Toll the Hounds (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #8)

by Steven Erikson

Skintick glanced away, back towards the camp. ‘I find Clip…amusing.’ ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ ‘He has created a vast, portentous moment, the moment when he finally stands face to face with the Son of Darkness. He hears martial music, the thunder of drums, or the howl of horns sweeping round the high, swaying tower where this fated meeting no doubt will occur. He sees fear in Anomander Rake’s eyes, in answer to his own fury.’ ‘Then he is a fool.’ ‘Us young folk commonly are. We should tell him.’ ‘Tell him what? That he is a fool?’ Skintick’s smile broadened briefly, then he met Nimander’s eyes once more. ‘Something more subtle, I should think.’ ‘Such as?’ ‘The forest does not change.’ Now it was Nimander’s turn to glance away, to squint into the greyness of dawn, the misty wreaths shrouding the ankles of the trees. She died in my arms. Then Andarist died, bleeding out on to the cobbles. And Phaed was pulled from my hands. Thrown through a window, down to her death. I met the eyes of her killer, and saw that he had killed her…for me. The forest does not change.