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November 20 - December 3, 2024
“Cultured conversation has been rediscovered and used with guile and grace. Look upon them, Iskaral Pust, they are won over one and all.” There was a long silence. Mappo cleared his throat. “The High Priest rarely has company,” he said.
Respect for life. Sure. The other lesson is just how cheap that life can become. Maybe the former comes from the latter, in which case they’re well on their way as it is.
“They know nothing of what is to come,” Iskaral Pust whispered. “An eternal flare of pain, but shall I waste words in an effort to prepare them? No, not at all, never. Words are too precious to be wasted, hence my coy silence while they hesitate in a fit of immobile ignorance.”
All that we were has led us to where we are, but tells us little of where we’re going. Memories are a weight you can never shrug off.”
None could guess my confusion, my host of deluded illusions and elusive delusions! A mantle of marble hiding a crumbling core of sandstone. See how they stare at me, wondering—all wondering—at my secret wellspring of wisdom…”
The war chief spat at that, growled his disbelief. “Spirits below! You cannot be such a fool! The answer this day…” The war chief yanked free his tulwar from its leather sheath, revealing a blade snapped ten inches above the hilt. He raised it over his head and bellowed, “The Wickans! The Wickans! The Wickans!”
The massive, closed great helm tilted with a soft creak, and a ragged voice came from it. “I am pleased my solitude is at an end, little one. Tremorlor welcomes you with all its heart…even if you have made a mess on the hallway floor.”
“I have no word for what I should be called right now.” He smiled. “I think ‘old man’ suffices—” Lull seemed rattled by Duiker’s smile. The captain faced Coltaine. “Fist, this man feels he has no title. He’s chosen ‘old man.’ ” “A poor choice,” the Wickan growled. “Old men are wise—not fools.” He scowled at Duiker. “There is not one among your acquaintances who struggles with who and what you are. We know you as a soldier. Does that title insult you, sir?” Duiker’s eyes narrowed. “No. At least, I don’t think so.” “Lead the refugees to safety, soldier.”
“Coltaine reborn?” Duiker whispered. “No, just a soldier.”
“When I Ascended, Lady, it was to escape the nightmares of feeling…” He grimaced. “Imagine my surprise that I now thank you for such chains.”
Commander Blistig gripped the bowman by the back of the collar and yanked him upright. “Before the day’s through, you bastard,” he hissed, “ten thousand soldiers will be voicing your name.” The words shook. “Like a prayer, Squint, like a Hood-damned prayer.”
The worlds live on, beyond us, countless unravelling tales.
Until that moment, he had truly believed he had gone as far into agony as was humanly possible. He was wrong.
Why grieve, Jaghut? I shall not haunt eternity as you have done. I shall not return to this place, nor suffer again the losses a mortal suffers in life, and in living. Hood is about to bless me, Jaghut—no need to grieve… Those thoughts echoed only a moment longer, as the Jaghut’s ravaged face faded and darkness closed in around the historian, closed in until it swallowed him. And with it, awareness ceased.
fires. “You wished for their lives,” Shadowthrone hissed in glee. “Or so Apt claims. Now you have them. Your children await you, Kalam Mekhar and Minala Eltroeb—all thirteen hundred of them!”
“A name’s written on here.” “Whose?” Rudd shrugged. “ ‘Sa’yless Lorthal.’
After a time, as they walked on the plain, Icarium glanced at Mappo. “What would I do without you, my friend?” The nest of lines framing the Trell’s eyes flinched, then he smiled ruefully as he considered his reply. “Perish the thought.”
The young woman’s heart hammered with sudden realization. No, not flies. Crows. Crows, so many crows— Deep within her, the child stirred.
