A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

studied the shadowed visage of the god. 'Captain Paran? His—'
    'His sister. Look down upon the path, here, out the window, lad. In a short time Iskaral Pust will return. With guests. Among them, a child named Felisin—'
    'But you said—'
    'Before Paran's sister ... died, she adopted a waif. A sorely abused foundling. She sought, I think – we will never know for certain, of course – to achieve something ... something she herself had no chance, no opportunity, to achieve. Thus, she named the waif after herself.'
    'And what is she to me, Cotillion?'
    'You are being obstinate, I think. The wrong question.'
    'Oh, then tell me what is the right question.'
    'What are you to her?'
    Cutter grimaced.
    'The child approaches in the company of another woman, a very remarkable one, as you – and she – will come to see. And with a priest, sworn now to Treach. From him, you will learn ... much of worth. Finally, a demon travels with these three humans. For the time being...'
    'Where are they going? Why stop here, as Iskaral's guests?'
    'Why, to collect you, Cutter.'
    'I don't understand.'
    'Symmetry, lad, is a power unto itself. It is the expression, if you will, of nature's striving for balance. I charge you with protecting Felisin's life. To accompany them on their long, and dangerous, journey.'
    'How epic of you.'
    'I think not,' Cotillion snapped.
    Silence, for a time, during which Cutter regretted his comment.
    Finally, the Daru sighed. 'I hear horses. And Pust... in one of his nauseating diatribes.'
    Cotillion said nothing.
    'Very well,' Cutter said. 'This Felisin... abused, you said. Those ones are hard to get to. To befriend, I mean. Their scars stay fresh and fierce with pain—'
    'Her adopted mother did well, given her own scars. Be glad, lad, that she is the daughter, not the mother. And, in your worst moments, think of how Baudin felt.'
    'Baudin. The elder Felisin's guardian?'
    'Yes.'
    'All right,' Cutter said. 'It will do.'
    'What will?'
    'This path. It will do.' He hesitated, then said, 'Cotillion.
This notion of ... balance. Something has occurred to me—'
    Cotillion's eyes silenced him, shocked him with their unveiling of sorrow ... of remorse. The patron of assassins nodded. 'From her ... to you. Aye.'
    'Did she see that, do you think?'
    'All too clearly, I'm afraid.'
    Cutter stared out the window. 'I loved her, you know. I still do.'
    'So you do not wonder why she has left.'
    He shook his head, unable to fight back the tears any more. 'No, Cotillion,' he whispered. 'I don't.'
     
    The ancient coast road long behind him, Karsa Orlong guided Havok northward along the shore of the new inland sea. Rain clouds hung over the murky water to the east, but the wind was pushing them away.
    He studied the sky for a moment, then reined in on a slight rise studded with boulders and slipped down from the horse's back. Walking over to a large, flat-topped rock, the Teblor unslung his sword and set it point downward against a nearby boulder, then sat. He drew off his pack and rummaged in an outside pocket for some salted bhederin, dried fruit, and goat cheese.
    Staring out over the water, he ate. When he was done, he loosened the pack's straps and dragged out the broken remains of the T'lan Imass. He held it up so that 'Siballe's withered face looked out upon the rippling waves.
    'Tell me,' Karsa said, 'what do you see?'
    'My past.' A moment of silence, then, 'All that I have lost...'
    The Teblor released his grip and the partial corpse collapsed into a cloud of dust. Karsa found his waterskin and drank deep. Then he stared down at 'Siballe. 'You once said that if you were thrown into the sea, your soul would be freed. That oblivion would come to you. Is this true?'
    'Yes.'
    With one hand he lifted her from the ground, rose and walked to the sea's edge.
    'Wait! Teblor, wait! I do not understand!'
    Karsa's expression soured. 'When I began this journey, I was young. I believed in one thing. I believed in glory. I know now, 'Siballe, that glory is nothing. Nothing. This is what I now understand.'
    'What else do you now understand, Karsa Orlong?'
    'Not much. Just one other thing. The same cannot be said for mercy.' He raised her higher, then swung her body outward.
    It struck the water in the shallows. And dissolved into a muddy bloom, which the waves then swept away.
    Karsa swung about. Faced his sword of stone. He then smiled. 'Yes. I am Karsa Orlong of the Uryd, a Teblor. Witness, my brothers. One day I will be worthy