Wrath Quotes

“To my thinking, though, it's what happens before death that's important. All of us die. How many really live?”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“It will be a dark day, a bloody day, a proud day, for this is the day of our wrath.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“So much emotion wrapped up in weakness, leading you to attempt the impossible, lying to yourself, time and time again. Hope, I think you call it.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“If you choose not to fight against Asroth, then you have already chosen him. Doing nothing does not absolve you of choice. Doing nothing puts you firmly on Asroth’s side and makes you a coward, as well, for not having the stones to admit it.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“To my thinking, though, it’s what happens before death that’s important. All of us die. How many really live?”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“New life, moving on. He felt a twinge of guilt, but moving on did not mean forgetting. Never forgetting.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“All of us die. How many really live?”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Sometimes you have to take a wound to give a wound.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Life is loss,” the giant said. “Aye, that it is,” Corban said. “But I’d wager some of us have lost more than others.” “In the end, it’s all the same,” Varan said. “We all face death alone.” Corban nodded. “To my thinking, though, it’s what happens before death that’s important. All of us die. How many really live?”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Says a lot when you've come to trust a crow on matters of life and death.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Sometimes caution is wisdom, but sometimes it is fear, and fear is not wise.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“How pathetic you humans are. So much emotion wrapped up in weakness, leading you to attempt the impossible, lying to yourself, time and time again. Hope, I think you call it. And yet always you fail. Your whole experience has been death and misery, failure and yet more death, and still you refuse to face the truth. A breed with such a talent for blind delusion and denial deserves to be exterminated.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Camlin rose and bowed as Edana drew near. Not a perfect bow, but for a Darkwood brigand Camlin thought it wasn’t too bad. “Two things,” Edana said. “Firstly, I have a message for you, Craf. Cywen says that she wants to see you at the hospice. Apparently she has been telling you for the last two days that your wing should be good for you to fly, now, and so she needs to take off your splint.” “What?” Camlin blurted. Craf looked about as guilty as it was possible for a crow to look. “So I’ve been carrying you around for two days when you could have been flying,” Camlin said. Craf looked the other way, as if he’d heard something more interesting elsewhere. “Why, Craf?” Camlin asked him sternly. “Why have you done this to me?” “Because then it will be, Craf fly here, Craf fly there. Craf tired.” “You are more cunning than a weasel,” Camlin said, shaking his head. “Sorry,” Craf muttered, though he didn’t look sorry.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“There it is, the difference between the Bright Star and the Black Sun, right there. Who stands at Nathair’s cairn and mourns? And yet Corban is surrounded, not by those who serve or fear him, but by those who love him. Even a scruffy old crow. That tells a tale far clearer than a prophecy scrawled upon parchment. I am glad that I met him, that I discovered the truth before it was too late.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Gar was lying beside him, his head propped against Corban. And he was so very pale, looking at Corban with dark eyes. For a moment Corban thought he was dead, but then Gar blinked, and Corban saw the movement of his chest, shallow, breaths far apart. “I’ve been…waiting for you,” Gar said, a whisper. Corban made to move his hand, realized that Gar was already holding it. Corban squeezed it. “I saw you,” Gar said quietly, “take a wound, to give one.” His lips moved, and Corban saw he was smiling, no, laughing. A wet cough, and blood sprinkled his lips. “I had a good teacher,” Corban said, smiling too. “Things to say,” Gar whispered, “need to say.” Corban felt a knot of fear and anguish draw tight in his belly. “Say them later, when we’re both…healed,” Corban rasped. Gar just looked at him, into his eyes. “I love you, Ban,” Gar said, the words coming out a wet whisper, but there was strength in his grip as he squeezed Corban’s hand. “You are the son I never had, and no son could have made me prouder.” Tears filled Corban’s eyes. “I love you, Gar, as my da, my brother, my greatest friend,” Corban whispered. Gar’s grip on his hand tightened, then slackened. “Don’t go,” Corban whispered, Gar’s face a blur through his tears. “Please, Gar, don’t go.” But he already had.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Gar was lying beside him, his head propped against Corban. And he was so very pale, looking at Corban with dark eyes. For a moment Corban thought he was dead, but then Gar blinked, and Corban saw the movement of his chest, shallow, breaths far apart. “I’ve been…waiting for you,” Gar said, a whisper. Corban made to move his hand, realized that Gar was already holding it. Corban squeezed it. “I saw you,” Gar said quietly, “take a wound, to give one.” His lips moved, and Corban saw he was smiling, no, laughing. A wet cough, and blood sprinkled his lips. “I had a good teacher,” Corban said, smiling too. “Things to say,” Gar whispered, “need to say.” Corban felt a knot of fear and anguish draw tight in his belly. “Say them later, when we’re both…healed,” Corban rasped. Gar just looked at him, into his eyes. “I love you, Ban,” Gar said, the words coming out a wet whisper, but there was strength in his grip as he squeezed Corban’s hand. “You are the son I never had, and no son could have made me prouder.” Tears filled Corban’s eyes. “I love you, Gar, as my da, my brother, my greatest friend,” Corban whispered. Gar’s grip on his hand tightened, then slackened.