"You know that as well as I do – my father is with them, is he not? You steal his eyes when it suits you—"
"Not as easy as you think." Her tone was genuine in its bitterness. He . . . baffles me."
Frightens you, you mean. "Silchas Ruin will demand the Finnest."
"Yes, he will! And we both know what he will do with it – and that must not be permitted!"
Are you sure of that, Mother? Because, you see, I am not. Not any more. "Silchas Ruin may well demand. He may well make dire threats, Mother. You have said so often enough."
"And if we stand side by side, my son, he cannot hope to get past us."
"Yes."
"But who will be guarding your back?"
"Enough, Mother. I warned them to silence and I do not think they will attempt anything. Call it faith – not in the measure of their fear. Instead, my faith rests in the measure of . . . wonder."
She stared at him, clearly confused.
He felt no inclination to elaborate. She would see, in time. "I would go to welcome these new ones," he said, eyes returning to the approaching strangers. "Will you join me, Menandore?"
"You must be mad." Words filled with affection – yes, she could never rail at him for very long. Something of his father's ethereal ease, perhaps – an ease even Rud himself could remember from that single, short visit. An ease that would slip over the Letherii's regular, unimpressive features, whenever the wave of pain, dismay – or indeed any harsh emotion – was past and gone, leaving not a ripple in its wake.
That ease, Rud now understood, was the true face of Udinaas. The face of his soul.
Father, I do so look forward to seeing you again.
Reaper's Gale, by Steven Erikson (Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)
