Should've heeded my words, son. Now look at you.
His mare pulled up suddenly, hoofs thumping confusedly on the rutted road. Paran reached for his weapon as he looked uneasily around in the gloom. The track ran through rice paddies, the nearest shacks of the peasants on a parallel ridge a hundred paces from the road. Yet a figure now blocked the road.
A cold breath swirled lazily past, pinning back the mare's ears and widening her nostrils as she flinched.
The figure-a man by his height-was swathed in shades of green: cloaked, hooded, wearing a faded tunic and linen leggings above greendyed leather boots. A single long-knife, the weapon of choice among Seven Cities warriors, was slung through a thin belt. The man's hands, faintly grey in the afternoon light, glittered with rings, rings on every finger, above and below the knuckles. He raised one now, holding up a clay jug.
“Thirsty, Lieutenant?” The man's voice was soft, the tone strangely melodic.
“Have I business with you?” Paran asked, his hand remaining on the grip of his longsword.
The man smiled, pulling back his hood. His face was long, the skin a lighter shade of grey, the eyes dark and strangely angled. He looked to be in his early thirties, though his hair was white. “The Adjunct asked of me a favour,” he said. “She grows impatient for your report. I am to escort you: with haste.” He shook the jug. “But first, a repast. I have a veritable feast secreted in my pockets-far better fare than a brow-beaten Kanese village can offer. Join me, here on the roadside. We can amuse ourselves in conversation and idle watching of peasants toiling endlessly. I am named Topper.”
“I know that name,” Paran said.
“Well, you should,” Topper replied. “I am he, alas. The blood of a Tiste And? races in my veins, seeking escape, no doubt, from its more common human stream. Mine was the hand that took the life of Unta's royal line, king, queen, sons and daughters.”
“And cousins, second cousins, third-”
“Expunging all hope, indeed. Such was my duty as a Claw of unsurpassed skill. But you have failed in answering my question.”
“Which was?”
“Thirsty?”
Scowling, Paran dismounted. “I thought you said the Adjunct wished for haste.”