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Calidus’ sword was stabbing deeper, Calidus snarling a feral smile as he rammed his blade harder, punching in through Corban’s belly and out through his lower back. Distantly Corban heard someone screaming. Corban and Calidus stood like that for a long, frozen moment, Corban staring down incredulously at the sword that had run him through, blood seeping into his mail shirt, a widening stain, then he looked up to Calidus’ arrogant smile. And then Corban reached out and wrapped his wolven-clawed fist around Calidus’ hand. “Sometimes,” Corban grunted, pulling himself up towards Calidus, along the length of the Kadoshim’s sword, grimacing with both pain and rage, “you have to take a wound to give a wound.” And with all his might, a world of pain exploding in his gut, Corban swung his sword and cut Calidus’ head from his shoulders.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“But I am a different man now. He is good. A master, but he has been here a long time, a hundred years, Meical told me, planning and plotting, and learning sword-craft as well, it would seem. It will not save him.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Take Storm,” Cywen said. “She must stay and protect you all,” he said, looking at the prostrate forms of his loved ones, ordering Storm to maintain her guard. He gritted his teeth and turned away, felt his hatred of Calidus giving him new energy as it bubbled through his veins. “For Mam,” Cywen said behind him. “Aye. For Mam. For Gar. For Brina. For Laith,” Corban whispered. For all those that Calidus put on spikes in Drassil’s courtyard. From the beginning he has been the puppet-master behind all of this. Behind Nathair. He is responsible for Da’s death too, and so many more. “For everyone,” he said. “Bring me his head,” Cywen snarled as he stalked away. He felt a fire ignite within him then. A cold flame, wrath and vengeance mixed, and he began to run.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Maquin grinned as he killed, the battle-joy rushing through his veins, all who came against him seeming slow, as if wading through water, and Maquin slew them all. He knew what was different now, what had changed. For a while he had noticed that a new hesitancy had crept into him, into the way he fought, allowing on occasion some men to escape his blades. That was gone now. It had been Fidele, it had been the desire to live, to taste life with her. But now she was gone, and he did not care, and that made all the difference. All whom he fought, no matter how strong, how skilled, how fast, all of them had that desire at their core. To survive. To live. He did not.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“He felt her hand slip into his. “And stay safe, Ban. There are very few people on this earth that I care about, but you’re one of them.” “Love you, too, Brina.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Now, my lady, what is it that I can do for you on this night of nights, when you should be feasting and basking in the glory of your victory.” “I just wanted to tell you not to drink too much tonight,” Edana said, “because we’ve an early start on the morrow and a long journey ahead of us.” Camlin frowned. “What journey?” “I’m going to take the starstone necklace to Corban, and I’m taking as many men as Pendathran can spare me,” she said. “No doubt Rhin will have every intention of coming back and trying to take my realm away from me, so I thought, I might as well kill the old bitch now, and do us and the world a favour.” “FINALLY,” Craf squawked triumphantly, hopping into the torchlight. Vonn blinked at Edana’s language, a smile twitching Halion’s lips. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with a Darkwood brigand,” Camlin said. “You’re starting to think and talk like one.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“He looked around the hill, saw many heads nodding. “I was not in Drassil because I had argued with Meical, my Ben-Elim counsellor, and had gone into the forest to think. I had discovered that the prophecy that he had spoken of, used to steer me, was but a ruse, a strategy of war, manufactured by him and his Ben-Elim kin to lure Asroth and the Kadoshim into moving too soon.” He paused, allowing time for his words to sink in. Some faces were shocked, some appalled—like Alben, who had just spoken to him, and many of the Jehar. Others became angry, some confused. “So what does this mean? What are you saying to us?” a voice called out: Wulf. “I am saying that many of you followed me thinking I am the Bright Star of prophecy. I believe it is right that you know the truth. Truth and courage, remember, is the code I strive to live by, that my da taught me. So if you do not wish to follow me any longer, that is your right, and your choice.” “Meical lied to you?” Akar said, many Jehar gathered behind him. “Aye,” Corban said. “The Ben-Elim wish to win their war against Asroth and his Kadoshim. The prophecy was designed to lure Asroth from his fortress in the Otherworld, to manoeuvre him into a position of vulnerability. You, me, all of us, we are but pawns in that plan.” “The Ben-Elim have betrayed us,” Akar said, shaking his head. “Our whole lives we have believed a lie.” “They have used us,” Corban