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

by Steven Erikson

Masan drank, then squatted before them—taking the pose of the teller of tales, one they knew well—and both sisters followed suit. ‘He didn’t ask for it. But he’s been making trouble ever since. Quick Ben met him face to face. So, we worked out, did that Meckros weaponsmith, Withal. He’s poison and he knows it and he can’t help it, because he doesn’t belong here. There are pieces of him scattered over half the world, but the biggest one is sitting in this place called Kolanse—and it’s being . . . used.’ ‘We’re going to kill the Crippled God.’ Kisswhere shot her sister a wild look. ‘But who’d want to stop us doing that?’ Sinter shook her head. Her face was wretched with confusion. Masan was eyeing them and when she spoke her voice was flat, ‘You jumped the wrong way, Sinter, like a one-eyed mongoose.’ She drank again, sloshed the skin and then scowled. ‘Should’ve brought two. We don’t think we’re off to kill the Chained One. In fact, it’s those chains we’re after. Well, the Adjunct, I mean. What she’s after.’ She lifted her head and fixed on Sinter’s eyes, and then Kisswhere’s. ‘We’re going to set the bastard free.’