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

by Steven Erikson

Draconus staggered up. ‘Pearl, my friend, I have come to say goodbye. And to tell you I am sorry.’ ‘What saddens you?’ the demon asked. ‘I am sorry, Pearl, for all of this. For Dragnipur. For the horror forged by my own hands. It was fitting, was it not, that the weapon claimed its maker? I think, yes, it was. It was.’ He paused, and then brought both hands up to his face. For a moment it seemed he would begin clawing his beard from the skin beneath it. Instead, the shackled hands fell away, down, dragged by the weight of the chains. ‘I too am sorry,’ said Pearl. ‘To see the end of this.’ ‘What?’ ‘So many enemies, all here and not one by choice. Enemies, and yet working together for so long. It was a wondrous thing, was it not, Draconus? When necessity forced each hand to clasp, to work as one. A wondrous thing.’ The warrior stared at the demon. He seemed unable to speak.