Maria

“Quick Ben. You snake-eyed shifty know-it-all bastard from the bung-hole of Seven Cities. I never liked you. Never trusted you, even when I had to. The things you know about, why I—”
― Steven Erikson, Dust of Dreams

“Then the wizard looked down at the six big coins in his hand. Twoflower had insisted on paying his first four days’ wages in advance. Hugh nodded and smiled encouragingly.
Rincewind snarled at him.
As a student wizard Rincewind had never achieved high marks in precognition, but now unused circuits in his brain were throbbing and the future might as well have been engraved in bright colours on his eyeballs. The space between his shoulder blades began to itch. The sensible thing to do, he knew, was to buy a horse. It would have to be a fast one, and expensive — offhand, Rincewind couldn’t think of any horse - dealer he knew who was rich enough to give change out of almost a whole ounce of gold.
And then, of course, the other five coins would help him set up a useful practice at some safe distance, say two hundred miles. That would be the sensible thing.
But what would happen to Twoflower, all alone in a city where even the cockroaches had an unerring instinct for gold? A man would have to be a real heel to leave him.
The Patrician of Ankh - Morpork smiled, but with his mouth only.
“The Hub Gate, you say?” he murmured.
The guard captain saluted smartly. “Aye, lord. We had to shoot the horse before he would stop.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Color of Magic

“I have heard the death-cry. Was she kin? She said as much, when first she touched me. We were upon the ground. Far from each other, and yet of a kind.
I heard her die.
And so I came to mourn her, I came to find her body, her silent tomb.
But she dies still. I do not understand. She dies still—and there are strangers. Cruel strangers. I knew them once. I know them now. I know, too, that they will not yield.
Who am I?
What am I?
But I know the answers to these questions. I believe, at last, that I do.
Strangers, you bring pain. You bring suffering. You bring to so many dreams the dust of death.
But, strangers, I am Icarium.
And I bring far worse.”
― Steven Erikson, Dust of Dreams

“Ah, my love. Forgive me.’
He set out, boots crunching on the dead.
Returned to the world.
Draconus.”
― Steven Erikson, Dust of Dreams