House of Chains (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #4)

by Steven Erikson

‘I wonder, did we indeed drive it from this realm?’ ‘If the Nameless Ones speak true, then yes—’ ‘Your question, Kullsan, confuses me. Are we not marching from the city? Were we not just victorious?’ The conversation had begun to fade as the soldiers who had been speaking marched onward, but Kalam heard the doubting Kullsan’s reply: ‘Then why is our road lined with ghosts, Erethal?’ More importantly, Kalam added to himself, why is mine? He waited as the last of the soldiers marched past, then stepped forward to cross the ancient road. And saw, on the opposite side, a tall, gaunt figure in faded orange robes. Black pits for eyes. One fleshless hand gripping an ivory staff carved spirally, on which the apparition leaned as if it was the only thing holding it up. ‘Listen to them now, spirit from the future,’ it rasped, cocking its head. And now Kalam heard it. The ghost soldiers had begun singing.