I’d burn the world to save her.” — “CAINE” (PFNL. HARI MICHAELSON)For Love of Pallas Ril “If you move very, very slowly, he probably won’t shoot you again,” Jonathan Fist said to the dying assassin. “That can’t be comfortable.” Very, very slowly, Tanner rolled himself off his crossbow. “You’ll excuse me not getting up.” The front of his tunic glistened with blood, black in the moonlight. “What do you fuckers want to know?” Orbek leveled the rifle. “How about one reason we shouldn’t torture you till we get bored, then shoot you in the head?” “Please yourself,” Tanner said. His voice was cold as the stone he lay on, and had the flattened urban whine of Seven Wells. “There’s nowhere I have to be.” Fist sighed. “I liked you better folksy.” “Well, whatever suits you just tickles me plumb to death.” “Yeah, like that.” “Maybe start with your name,” Orbek said. “Also why you’re trying to kill my little brother.” Tanner lifted his head and frowned at Fist.
