A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

'The thing is, Seer, I have found a place for it. A place that can remain ... hidden. Beyond the ability of the T'lan Imass to detect. Omtose Phellack can survive, Seer, in its fullest power. Survive, and heal .'
    'Lies.'
    The sticksnare on his chest spoke, 'Listen to this wizard, Jaghut. He offers a mercy you do not deserve.'
    Paran cleared his throat, said, 'Seer. Were you aware that you have been manipulated? Your power – it wasn't Omtose Phellack, was it?'
    'I used,' the Jaghut grated, 'what I could find.'
    'The Warren of Chaos, yes. Wherein is trapped a wounded god. The Chained One, a creature of immense power, a creature in pain, who seeks only the destruction of this world, of every warren – including Omtose Phellack. He is indifferent to your desires, Seer, and he has been using you. Worse, the venom of his soul – he's been speaking ... through you. Thriving on pain and suffering . . . through you. Since when were Jaghut interested only in destruction? Not even the Tyrants ruled with such cruelty as you have. Tell me, Seer, do you still feel as twisted inside? Do you still delight in thoughts of delivering pain?'
    The Jaghut was silent for a long moment.
    Gods, Quick Ben, I hope you're right. I hope the madness of this Seer was not his own. That it's now gone – torn away —
    'I feel,' the Jaghut rasped, 'empty. Still, why should I believe you?'
    Paran studied the Jaghut, then said, 'Release him, Quick.'
    'Now, wait—'
    'Let him go. You can't negotiate with a prisoner and expect him to believe a thing you're saying. Seer, the place Quick Ben has in mind – no-one – no-one – will be able to manipulate you there. And perhaps more importantly, you will possess the opportunity to make the Chained One pay for his temerity. And, finally, you will have a sister – still a child – who will need to heal. Seer, she will need you .'
    'You hold too much to this Jaghut's still retaining a shred of honour, integrity and the capacity for compassion,' the Bonecaster pronounced. 'With all that he has done – whether by his will or not – he will twist that child, as he himself has been twisted.'
    Paran shrugged. 'Fortunate for that child, then, that she and her brother will not be entirely alone.'
    The Seer's eyes narrowed. 'Not alone?'
    'Free him, Quick Ben.'
    The wizard sighed, then spoke to the sticksnare crouching on the Jaghut's chest. 'Let him go, Talamandas.'
    'We'll likely regret it,' it replied, then clambered off. The sorcerous web flickered, then vanished.
    The Seer scrambled to his feet. Then hesitated, eyes on the Finnest in Quick Ben's hands.
    'This other place,' he finally whispered, looking to Paran, 'is it far?'
     
    The Jaghut child, a girl of but a handful of years, wandered from the wounded warren as if lost, her small hands folded together on her lap in a manner she must have learned from her long-dead mother. A small detail, but it granted her a heart-breaking dignity that started tears in Paran's eyes.
    'What will she remember?' Kilava whispered.
    'Hopefully, nothing,' Quick Ben replied. 'Talamandas and I will, uh, work on that.'
    A soft sound from the Seer drew Paran's attention. The Jaghut stood, trembling, unhuman eyes fixed on the approaching child – who had now seen them, yet was clearly seeking someone else, her steps slowing.
    'Go to her,' Paran told the Seer.
    'She remembers ... a brother —'
    'So now she finds an uncle.'
    Still he hesitated. 'We Jaghut are not ... not known for compassion among our blood-tied, our kin—'
    Paran grimaced. 'And we humans are? You're not the only one who finds such things a struggle. There's much you have to repair, Pannion, starting with what is within yourself, with what you've done. In that, let the child – your sister – be your guide. Go, damn you – you need each other.'
    He staggered forward, then hesitated once more and swung back to meet Paran's eyes. 'Human, what I have done – to your friend, to Toc the Younger – I now regret.' His gaze shifted to Kilava. 'You said you have kin, Bonecaster. A brother.'
    She shook her head, as if anticipating his question. 'He is T'lan Imass. Of the Ritual.'
    'It seems, then, that, like me, you have a great distance to travel.'
    She cocked her head. 'Travel?'
    'This path to redemption, Bonecaster. Know that I cannot forgive you. Not yet.'
    'Nor I you.'
    He nodded. 'We both have learning ahead of us.' With that, he turned once more. Back straightening, he strode to his sister.
    She knew her