The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

The new Shield Anvil of the Grey Swords sat motionless, her gaze fixed on Itkovian with unveiled sorrow. And … pity. I am a distraction. Very well. He stepped back, turned about and made his way towards the back of the tarp. He was surprised to find Paran, Whiskeyjack and the dark-skinned man waiting there. A tall, martial woman with midnight skin had joined them and now studied Itkovian with extraordinary, almond-shaped eyes the colour of sun-bleached grass. Meeting that gaze, Itkovian almost staggered. Fener’s tusks, such sadness – an eternity of loss … empty existence— She broke the contact with a startled, then alarmed, expression. Not for me. Not for my embrace. Not that. Some wounds can never be healed, some memories should never be reawakened. Cast no light upon that darkness, sir. It is too much—He came then to another realization. Fener was gone, and with the god had vanished his protection. Itkovian was vulnerable as he had never been before. Vulnerable to the world’s pain, to its grief.