[innokenti]

I suspect part of what makes Quick Ben so incredibly 'powerful' or rather 'useful' is the fact that he can think. He applies himself inventively to any situation - rather than just any display of raw power, he has demonstrated the ability to think outside the mage box and make the warrens work for him.

And now he probably has even more power to apply anyway.

[Dolorous Menhir]

Flawed;202615 said:

I think the other form Ryllandras took was Lizard Cats and so that sort of throws the Canine thing out the window.

No, Ryllandaras has gone from jackals to desert wolves. Not lizard cats.

He is described as the only individual to be both Soletaken and D'ivers.

http://encylopaediam...com/Ryllandaras

[Aptorian]

I know it's probably just a GotM'ism but it brought a smile to my face when Hairlocks tells Sail to pay attention since she's about to see something that hasn't been done in a thousand years, soulshifting.

While the "soulshifting bastard" himself, Quick Ben, is sitting right next to the guy.

[Abyss]

Strictly speaking, QB soulshifted people in his own case - we don't know how/when a soul was lasted shifted to a ventriloquist' dummy.

- Abyss, now watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat...

[Lisheo]

And QB did it secretly. I doubt Hairlock knew about it! Only a few of the Bridgeburners did after all.

[ShadowOwl]

On a reread, noticed Menadore talking about the Imass bonecaster who died/disintegrated sealing the gate into SD in the refugium. She said 'didn't she know how that weakened K'rul? how it weakened everything?" Now I take that to mean the warren's, being K'rul's blood, were weakened. So when the seal (whatever you want to call it) disintegrated with her death, it freed up the flow of power from SD to K'rul to the warrens.
This happened recently, so could have happened at the same time Quick Ben suddenly became much more powerful. He has what, 12 warrens he can access thru those extra souls? So if all the warrens just got more power, he got it to the power of 12! Maybe that explains it?

[Lisheo]

Thats an interesting theory... That would power up all the mages, have we sen any evidence in support of it?

[Dancer+]

No, the only mages that would be improved due to this happening are the Warren ewielding mages. Thre were very few of them on Lether - only the Malazans that I know of.

[Lisheo]

True. But I do like the theory, i would quite like it if it holds true.

[Ezikeil]

I have been wondering how Ben was able to WTFpwn a couple of dragons and then it kind of hit me as I was rereading RG.

At one point hedge has some inner dialouge and said something to the effect of "..as soul with no body and a body with no soul."

Well we know that Hedge has a body now and that T'lan that step into that little pockect warren get their soul back. And I am not just refering to Onrack but any of the T'lan that went through.


Now Shadowthrone wanted them to go there? He knew what was going on. I would willing to guess that he probally knew what was going to happen to onrack and that was his reward for serving him. I would hazzard a guess that Shadowthone knew that if Onrack went Trull would follow. But why would he send QB? I think he knew what was going to happen with the three sisters or something similar to that.

Now here is QB a man with 12 souls inside of him. The more time I reread the series the more I get the feeling that he may have 12 souls inside of him but they are not him.

What if by steppinng through into that pocket warren those souls fully fused with him? He is no longer a man with 12 souls but rather one man one soul and the power of all 12 at his hands. His profile has always been jack of all trades and master of none.

I am not sure I am putting it right but I have a feeling QB's power has something to do with those souls and crosing into that warren. SE spent alot of time convincing us that that warren was special and there had to be a reason for making a house there.

[Mentalist]

well ofc, it's special--it's a gate to SD one of the oldest Elder Warrens, that was supposedly sealed for millenia.
As for the "soul fusion"--interesting but I htink there's a simpler explanation in that fight with Icarium...
And, if all else fails, the E'res'al did it:D

[Imperium Corruo]

OK a question here about Quick Ben, it may have been addressed elsewhere ages ago. How is it that Quick who was apparently the weakest of the 12 mages in Raraku (according to this thread and the Quick and 3 sisters thread) end up the last man standing with the soul thing?

