The Crippled God (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #10)

by Steven Erikson

Banaschar watched as the sapper fed the splinters into the fire. The paints filled the flames with strange colours. ‘You don’t expect to survive, do you?’ ‘Even if I do, I’m done with this. All of it.’ ‘You couldn’t retire from soldiering even if you wanted to.’ ‘Really? Just watch me.’ ‘What will you do? Buy a farm, start growing vegetables?’ ‘Gods no. Too much work – never could figure out soldiers saying they’d do that once they buried their swords. Earth grows what it wants to grow – spending the rest of your life fighting it is just another damned war.’ ‘Right, then. Get drunk, tell old stories in some foul tavern—’ ‘Like you was doing back in Malaz City?’ Banaschar’s smile was wry. ‘I was about to advise against it, Captain. Maybe it sounds good from here – being able to live every moment without purpose, emptied of all pressure. But take it from me, you’d do just as well topping yourself – it’s quicker and probably a lot less miserable.’ Fiddler poured some water into a pot and then set it on the flames. He began dropping shreds of dried meat into it. ‘Nah, nothing so … wasteful. Thought I’d take up fishing.’ ‘Never figured you for a man of the seas.’ ‘You mean, like, in a boat with lines and nets? Out on the waves and o’er the deeps? No, not that kind of fishing, Priest. Sounds like work to me, and dangerous besides. No, I’ll stay ashore. I’m thinking hobby, not livelihood.’ Glancing down at Tavore’s lined face, Banaschar sighed. ‘We should all live a life of hobbi...