By the Sword
evil working in subtler fashion; marriages that proved to be
no more then legalized slavery, and the careful manipulation
of a bright and sensitive mind until its owner truly believed
with all her heart in her own worthlessness. Betrayal, not
once, but many times over.
it makes sense for people who are good at fighting to go out
and do it-because if they're good at it, that means the
fewest number of other people die. There's always going to be
fighting. People of honor have to be a part of that, because
if they aren't, the only ones fighting will be the ones who
don't care, who have no honor, and no concern for how many
others die if all the fighting is done by people with no
conscience, there won't be any safety anywhere for the people
who only want peace. If there are going to be people out
there making war on other people, don't you think it's a good
idea for some of those people to at least follow a code of
ethics? not `honor' but something you can pin down and be
sure of, something with the same rules for everybody. lackey
these are my friends, my family. It would be hell on earth
to spend the rest of my life leading them into situations
where some of them are going to get killed ... but it would
be worse watching someone well-meaning but incompetent or
untrained double those deaths.
Oathbreakers
Why should you find a mind attractive enough to put up with
a crippled, aging body? I'm half again your age--why is it
that when we're talking you make me feel no age at all? or
every age? How is it that you challenge my mind as well as my
heart? How did you make me come alive again?
Thrusting a blood-drenched fist at the sky, she summoned all
the power that was hers as Kal'enedral, as priestess, as
Swordsworn warrior--power she had never taken, never used.
She flung back her head, and screamed a name into the
uncaring, gray sky, a name that tore her throat even as her
heart was torn. The Warrior's Greater Name--
"If I wanted a young man, there's a tavern full downstairs.
It's you I admire, Jadrek; the mind, the person." . . . He
frequently stopped what he was doing for long moments, just
to look at her, his eyes full of wonder, as if this was
something more magical for him than all the exercising of her
powers as a sorceress. As if he couldn't believe that she was
returning touch for touch and emotion for emotion. When he
did that, she had to fight to keep back the tears of
sympathy--the only way she could was to keep a little corner
of her mind free to concentrate on the hatred she felt for
the women who must have treated him with coldness or
indifference, so that this experience was such an unexpected
revelation for him.
Storm Warning
There were even those at the borders who wanted the
demon-summoners back. At least when demons roamed the night,
the bandits stayed hidden, and conducted their raids only by
day, when it was somewhat easier to see them coming and to
fight them. There were plenty of border dwellers who feared
the Rethwellans, the Valdemarans, and the Hardonerns on the
other side of those borders, and wanted the demons and their
summoners to keep the 'foreigners' away.
All the Firecats have traditionally referred to themselves
by names of former Sons of the Sun. We have always believed
that they are the spirits of former Sons who have taken on a
material form in order to guide and advise us . . .
Obviously, they are exactly like your Companions, except that
there are fewer of them. I assume that is because there are
fewer deceased Sons than there are deceased Heralds.
He who does good in the name of another god, does it for
Vkandis, and he who does ill in the name of Vkandis does it
for the darkest demons in hell. Let those of good will bring
succor to one another, and dispense with the naming of Names.
He racked his brain for something to say. What do you say to
an Avatar of your God? "Hello, heard any good Sunlord jokes
recently?" "Good morning, how may I worship you?"
Winds of Fury
Ancar might be grinding his people into poverty, but there
were still youngsters falling in love and wanting
love-tokens; still pretty girls wishing for something bright
to attract someone's eye; still loving husbands wanting a
special little gift for a new mother. Ordinary life went on,
even while war raged over the border, and Ancar despoiled his
own lands . . .
"Falling dead, with a knife bearing the crest of Valdemar on
the pommel-nut," he said dryly. "Very subtle, Elspeth.
Couldn't you have sent a more direct message to the Emperor?
Like, perhaps, 'Your father won the Horse Faire. Your mother
tracks rabbits by scent. Love and kisses, Elspeth of
Valdemar.'"