[Aptorian]

Imperium Corruo;286469 said:

OK a question here about Quick Ben, it may have been addressed elsewhere ages ago. How is it that Quick who was apparently the weakest of the 12 mages in Raraku (according to this thread and the Quick and 3 sisters thread) end up the last man standing with the soul thing?

It's one of those cool story lines you're not supposed to closely examine.

Supposedly the mages and priests elected not to use their warrens to get the hell out of there. Possibly because they feared that there were Claws on their heels, able to follow them into their warrens.

Instead they trecked across the desert, most of them being old or frail (book worms aren't cut out for the desert), their bodies failed them and instead of just dying for nothing they transfered their souls into the youngest one, the one most likely to make it through Raraku. I could imagine Quick used his devious nature to convince them that it was "the best plan", making them think he would take revenge or something like that.

As for Quick being the weakest mage and generally being thought of as midling squadmage. It's Quicks M.O. to lay low. Quick was probably already a very capable and dangerous mage long before Raraku. Quick used to work for the shadowcult and helped Dancer destroy Bidithals cult and probably several others. Quick was working alongside Dancer who himself is a powerfull shadow mage.

[Dancer+]

QB survived because he was the fittest and youngest as Apt has stated above, magical ability was negligable in that situation really. It was a trek across Raruku, plus QB knew the area quite well unless I'm mistaken - he was going to lead Whiskeyjack and company into to trouble but Whiskeyjack saw through the strategem.

[Imperium Corruo]

Ok the fittest and youngest makes sense, I had not even thought of the possibility that they use their warrens to escape. I guess the claw is as good an explanation for the failure to do that as anything

[Thelomen Toblerone]

I'm surprised at least one of them didnt decide to just take their chances- after all these were powerful mages, I'd have thought they could just turn and try sorcerously incinerating anyone following them.

[Venerus]

Figured I'd repost the whole affair just 'cause.

MoI said:

