The Stone of Farewell (Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn, #2)

by Tad Williams

“They kept things from me because I’m a girl. That’s not right—I’m smarter than most of the men I know!” Dinivan did not smile. “I’ve no doubt of that, Miriamele. In fact, I think you should seek a greater challenge than merely being wiser than men.”

Could one man bring evil down on everyone, she wondered? And why? Just to be doing the devil’s work? She looked around carefully, embarrassed, then spat in the mud to ward evil. What did it matter? There was nothing an old woman like her could do, was there?

HINT: There just may be ;)

Simon tore his gaze from Binabik’s. “That’s what I said. How do you fight a god? We’ll be crushed like ants.” Another stone went flying out into darkness. “Perhaps. But if we are not trying, then there is no chance of anything but this antlike crushing, so we must try. There is always something beyond even the worst of bad times. We may die, but the dying of some may mean living for others. That is not much to cling to, but it is a true thing in any case.”

The troll moved a little way down the path and took a seat on another stone. The sky was darkening swiftly. “Also,” Binabik said gravely, “it may or may not be foolishness to pray to the gods, but there is certainly being no wisdom in cursing them.” Simon said nothing. They passed some time in silence. At last Binabik twisted loose the knife end of his walking stick, allowing the bone flute inside the hollow stick to slide free. He blew a few experimental notes, then began to play a slow, melancholy air. The dissonant music, echoing down the mountainside in darkness, seemed to sing with the voice of Simon’s own loneliness. He shivered, feeling the wind through his tattered cloak. His dragon-scar stung fiercely. “Are you still my friend, Binabik?” he said at last. The troll took the flute from his lips. “To death and beyond, Simon-friend.” He began to play once more. When the flutesong was finished, Binabik whistled for Qantaqa and walked back up the path toward camp. Simon followed him.

The lamps of cities blur many shadows that are plain beneath the moon.”

Duke Benigaris belched and loosened his belt. So men always would be, ape and angel mixed, their animal nature chafing at the restraints of civilization even as they reached for Heaven or for Hell. It was amusing, really . . . or should have been.

“My prince,” he said between clenched teeth, “you have become a fool, a damnable fool. Priests, jugglers, and women! An army of mounted knights could scarcely have done more than your women and jugglers—and certainly could not have been braver!” Shaking with fury, he rose and stalked away across the muddy compound. The stars seemed almost to tilt in the sky.

This was in context to the prince making a dismissive comment about his tiny army of women, jugglers, and priests.

She gave herself up to him at last. There was pain, but there were also promises. Miriamele had hoped for nothing more. In a way, it was a lesson the world had already taught her. • • • Awash with strange new feelings, not completely comfortable with any of them, Miriamele sat quietly across the dining table from Aspitis, pushing food from one side of her plate to the other. She could not understand why the earl had forced her to come sit with him in the brightly candlelit room. She could not understand why she was not even slightly in love.