Dust of Dreams (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #9)

by Steven Erikson

‘I have seen death—it doesn’t haunt me.’ ‘That is irrelevant. The game is this: steal their lives—snatch them away from my reach. Curse these hands you now see, the nails black with death’s touch. Spit into this lifeless breath of mine. Cheat me at every turn. Heed this truth: there is no other form of service as honest as the one I offer you. To do battle against me, you must acknowledge my power. Even as I acknowledge yours. You must respect the fact that I always win, that you cannot help but fail. In turn, I must give to you my respect. For your courage. For the stubborn refusal that is a mortal’s greatest strength. ‘For all that, mortal, give me a good game.’ ‘And what do I get in return? Never mind respect, either. What do I get back?’ ‘Only that which you find. Undeniable truths. Unwavering regard of the sorrows that plague a life. The sigh of acceptance. The end of fear.’ The end of fear. Even for such a young man, such an inexperienced man, Deadsmell understood the value of such a gift. The end of fear. ‘Do not be cruel with Hester Vill, I beg you.’ ‘I am not one for wilful cruelty, mortal. Yet his soul will feel sorely abused, and for that I can do nothing.’ ‘I understand. It is Fener who should be made to answer for that betrayal.’ He sensed wry amusement in Hood. ‘One day, even the gods will answer to death.’