'Good. I think it will be worth it.' Whiskeyjack's gaze wandered, found the lantern hanging from a pole, settled on its dim, flaring gold flame. 'Quick Ben. Adaephon Delat, a middling wizard in the employ of one of the Seven Holy Protectors during an abortive rebellion that originated in Aren. Delat and eleven other mages made up the Protector's cadre. Our besieging army's own sorcerers were more than their match—Bellurdan, Nightchill, Tayschrenn, A'Karonys, Tesormalandis, Stumpy—a formidable gathering known for their brutal execution of the Emperor's will. Well, the city the Protector was holed up in was breached, the walls sundered, slaughter in the streets, the madness of battle gripped us all. Dassem struck down the Holy Protector—Dassem and his band of followers he called his First Sword—they chewed their way through the enemy ranks. The Protector's cadre, seeing the death of their master and the shattering of the army, fled. Dassem ordered my company in pursuit, out into the desert. Our guide was a local, a man recently recruited into our own Claw
Kalam Mekhar's broad, midnight face glistened with sweat. Whiskeyjack watched as the man twisted in the saddle, watched the wide shoulders shrug beneath the dusty, stained telaba.
'They remain together,' the guide rumbled. 'I would have thought they'd split… and force you to do the same. Or to choose among them, Commander. The trail leads out, sir, out into Raraku's heart.'
'How far ahead?' Whiskeyjack asked.
'Half a day, no more. And on foot.'
The commander squinted out into the desert's ochre haze. Seventy soldiers rode at his back, a cobbled-together collection of marines, engineers, infantry and cavalry; each from squads that had effectively ceased to exist. Three years of sieges, set battles and pursuits for most of them. They were what Dassem Ultor judged could be spared, and, if necessary, sacrificed.
'Sir,' Kalam said, cutting into his thoughts. 'Raraku is a holy desert. A place of power
'Lead on,' Whiskeyjack growled.
Dust-devils swirled random paths across the barren, wasted plain. The troop rode at a trot with brief intervals of walking. The sun climbed higher in the sky. Somewhere behind them, a city still burned, yet before them they saw an entire landscape that seemed lit by fire.
The first corpse was discovered early in the afternoon. Curled, a ragged, scorched telaba fluttering in the hot wind, and beneath it a withered figure, head tilted skyward, eye sockets hollowed pits. Kalam dismounted and was long in examining the body. Finally, he rose and faced Whiskeyjack. 'Kebharla, I think. She was more a scholar than a mage, a delver of mysteries. Sir, there's something odd—'
'Indeed?' the commander drawled. He leaned forward in his saddle, studied the corpse. 'Apart from the fact that she looks like she died a hundred years ago, what do you find odd, Kalam?'
The man's face twisted in a scowl.
A soldier chuckled behind Whiskeyjack.
'Will that funny man come forward, please,' the commander called out without turning.
A rider joined him. Thin, young, an ornate, oversized Seven Cities helmet on his head. 'Sir!' the soldier said.
Whiskeyjack stared at him. 'Gods, man, lose that helm—you'll cook your brains. And the fiddle—the damned thing's broken anyway.'
'The helmet's lined with cold-sand, sir.'
'With what?'
'Cold-sand. Looks like shaved filings, sir, but you could throw a handful into a fire and it won't get hot. Strangest thing, sir.'
The commander's eyes narrowed on the helmet. 'By the Abyss, the Holy Protector wore that!'
The man nodded solemnly. 'And when Dassem's sword clipped it, it went flying, sir. Right into my arms.'
'And the fiddle followed?'
The soldier's eyes thinned suspiciously. 'No, sir. The fiddle's mine. Bought it in Malaz City, planned on learning how to play it.'
'So who put a fist through it, soldier?'
'That would be Hedge, sir—that man over there beside Picker.'
'He can't play the damn thing!' the soldier in question shouted over.
'Well I can't now, can I? It's broke. But once the war's done I'll get it fixed, won't I?'
Whiskeyjack sighed. 'Return to your position, sir Fiddler, and not another sound from you, understood?'
'One thing, sir. I got a bad feeling… about… about all of this.'
'You're not alone in that, soldier.'
'Well, uh, it's just that—'
'Commander!' the soldier named Hedge called out, nudging his mount forward. 'The lad's hunches, sir, they ain't missed yet. He told Sergeant Nubber not to drink from that jug, but Nubber did anyway, and now he's dead, sir.'
'Poisoned?'
'No, sir. A dead lizard. Got stuck in his throat. Nubber choked to death on a dead lizard! Hey, Fiddler—a good name, that. Fiddler. Hah!'
