Daggerspell (Deverry, #1)

by Katharine Kerr

I was a flame, flaring in the fire, I was a hare, hiding in the briar, I was a drop, running with the rain, I was a scythe, slicing the grain. Ax and tree, Ship and sea, Naught that lives Is strange to me. I was a beggar, pleading a meal, I was a dweomer-sword of steel. …

It was that night that he learned this lesson: no one is ever given a Wyrd too harsh to bear, as long as it is taken up willingly and fully, deep in the soul.

It was odd, Cullyn always thought, that while bards sang of warriors slicing each other into shreds, you generally killed a man by beating him to death with your sword.