said. “Asroth is no lie,” Gar called out, stepping forwards. “Calidus, Nathair, the Vin Thalun. Our enemies. They are no lie. The Ben-Elim have used and deceived us, but our enemy remains the same. The fight remains the same. And prophecy or no, I follow Corban, unto death.” Corban looked at Gar, words failing him. “You are the Bright Star,” a voice cried out, higher pitched than the others. It sounded angry. Corban suspected it was Haelan. “Aye. You slew Sumur, when no man could have,” Akar said, lifting his head. “You are our Bright Star.” “The Bright Star,” Dath called out, grinning at Corban. “The Bright Star,” Ethlinn boomed. “The Bright Star,” another yelled, and another, until it was being chanted by hundreds. Corban shook his head. “But, the prophecy is a lie,” Corban said when they quietened. “So what?” a voice shouted—a voice and face that Corban recognized. Javed of the Freedmen. “I for one do not care. I never followed you because of a prophecy. I followed because you saved me, and because my enemies are here, and if I don’t face them, they will kill me, or worse, make me a slave again. I still want to kill them. The prophecy changes nothing.” “For once, Javed, I agree with you,” Corban shouted, and laughter rippled around the hill. “Death to our enemies,” Javed yelled, repeating it. “Death to our enemies,” Wulf joined him. “Death to our enemies,” the cry was taken up by them all, a wave of sound, a recognition of injustices endured, of kin murdered, homes burned, friends and loved ones slain. Corban looked around at them all, more than a thousand men and women raising their voices, and he thought of the long list of crimes committed by his enemy, the deaths of his mam and da, his King, so many throughout Ardan and Domhain, the slaughter at Gramm’s hold. “DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES,” Corban cried out, joining his voice to theirs.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Gar was staring at him, his face unreadable, as usual. “Surely you know,” Gar said. “I’ll not speak for the others, but as for me, prophecy or no, I go where you go. You are my life, Corban, my breath, the reason I wake and rise. When my da died…” He paused then, looked away, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “When my da died, the world became a dark place. It was only you that caused me to rise from my cot each day.” “But, now that you know…” Corban said. “Ach, that makes no difference to me,” Gar said with a wave of his hand. “No difference.” He was silent a few moments, thoughtful. “Once, yes, it was about the prophecy, but that was a long time ago. So long ago. Now, I believe in you.” He poked Corban’s chest with his finger. I’ll follow you wherever you go. To hell and back.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Coralen rose before dawn, standing and stretching, then making her way to the copse’s border where Gar was staring into the darkness. Coralen came and stood silently beside him, both of them watching as the sun appeared on the edge of the world, washing Gramm’s hold with rosy fire. “All my life, it feels, that boy has been my sun. The centre of my world.” “He’s not a boy any more,” Coralen said gently. “To me he always will be,” Gar replied quietly, little more than a whisper. “More than that. He’s my boy. The son I never had.” “We’ll see him, today. Have him back with us,” Coralen said, feeling tears mist her eyes.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Life is loss,” the giant said. “Aye, that it is,” Corban said. “But I’d wager some of us have lost more than others.” “In the end, it’s all the same,” Varan said. “We all face death alone.” Corban nodded. “To my thinking, though, it’s what happens before death that’s important. All of us die. How many really live?” Varan cocked his head, eyes fixed intently on Corban. “I find you…interesting,” Varan said. “Not what I expected.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“She crouched beside the wolven and ran her fingers through the thick fur of her neck, then leaned forwards and kissed Storm’s head. “I’ll be back, with Corban,” she whispered. “Bring him back,” Brina said watching them leave. I mean to, or die in the trying. The camp in the glade above was still and silent. Coralen and the others picked their way through the sleeping figures. As they slipped amongst the trees a figure stepped out in front of them. Gar. He had a pack slung across his back, a grim look upon his face. He nodded as he looked fiercely at the small gathering. “Good. Let’s be after him, then.” “We thought you were needed here, that you would have to stay,” Coralen said. He gave her a withering look. “Only death would stop me from going after Ban.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“As Gar joined her she tentatively reached out a hand and laid it upon Storm’s body. She felt nothing. No. Please, Elyon above. She screwed her eyes shut tight, pressed harder, flattening her palm against Storm’s deep chest, willing her hand to feel the movement of life, a drawn breath, the pumping of Storm’s heart. With every moment her hopes faded, a bleakness taking hold inside, spreading through her like ink through water. And then she felt it. A flicker, a heartbeat deep within the cavern of Storm’s broad chest. Coralen opened her eyes and saw Storm’s amber gaze regarding her. The wolven whined, a weak, miserable sound, but one that gave Coralen a rush of joy. Storm’s tail thumped feebly on the turf.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“Is she dead?”
― John Gwynne, Wrath

“I’ve done bad things, sure enough, or been party to them. But things are different now. I’m different now. Got a cause to fight for. Friends. People I believe in. Can’t change the past, but I can be a better man now.”
― John Gwynne, Wrath