'Gods,' Whiskeyjack breathed. 'Enough.' He faced Kalam again. 'Ride on.'
The man nodded, climbed back in his saddle.
Eleven mages on foot, without supplies, fleeing across a lifeless desert, the hunt should have been completed quickly. Late in the afternoon they came upon another body, as shrivelled as the first one; then, with the sun spreading crimson on the west horizon, a third corpse was found on the trail. Directly ahead, half a league distant, rose the bleached, jagged teeth of limestone cliffs, tinted red with the sunset. The trail of the surviving wizards, Kalam informed the commander, led towards them.
The horses were exhausted, as were the soldiers. Water was becoming a concern. Whiskeyjack called a halt, and camp was prepared.
After the meal, and with soldiers stationed at pickets, the commander joined Kalam Mekhar at the hearth.
The assassin tossed another brick of dung onto the flames, then checked the water in the battered pot suspended by a tripod over the fire. 'The herbs in this tea will lessen the loss of water come the morrow,' the Seven Cities native rumbled. 'I'm lucky to have it—it's rare and getting rarer. Makes your piss thick as soup, but short. You'll still sweat, but you need that—'
'I know,' Whiskeyjack interjected. 'We've been on this damned continent long enough to learn a few things, Clawleader.'
The man glanced over at the settling soldiers. 'I keep forgetting that, Commander. You're allso… young.'
'As young as you, Kalam Mekhar.'
'And what have I seen of the world, sir? Scant little. Bodyguard to a Holy Falah in Aren—'
'Bodyguard? Why mince words? You were his private assassin.'
'My journey has just begun, is what I was trying to say, sir. You—your soldiers—what you've seen, what you've been through…' He shook his head. 'It's all there, in your eyes.'
Whiskeyjack studied the man, the silence stretching.
Kalam removed the pot and poured out two cups of the medicinal-smelling brew, handed one up to the commander. 'We'll catch up with them tomorrow.'
'Indeed. We've ridden steady the day through, twice the pace of a soldier's jog. How much distance have we closed with these damned mages? A bell's worth? Two? No more than two. They're using warrens'
The assassin, frowning, slowly shook his head. 'Then I would have lost the trail, sir. Once they entered a warren, all signs of them would have vanished.'
'Yes. Yet the footprints lead on, unbroken. Why is that?'
Kalam squinted into the fire. 'I don't know, sir.'
Whiskeyjack drained the bitter tea, dropped the tin cup to the ground beside the assassin, then strode away.
Day followed day, the pursuit taking them through the battered ravines, gorges and arroyos of the hills. More bodies were discovered, desiccated figures that Kalam identified one after another: Renisha, a sorceror of High Meanas; Keluger, a Septime Priest of D'riss, the Worm of Autumn; Narkal, the warrior-mage, sworn to Fener and aspirant to the god's Mortal Sword; Ullan, the Soletaken priestess of Soliel.
Deprivation took its toll on the hunters. Horses died, were butchered and eaten. The surviving beasts thinned, grew gaunt. Had not the mages' trail led Kalam and the others unerringly to one hidden spring after another, everyone would have died, there in Raraku's relentless wasteland.
Set'alahd Crool, a Jhag half-blood who'd once driven Dassem Vltor back a half-dozen steps in furious counterattack, his sword ablaze with the blessing of some unknown ascendant; Etra, a mistress of the Rashan warren; Birith'erah, mage of the Sere warren who could pull storms down from the sky; Gellid, witch of the Tennes warren…
And now but one remained, ever ahead, elusive, his presence revealed only by the light footprints he left behind.
The hunters were embraced in silence, now. Raraku's silence. Tempered, honed, annealed under the sun. The horses beneath them were their match, lean and defiant, tireless and wild-eyed.
Whiskeyjack was slow to understand what he saw in Kalam's face when the assassin looked upon him and his soldiers, slow to grasp that the killer's narrowed eyes held disbelief, awe, and more than a little fear. Yet Kalam himself had changed. He'd not travelled far from the land he called home, yet an entire world had passed beneath him.
Raraku had taken them all.
Up a steep, rocky channel, through an eroded fissure, the limestone walls stained and pitted, and out into a natural amphitheatre, and there, seated cross-legged on a boulder on the clearing's opposite side, waited the last mage.
He wore little more than rags, was emaciated, his dark skin cracked and peeling, his eyes glittering hard and brittle as obsidian.
