Deadhouse Gates (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #2)

by Steven Erikson

‘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 so small a frame – then pinned him beneath this rock.’