A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

soft, the tone strangely melodic.
    'Have I business with you?' Paran asked, his hand remaining on the grip of his longsword.
    The man smiled, pulling back his hood. His face was long, the skin a lighter shade of grey, the eyes dark and strangely angled. He looked to be in his early thirties, though his hair was white. 'The Adjunct asked of me a favour,' he said. 'She grows impatient for your report. I am to escort you ... with haste.' He shook the jug. 'But first, a repast. I have a veritable feast secreted in my pockets – far better fare than a browbeaten Kanese village can offer. Join me, here on the roadside. We can amuse ourselves in conversation and idle watching of peasants toiling endlessly. I am named Topper.'
    'I know that name,' Paran said.
    'Well, you should,' Topper replied. 'I am he, alas. The blood of a Tiste Andii races in my veins, seeking escape, no doubt, from its more common human stream. Mine was the hand that took the life of Unta's royal line, king, queen, sons and daughters.'
    'And cousins, second cousins, third—'
    'Expunging all hope, indeed. Such was my duty as a Claw of unsurpassed skill. But you have failed in answering my question.'
    'Which was?'
    'Thirsty?'
    Scowling, Paran dismounted. 'I thought you said the Adjunct wished for haste.'
    'Hasten we shall, Lieutenant, once we've filled our bellies, and conversed in civil fashion.'
    'Your reputation puts civility far down your list of skills, Claw.'
    'It's a most cherished trait of mine that sees far too little opportunity for exercise these fell days, Lieutenant. Surely you'd grant me some of your precious time, since I'm to be your escort?'
    'Whatever arrangement you made with the Adjunct is between you and her,' Paran said, approaching. 'I owe you nothing, Topper. Except enmity.'
    The Claw squatted, removing wrapped packages from his pockets, followed by two crystal goblets. He uncorked the jug. 'Ancient wounds. I was led to understand you've taken a different path, leaving behind the dull, jostling ranks of the nobility' He poured, filling the goblets with amber-coloured wine. 'You are now one with the body of Empire, Lieutenant. It commands you. You respond unquestioningly to its will. You are a small part of a muscle in that body. No more. No less. The time for old grudges is long past. So,' he set down the jug and handed Paran a goblet, 'we now salute new beginnings, Ganoes Paran, lieutenant and aide to Adjunct Lorn.'
    Scowling, Paran accepted the goblet.
    The two drank.
    Topper smiled, producing a silk handkerchief to dab against his lips. 'There now, that wasn't so difficult, was it? May I call you by your chosen name?'
    'Paran will do. And you? What title does the commander of the Claw hold?'
    Topper smiled again. 'Laseen still commands the Claw. I assist her. In this way I too am an aide of sorts. You may call me by my chosen name, of course. I'm not one for maintaining formalities beyond a reasonable point in an acquaintance.'
    Paran sat down on the muddy road. 'And we've passed that point?'
    'Indeed.'
    'How do you decide?'
    'Ah, well.' Topper began unwrapping his packages, revealing cheese, fistbread, fruit and berries. 'I make acquaintances in one of two ways. You've seen the second of those.'
    'And the first?'
    'No time for proper introductions in those instances, alas.'
    Wearily Paran unstrapped and removed his helm. 'Do you wish to hear what I found in Gerrom?' he asked, running a hand through his black hair.
    Topper shrugged. 'If you've the need.'
    'Perhaps I'd better await my audience with the Adjunct.'
    The Claw smiled. 'You have begun to learn, Paran. Never be too easy with the knowledge you possess. Words are like coin – it pays to hoard.'
    'Until you die on a bed of gold,' Paran said.
    'Hungry? I hate eating alone.'
    Paran accepted a chunk of fistbread. 'So, was the Adjunct truly impatient, or are you here for other reasons?'
    With a smile, the Claw rose. 'Alas, genteel conversation is done. Our way opens.' He faced the road.
    Paran turned to see a curtain in the air tear open on the road, spilling dull yellow light. A Warren, the secret paths of sorcery. 'Hood's Breath.' He sighed, fighting off a sudden chill. Within he could see a greyish pathway, humped on either side by low mounded walls and vaulted overhead by impenetrable ochre-hued mist. The air swept past into the portal like a drawn breath, revealing the pathway to be of ash as invisible currents stirred and raised spinning dust-devils.
    'You will have