The Bonehunters (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #6)

by Steven Erikson

‘There are none,’ Banaschar pronounced. ‘The High Priestess of the Queen of Dreams has already left, Sergeant. Accordingly, all of the temples will be informed. Investigations will begin.’

Banaschar is a Malazan wizard, and some horrible attack has occurred in the temple of Drek.

And Dejim Nebrahl rose into the world of the living.

A terrible force is first tasked, and then released.

‘Beneath notice,’ he said again.

Karsa Orlong seeks to travel in stealth.

Cotillion had understood. The god had seen clearly into the depths of this mortal darkness, as clearly as had Apsalar.

Apsalar has a dark moment of the soul

‘We could leave the horses,’ Corabb said. ‘And just fly away. It’d be much quicker.’

Chuckle, Corabb is high as a kite on psychedelic frog meat.

Cotillion. There had been mutterings of another convergence of powers. Vaster than any that had occurred before, and in some way Shadowthrone was at the centre of it. All of it.

Indeed. It certainly feels like that.

The Trygalle Trade Guild’s centre of operations was Darujhistan.

Another name to conjure with.

‘His name?’ ‘Karpolan Demesand.’ At that, Apsalar allowed herself a faint nod.

The relevant merchant.

And what role has Taralack Veed in all this?

Feared by the dead, Mebra. Another name of note.

She glanced over. ‘We need what, Captain?’ ‘We need to get him out of Ugarat. Away, as soon as possible.’

These people are talking about Karsa. Who, ever direct and honest in his actions simply declares, "Witness." and then proceeds to do the extraordinary.

Turning, Samar Dev flinched at the horror of the warrior’s ravaged back. ‘What happened in there?’ she demanded. A shrug that jostled the slung stone sword. ‘Nothing important, witch.’

Karsa is a master of understatement.

‘A mechanism of some sort,’ Icarium said. ‘The metal is very nearly white, do you see? No corrosion. It looks as if it had been built yesterday … but I believe, my friend, that it is ancient.’ Mappo hesitated, then asked, ‘Is it one of yours?’ Icarium glanced at him, eyes bright. ‘No. And that is the wonder of it.’

Icarium is a builder of lost devices.

Mappo nodded. Icarium’s descriptions had led him to conclude much the same sequence of events. Like the sky keep itself, the mechanism was built to fly, borne aloft by some unknown sorcery. ‘If we are to find level ground,’ he said, ‘it shall have to be within the keep.’

Or an advanced science indistinguishable from magic.

‘Ah! They seethe! Worms, aswarm with worms. The flesh is foul, foul even for Greyfrog. Revulsed. Let us be away from this place!’

Weirdly enough, Greyfrog the demon is wise.

‘There,’ Corabb said, ‘front rider on the right of the standard-bearer, that is Falah’d Vedor. He looks … unhappy.’ ‘He’d best begin making peace with that sentiment,’ Leoman said in a growl.

Ha. That's a great line.

‘The first casualty among the defeated is recalling their own list of crimes, Fist,’ Temul said.

Well said.

‘I don’t like this warren.’ Kalam turned his head to find Cotillion alongside him, one hand and one foot holding the god in place. He held an apple in the other hand, from which he now took a large bite. ‘You think this is funny?’ Kalam demanded.

The most literal Deus Ex Machina I've seen. Normally, I frown on such things, but this is well-contexted and entertaining.

He had believed them all monsters, cowards and bullies. He had heard that they ate their own dead. But no, they were just people. No different from Corabb himself. The tyranny lies at the feet of the Empress. These – they’re all just soldiers. That’s all they are.

Truth.

All those enemies of reason – yet not reason as a force, or a god, not reason in the cold, critical sense. Reason only in its purest armour, when it strides forward into the midst of those haters of tolerance, oh gods below, I am lost, lost in all of this. You cannot fight unreason, and as these dead multitudes will tell you – are telling you even now – certitude is the enemy.

Spot on. Certainty is always found with hubris and never with humility, and hubris ever breeds nemesis.

‘The enemy is evil, Icarium. The face of the world is evil. And so, friend, your enemy is …’ The warrior looked away, and Taralack Veed barely heard his whispered reply, ‘The world.’

So, Mappo was the target so that Veed could be put into place to subvert Icarium's purpose. So, who now controls the weapon?

‘No, that is true. Very well, Taralack Veed, let us as you say speak more of this whilst we journey north and west. To the coast opposite the island of Sepik. Yes, I feel … there is something there. Awaiting us.’

Is that where Karsa is heading too?

