifying force in all the realms.'

'Yes,' Cotillion said, 'I am well aware of your long-standing fear of the swaying sex.'

'I blame my mother.'

'Convenient.'

'I don't know which of us dreads more our visits.'

'She's still alive? Don't be ridiculous, Ammanas.'

'Listen, I wasn't always this old, you know. In any case, every time we end up in the same room I can see the disappointment in her eyes, and hear it in her voice. "Emperor? Oh, that empire. So now you're a god? Oh dear, not Shadow? Isn't it broken? Why did you have to pick a broken realm to rule? When your father was your age ..." Aagh, and on and on it goes! I've been on the run since I was nine years old, and is it any wonder?'

Quote'Children who can't be touched end up getting away with murder.'

'That's your last word to them? It doesn't make any sense, Shadowthrone.'

'But it does. The Elder Gods were like spoiled children, with no one to watch over them. The only nonsensical thing about them was that they weren't all killed off long ago. Just how much can any of us tolerate? That's the question, the only question, in fact.' He gestured with the cane. 'There's one man's answer.'

QuoteParan sighed. 'Togg and Fanderay. Now that complicates things.'

'Why should it complicate things?' Noto Boil demanded, withdrawing the fish spine from his mouth and studying its red tip. 'There's nothing complicated about any of this, right, High Fist? I mean, we're marching double-quick for who knows where but wherever it is it won't be pretty, and once we get there we're aiming to link forces with someone who might not even be there, to fight a war against an Elder race and their human slaves for no particular reason except that they're damned ugly. Complicated? Nonsense. Now Seven Cities ... that was complicated.'

'Are you done, Boil?'

'Noto Boil, sir, if you please. And yes, I am. For now.'

QuoteThey had drawn closer to the centre – to where the T'lan Imass still pushed forward, their tireless arms rising and descending. Never before had Gesler been so close to the ancient undead warriors in the midst of battle, witness to this devastating ... implacability. And the Emperor had almost twenty thousand of them at his command. He could have conquered the world. He could have delivered such slaughter as to break every kingdom, every empire in his path. But he barely used them at all. Kellanved – is it possible? Did even you quail at the carnage these creatures promised? Did you see for yourself how victory could destroy you, destroy the entire Malazan Empire? Gods below, I think you did. You took command of the T'lan Imass – to keep them off the field of battle, to keep them out of human wars. And now I see why.

Quote'Now, from what we are able to glean from Sister Reverence and Brother Diligence, at the Spire, two distinct elements have engaged us from the south. And we of course now march to block an incursion from the west. For all we know, a foreign fleet is even now entering Kolanse Bay.' He surveyed the expressions before him and slowly nodded. 'This was well planned, do you not agree? Its principal aim, to draw apart our active armies, has already succeeded. In each instance, we are forced to react rather than initiate.'

'A proficient high command, then,' said Sister Freedom, nodding.

But Aloft shook his head. 'In truth, this has the feel of a grand strategy, and just as your instincts speak with vehemence to you about the matter of the smaller force, Sister Freedom, so now my instincts have been shouting that this invasion – this strategy and each and every tactical engagement – is in fact the product of a single individual's will.'

Quote'I will kill you if you continue to stand in my way,' she said. 'I understand, Trell. You are his latest protector – but you lost him. All the ones before you – and there were many – they all lost him, eventually, and then they died.

'But none of you ever understood. The Nameless Ones weren't interested in Icarium. Each time, the one they chose – that one was the real danger. A warleader who threatened their hidden alliances. A rebel of terrible potential. Each time, for nothing more than squalid, immediate necessities – political expediency – they snatched away the maker of trouble, gave to him or her a task impossible to achieve, and a lifetime chained to it.'

QuoteAnd from the army still surrounding them, down on the lower ground, nothing more than a sullen mutter of sound – soldiers resting, checking weapons and armour. Readying for the next assault. The last assault. Twenty-odd soldiers cannot stop an army. Even these soldiers. Someone coughed nearby, from some huddle of stones, and then spoke. 'So, who are we fighting for again?' Fiddler could not place the voice.

Nor the one that replied, 'Everyone.'

A long pause, and then, 'No wonder we're losing.

QuoteShadowthrone thumped his cane on the ground. 'Among all the gods,' he said, 'who do you think now hates us the most?'

'The ones still alive, I should imagine.'

'We're not done with them either.'

Cotillion nodded towards the barrow. 'They were something, weren't they?'

'With them we won an empire.'

'I sometimes wonder if we should ever have given it up.'

'Bloody idealist. We needed to walk away. Sooner or later, no matter how much you put into what you've made, you have to turn and walk away.'

'Shall we, then?' And the two gods set out, fading shadows as the dawn began to awaken.

QuoteYou won't catch any fish ever.' And he waited, to gauge the effect of his words.

'Who said I was after fish?' the old man asked, offering up an exaggeratedly sly expression.

'What, crabs? Wrong pier. It's too deep here. It just goes down and down and for ever down!'

'Aye, and what's down there, at the very bottom? You ever hear that story?'

The boy was incredulous and more than a little offended. 'Do I look two years old? That demon, the old emperor's demon! But you can't fish for it!'

'Why not?'

'Well – well, your rod would break! Look at it!'

'Looks can be deceiving, lad. Remember that.'

The boy snorted. He was always getting advice. 'I won't be like you, old man. I'm going to be a soldier when I grow up. I'm going to leave this place. For ever. A soldier, fighting wars and getting rich and fighting and saving people and all that!'

The old man seemed about to say one thing, stopped, and instead said, 'Well, the world always needs more soldiers.' The boy counted this as a victory, the first of what he knew would be a lifetime of victories. When he was grown up. And famous.

'That demon bites and it'll eat you up. And even if you catch it and drag it up, how will you kill it? Nobody can kill it!'

'Never said anything about killing it,' the old man replied. 'Just been a while since we last talked.'