[Khanna]

I'm nearing the end of the second book. But once again I came across something I don't understand. Here's the paragraph:



The historian’s abrupt nod cut out the need to say anything more—a swiftly granted mercy. He’d seen those faces, had come close to studying them—as if, he’d thought at the time, seeking to find the youth that belonged there, the freedom and innocence—but that was not what he sought, nor what he found. Lull had led him to the word itself. Simple, immutable, thus far still sacrosanct.




The part I'm having trouble with is "Lull had led tim to the word itself." What word is that?

[Aptorian]

I'm assuming it's referring to what ever Lull said in a previous paragraph.

[Khanna]

Aptorian, on 27 March 2020 - 03:55 AM, said:

I'm assuming it's referring to what ever Lull said in a previous paragraph.

I don't think so. The reason I included only that paragraph is because the previous ones didn't have anything directly relevant (at least as far as I can see).

This post has been edited by Khanna: 27 March 2020 - 01:10 PM

[Aptorian]

Do you have a page number?

[Imperial Historian]

Lull said the 'children are dying' quote is it a reference to that? Nit sure of the context but no other notable statements spring to mind.

[Zerv]

The word is "dignity" (what Lull refers to as "the last thing they have left"), as explicitly stated by the nameless marine a couple of paragraphs later (in bold below).

Quote

'The Fist has reached a decision,' Lull said. Something in those words chilled Duiker. He thought to probe for more, yet dismissed the notion. The details of that decision belonged to Coltaine. The man leads an army that refuses to die. We've not lost a refugee to enemy action in thirty hours. Five thousand soldiers . . . spitting in the face of every god. . . 'What do you know of the tribes this close to the city?' Lull asked as they continued on. 'They've no love of Aren,' Duiker said. 'Worse for them under the Empire?' The historian grunted, seeing the direction the captain pursued in his questions. 'No, better. The Malazan Empire understands borderlands, the different needs of those living in the countryside – vast territories in the Empire, after all, remain nomadic, and the tribute demanded is never exorbitant. More, payment for passage across tribal lands is always generous and prompt. Coltaine should know this well enough, Captain.' 'I imagine he does – I'm the one that needs convincing.' Duiker glanced at the refugees on their left, scanning the row upon row of faces, young and old, within the ever-present shroud of dust. Thoughts pushed past weariness, and Duiker felt himself tottering on an edge, beyond which – he could now clearly see – waited Coltaine's desperate gamble. The Fist has reached a decision. And his officers balk, flinch back overwhelmed with uncertainty. Has Coltaine succumbed to despair? Or does he see all too well? Five thousand soldiers . . . 'What can I say to you, Lull?' Duiker asked. 'That there's no choice left.' 'You can answer that yourself.' 'I dare not.' The man grimaced, his scarred face twisting, his lone eye narrowing amidst a nest of wrinkles. 'It's the children, you see. It's what they have left – the last thing they have left. Duiker—' The historian's abrupt nod cut out the need to say anything more – a swiftly granted mercy. He'd seen those faces, had come close to studying them – as if, he'd thought at the time, seeking to find the youth that belonged there, the freedom and innocence – but that was not what he sought, nor what he found. Lull had led him to the word itself. Simple, immutable, thus far still sacrosanct. Five thousand soldiers will give their lives for it. But is this some kind of romantic foolishness – do I yearn for recognition among these simple soldiers? Is any soldier truly simple – simple in the sense of having a spare, pragmatic way of seeing the world and his place in it? And does such a view preclude the profound awareness I now believe exists in these battered, footsore men and women? Duiker swung his gaze to his nameless marine, and found himself meeting those remarkable eyes, as if she had but waited for him – his thoughts, doubts and fears – to come around, to seek her. She shrugged. 'Are we so blind that we cannot see it, Duiker? We defend their dignity. There, simple as that. More, it is our strength. Is this what you wished to hear?' I'll accept that minor castigation. Never underestimate a soldier.

Deadhouse Gates: 2 (The Malazan Book Of The Fallen) (pp. 731-733). Transworld. Kindle Edition.

[Khanna]

Zerv, on 27 March 2020 - 08:03 PM, said:

The word is "dignity" (what Lull refers to as "the last thing they have left"), as explicitly stated by the nameless marine a couple of paragraphs later (in bold below).

Quote

'The Fist has reached a decision,' Lull said. Something in those words chilled Duiker. He thought to probe for more, yet dismissed the notion. The details of that decision belonged to Coltaine. The man leads an army that refuses to die. We've not lost a refugee to enemy action in thirty hours. Five thousand soldiers . . . spitting in the face of every god. . . 'What do you know of the tribes this close to the city?' Lull asked as they continued on. 'They've no love of Aren,' Duiker said. 'Worse for them under the Empire?' The historian grunted, seeing the direction the captain pursued in his questions. 'No, better. The Malazan Empire understands borderlands, the different needs of those living in the countryside – vast territories in the Empire, after all, remain nomadic, and the tribute demanded is never exorbitant. More, payment for passage across tribal lands is always generous and prompt. Coltaine should know this well enough, Captain.' 'I imagine he does – I'm the one that needs convincing.' Duiker glanced at the refugees on their left, scanning the row upon row of faces, young and old, within the ever-present shroud of dust. Thoughts pushed past weariness, and Duiker felt himself tottering on an edge, beyond which – he could now clearly see – waited Coltaine's desperate gamble. The Fist has reached a decision. And his officers balk, flinch back overwhelmed with uncertainty. Has Coltaine succumbed to despair? Or does he see all too well? Five thousand soldiers . . . 'What can I say to you, Lull?' Duiker asked. 'That there's no choice left.' 'You can answer that yourself.' 'I dare not.' The man grimaced, his scarred face twisting, his lone eye narrowing amidst a nest of wrinkles. 'It's the children, you see. It's what they have left – the last thing they have left. Duiker—' The historian's abrupt nod cut out the need to say anything more – a swiftly granted mercy. He'd seen those faces, had come close to studying them – as if, he'd thought at the time, seeking to find the youth that belonged there, the freedom and innocence – but that was not what he sought, nor what he found. Lull had led him to the word itself. Simple, immutable, thus far still sacrosanct. Five thousand soldiers will give their lives for it. But is this some kind of romantic foolishness – do I yearn for recognition among these simple soldiers? Is any soldier truly simple – simple in the sense of having a spare, pragmatic way of seeing the world and his place in it? And does such a view preclude the profound awareness I now believe exists in these battered, footsore men and women? Duiker swung his gaze to his nameless marine, and found himself meeting those remarkable eyes, as if she had but waited for him – his thoughts, doubts and fears – to come around, to seek her. She shrugged. 'Are we so blind that we cannot see it, Duiker? We defend their dignity. There, simple as that. More, it is our strength. Is this what you wished to hear?' I'll accept that minor castigation. Never underestimate a soldier.

Deadhouse Gates: 2 (The Malazan Book Of The Fallen) (pp. 731-733). Transworld. Kindle Edition.

Now it makes sense. Thank you.