The Trell had stunned Dejim Nebrahl. To snap one of his necks – not even a Tartheno could manage such a thing – and one had tried, long ago. Then, to drag the other down, over the cliff’s edge, to plunge to its death among the jagged rocks below.

Poor, brave Mappo.

‘But wait, what if they got really angry? What if they decided to make a fight to the finish? What then? Messy, oh, very messy. No, best leave them for someone else to deal with. I must not get distracted. Imagine, though! Challenging the High Priest of Shadow of all Seven Cities! Dumber than cats, that T’rolbarahl. I am entirely without sympathy.’

Ha Ha Ha!. Iskaral Pust kicks demonic butt.

Neither stalwart nor particularly loyal, the mule’s disinclination towards cooperation slowed down the task of extracting Mappo Runt considerably, and it was full dark by the time the Trell was pulled from the fissure and dragged onto a flat patch of wind-blown sand.

Oh joy. Mappo lives.

One of the Pardu women appeared on top, perching on the frame of the side door, then crouching to look straight down, inside the carriage. A moment later, she disappeared inside. The other shareholder came from around the wreck. Paran studied her. Her nose had been shattered, not long ago, he judged, as the remnant of bruises marred the area beneath her eyes with faint crescents. The eyes above those bruises were now filled with fear.

Bruises (I believe) delivered by Apsalar.

Low mudbanks ribboning the lake afforded momentary respite, although these were home to hordes of biting insects that swarmed hungrily as the shareholders came down from the carriage to pull leeches from horse-legs.

Kinda a signature move for SE - the ubiquitous hordes of swarming insects...

‘Hood knows, the other ones are straightforward and damned clear on their own infamy – grant them that. But to proffer succour, salvation and all the rest, whilst leaving true fate to chance and chance alone – damn me, Hurlochel, to that they will give answer!’

Awesome. Ganoes gets his game face on.

‘Me? Nothing. What I expect is for Soliel to make use of you, but not as she has done this child here. I expect something a lot more than that.’ Paran nudged his mount forward. ‘And,’ he added amidst clumping hoofs, ‘I won’t take no for an answer.’

Paran is actively shaping the pantheon.

The most deadly seducers are the ones encouraging conformity. If you can only feel safe when everybody else feels, thinks and looks the same as you, then you’re a Hood-damned coward … not to mention a vicious tyrant in the making.

Bingo!

‘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 gravest 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?’

Applicable.

She nodded, then shook her head suddenly as everything crumbled inside – and she was in his arms, weeping uncontrollably. And the god spoke, ‘I’ll find him, Apsalar. I swear it. I’ll find the truth.’

Poignant.

‘High Fist Paran,’ Captain Sweetcreek muttered.

When I first read this, I read 'Captain Sweetcreek,' as 'Captain Sweetcrack,' which has an entirely different connotation...

A string of suns, a dozen in all, each small but bright enough to burn blinding holes in the blue sky. From two stretched tails of fiery mist. The row of suns curved like a longbow, the ends higher, and above it was the blurred, misshapen face of the moon.

Sky keeps landing? Apparently not...

as if Burn cares a whit she’s sleeping anyway, right?’

If Burn's asleep - what if she wakes up? (Is she already awake and operating through Bottle?)

The proprietor was gone, and in the man’s place stood a demon, its back to them, big enough to fill the entire doorway. A thrashing victim was in its huge hands and, as the sergeant watched, the demon tore off the screaming man’s head, leaned through the doorway and threw it after the fleeing citizens. Then it flung the headless corpse in the same direction.

HaHa ... a soldier and an ex-priest walk into a bar...

Civilization’s veil was so very thin, he well knew. Casting it aside required little effort, and even less instigation. There were enough thugs in the world – and those thugs could well be wearing the raiment of a noble, or a Fist, or indeed a priest’s robes or a scholar’s vestments – enough of them, without question, who lusted for chaos and the opportunities it provided. For senseless cruelty, for the unleashing of hatred, for killing and rape. Any excuse would suffice, or even none at all.

Precisely.

He then saw a Merude cutlass slash inward from behind Kholb, taking the warrior solidly in the neck, through – and Kholb Harat’s head rolled on its side, tumbled down. The body wavered a moment, then crumpled. A snarling curse from Saur Bathrada, who spun round, stabbing low, his sword digging deep into the newcomer’s right thigh— And Trull lunged, sinking the point of his spear into Saur’s forehead, just beneath the rim of the helmet. And saw, with horror, both of the warrior’s eyes leap from their sockets as if on strings as the head pitched back.

If Saur has just spun around to attack the fighter who has killed the man next to him, there is no way Trull could hit him in the forehead unless he was already behind him.... Details, details... ... essential for the sustained suspension of disbelief.