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“Release me! We made a bargain.” “Do you have the paperwork, Marco Onstantos Evenaline of the House Gold? The correct forms? Are they signed? Witnessed? Do they bear the proper marks?” “You promised! On your honour, Prince Jalan. Your honour.” “Oh.” I turn away again. “That.” And start to walk. “If you find it, let me know.”
“Give him what he wants,” Jorg had said. “Then take what you want. Nobody is more vulnerable than in their moment of victory, and you know that whatever you do this man will never let you go while he lives.”
It strikes me that in this Hell a man of sufficient will, a man willing to sacrifice anything, might bend the world itself around his desire and create of himself whatsoever he wished. It also strikes me that I am not such a man.
The axe is truly the weapon for such work. A sword is a tongue: it speaks and gives eloquent voice to violence, seeking out a foe’s vitals and ending him. An axe only roars. The wounds it gives are ruinous and in Snorri’s hands nearly every blow seemed to take a head or limb.
conversation that would have released all the unspoken words, for the way it should have been.
“Their war ended their interest in the matter, and a thousand years turned a little mistake that might have been corrected into a big one that cannot.”
I’m a liar and a cheat and a coward, but I will never, ever, rarely let a friend down.
