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“To stand in the heart of Dragnipur, to stand above the very Gate of Darkness, this was, for Anomander Rake, a most final act. Perhaps it was desperation. Or a sacrifice beyond all mortal measure.”
― Toll the Hounds
― Toll the Hounds
“Shan slid up beside Cotillion, eyes fixed on Tulas Shorn. A moment later Baran, Rood, Blind, and Gear arrived, padding round the rulers of the Realm of Shadow, and onward to encircle the Tiste Edur.
Who held out his hands, as if inviting the beast to draw close.
None did.
'They preferred you living, I think', Cotillion observed. 'The dead surrender so much.”
― Toll the Hounds
Who held out his hands, as if inviting the beast to draw close.
None did.
'They preferred you living, I think', Cotillion observed. 'The dead surrender so much.”
― Toll the Hounds
“And these things were never so precious
Listen to the bird in its cage as it speaks
In a dying man's voice; when he is gone
The voice lives to greet and give empty
Assurances with random poignancy
I do not know if I could live with that
If I could armor myself as the unhuman beak
Opens to a dead man's reminder, head cocked
As if channeling the ghost of the one
Who imagines an absence of sense, a vacuum awaiting
The cage is barred and nightly falls the shroud
To silene the commentary of impossible apostles
Spirit godlings and spanning abyss, impenetrable cloud
Between the living and the dead, the here and the gone
Where no bridge can smooth the passage of pain
And these things were never so precious
Listening to the bird as it speaks and it speaks
And it speaks, the one who has faded away
The father departed knowing the unknown
And it speaks and it speaks and it speaks
In my father's voice
Caged Bird
Fisher kel Tath”
― Toll the Hounds
Listen to the bird in its cage as it speaks
In a dying man's voice; when he is gone
The voice lives to greet and give empty
Assurances with random poignancy
I do not know if I could live with that
If I could armor myself as the unhuman beak
Opens to a dead man's reminder, head cocked
As if channeling the ghost of the one
Who imagines an absence of sense, a vacuum awaiting
The cage is barred and nightly falls the shroud
To silene the commentary of impossible apostles
Spirit godlings and spanning abyss, impenetrable cloud
Between the living and the dead, the here and the gone
Where no bridge can smooth the passage of pain
And these things were never so precious
Listening to the bird as it speaks and it speaks
And it speaks, the one who has faded away
The father departed knowing the unknown
And it speaks and it speaks and it speaks
In my father's voice
Caged Bird
Fisher kel Tath”
― Toll the Hounds
“Leave him there, now, and ride one last ripple, out beyond the city, west along the lakeshore, out to a dusty, smoky pit where the less privileged labored through their shortened lives to keep such creatures as Gorlas Vidikas and Humble Measure at the level of comfort and entitlement they held to be righteous. And, to be fair, they labored as well to contribute to the general feeling of civilization, which is normally measured by technical wherewithal, a sense of progression, and the the notion of structural stability, little of which said laborers could themselves experience, save vicariously.”
― Toll the Hounds
― Toll the Hounds
“Anomander Rake walked into Darujhistan.
Howls rose like madness unleashed.
The Son of Darkness reached up and unsheathed Dragnipur.
Steam curled from the black blade, twisting into ephemeral chains that stretched out as he walked up the wide, empty street. Stretched out to drag behind him, and from each length others emerged and from those still more, a forest's worth of iron roots, snaking out, whispering over the cobbles.
He had never invited such a manifestation before. Reigning in that bleed of power had been an act of mercy, to all those who might witness it, who might comprehend its significance.
But on this night, Anomander Rake had other things on his mind.
Chains of smoke, chains and chains and chains, so many writhing in his wake that they filled the breadth of the street, that they snaked over and under and spilled out into side streets, alleys, beneath estate gates, beneath doors and through windows.”
― Toll the Hounds
Howls rose like madness unleashed.
The Son of Darkness reached up and unsheathed Dragnipur.
Steam curled from the black blade, twisting into ephemeral chains that stretched out as he walked up the wide, empty street. Stretched out to drag behind him, and from each length others emerged and from those still more, a forest's worth of iron roots, snaking out, whispering over the cobbles.
He had never invited such a manifestation before. Reigning in that bleed of power had been an act of mercy, to all those who might witness it, who might comprehend its significance.
But on this night, Anomander Rake had other things on his mind.
Chains of smoke, chains and chains and chains, so many writhing in his wake that they filled the breadth of the street, that they snaked over and under and spilled out into side streets, alleys, beneath estate gates, beneath doors and through windows.”
― Toll the Hounds
Bill’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Bill’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
235 books
|
34 friends
843 books
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22 friends
6,813 books
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401 friends
653 books
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38 friends
261 books
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10 friends
9 books
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3 friends
97 books
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456 friends
42 books
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3,614 friends
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