Kalam's reining in looked to be a tortured effort. He managed to turn his horse round, met Whiskeyjack's eyes. 'Adaephon Delat, a mage of Meanas,' he said in a bone-dry rasp, his split lips twisting into a grin. 'He was never much, sir. I doubt he'll be able to muster a defence.'
Whiskeyjack said nothing. He angled his mount past the assassin, approached the wizard.
'One question,' the wizard asked, his voice barely a whisper yet carrying clearly across the amphitheatre.
'What?'
'Who in Hood's name are you?'
Whiskeyjack raised a brow. 'Does it matter?'
'We have crossed Raraku entire,' the wizard said. 'Other side of these cliffs is the trail leading down to G'danisban. You chased me across the Holy Desert… gods, no man is worth that. Not even me!'
'There were eleven others in your company, wizard.'
Adaephon Delat shrugged. 'I was the youngest—the healthiest—by far. Yet now, finally, even my body has given up. I can go no further.' His dark eyes reached past Whiskeyjack. 'Commander, your soldiers…'
'What of them?'
'They are more… and less. No longer what they once were. Raraku, sir, has burned the bridges of their pasts, one and all—it's all gone.' He met Whiskeyjack's eyes in wonder. 'And they are yours. Heart and soul. They are yours.'
'More than you realize,' Whiskeyjack said. He raised his voice. 'Hedge, Fiddler, are we in place?'
'Aye!' two voices chorused.
Whiskeyjack saw the wizard's sudden tension. After a moment, the commander twisted in his saddle. Kalam sat stiffly on his horse a dozen paces back, sweat streaming down his brow. Flanking him and slightly behind were Fiddler and Hedge, both with their crossbows trained on the assassin. Smiling, Whiskeyjack faced Adaephon Delat once again.
'You two have played an extraordinary game. Fiddler sniffed out the secret communications—the scuffed stone-faces, the postures of the bodies, the curled fingers—one, three, two, whatever was needed to complete the cipher—we could have cut this to a close a week past, but by then I'd grown… curious. Eleven mages. Once the first one revealed her arcane knowledge to you—knowledge she was unable to use—it was just a matter of bargaining. What choice did the others possess? Death by Raraku's hand, or mine. Or… a kind of salvation. But was it, after all? Do their souls clamour within you, now, Adaephon Delat? Screaming to escape their new prison? But I am left wondering, none the less. This game—you and Kalam—to what end?'
The illusion of deprivation slowly faded from the wizard, revealing a fit, hale young man. He managed a strained smile. 'The clamour has… subsided somewhat. Even the ghost of a life is better than Hood's embrace, Commander. We've achieved a… balance, you could say.'
'And you a host of powers unimagined.'
'Formidable, granted, but I've no desire to use them now. The game we played, Whiskeyjack? Only one of survival. At first. We didn't think you'd make it, to be perfectly honest. We thought Raraku would come to claim you—I suppose she did, in a way, though not in a way I would have anticipated. What you and your soldiers have become…' He shook his head.
'What we have become,' Whiskeyjack said, 'you have shared. You and Kalam.'
The wizard slowly nodded. 'Hence this fateful meeting. Sir, Kalam and I, we'll follow you, now. If you would have us.'
Whiskeyjack grunted. 'The Emperor will take you from me.'
'Only if you tell him, Commander.'
'And Kalam?' Whiskeyjack glanced back at the assassin.
'The Claw will be… displeased,' the man rumbled. Then he smiled. 'Too bad for Surly.'
Grimacing, Whiskeyjack twisted further to survey his soldiers. The array of faces could have been carved from stone. A company, culled from the army's cast-offs, now a bright, hard core. 'Gods,' he whispered under his breath, 'what have we made here?'
The first blood-letting engagement of the Bridgeburners was the retaking of G'danisban—a mage, an assassin, and seventy soldiers who swept into a rebel stronghold of four hundred desert warriors and crushed them in a single night.

[Imperium Corruo]

Important to note in the passage that Quick admits his powers are "formidable" and Whiskeyjack suggests that the Emperor would "take you from me" suggesting to me that he suspects Quick is at High Mage capabilities at this point.

[The Dark Wanderer]

Having just re-read the end of Bonehunters there's an odd quote from ST

Quote

'You said you owed me, remember? Well, my dear Snake, it's time.'

Now this may be reading into this admittedly odd comment from an odd character, but it seems weird so maybe QB's soletaken form is a snake? Or is ST just saying that QB is a slippery customer, but then why the capital S on Snake? Any insights much welcome.

[Venerus]

SE has stated that QB's Soletaken form is not a snake.