Queen of Sorcery

I thought you said you were the one in charge!" Ce'Nedra exclaimed. I lied." Silk said. "It's a vice I have.

Exaggerating?" Silk sounded shocked. "You don't mean to say that horses can actually lie, do you? Hettar shrugged. "Of course. They lie all the time. They're very good at it." For a moment Silk looked outraged at the thought, and then he suddenly laughed. "Somehow that restores my faith in the order of the universe," he declared. Wolf looked pained. "Silk," he said pointedly, "you're a very evil man. Did you know that?" "One does one's best," Silk replied mockingly.

As long as I know that my motives are good, I'm Seldom very concerned with the opinions of others. -Mandorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor.

Dost thou question my word, Sir Knight?" Madorallen returned in an ominously quiet voice. "And wilt thou then come down and put thy doubt to the test? Or is it perhaps that thou wouldst prefer to cringe doglike behind thy parapet and yap at thy betters?" "Oh, that was very good," Barak said admiringly.

Young lady," Silk said urbanely, "I think you'd be amazed at how little Polgara's concerned about who you are." "Polgara?" Ce'Nedra faltered. "The Polgara? I thought you said that she was your sister." "I lied," Silk confessed. "It's a vice a have.

Mandorallen turned to Barak. "If it please thee, my Lord," he requested politely, "deliver my challenge as soon as they approach us." Barak shrugged. "It's your skin," he noted. He eyed the advancing knights and then lifted his voice in a great roar. "Sir Madorallen, Baron of Vo Mandor, desires entertainment," he declaimed. "It would amuse him if each of your parties would select a champion to joust with him. If, however, you are all such cowardly dogs that you have no stomach for such a contest, cease this brawling and stand aside so that your betters may pass." "Splendidly spoken, my Lord Barak," Madorallen said with admiration. "I've always had a way with words," Barak replied modestly.

Someday you'll have to show me how you did that," Asharak was saying. "I found the experience interesting. My horse had hysterics, however." "My apologies to your horse.

Whatever happened to him?" Silk asked. "He went swimming in the Nedrane." "I didn't know that Thulls swam all that well." "They don't–particularly not with large rocks tied to their feet.

Let's kill the big one with the red whiskers then," another suggested. "He looks like he might be troublesome, and he's probably too stupid to know anything useful." "I want that one," Barak whispered.

You're going to keep making these mistakes as long as you keep carrying your brain in the same scabbard with your sword, Lelldorin.

Behold Vo Mimbre," Mandorallen proclaimed with pride, "queen of cities. Upon that rock the tide of Angarak crashed and recoiled and crashed again. Upon this field met they their ruin. The soul and pride of Arendia doth reside within that fortress and the power of the Dark One may not prevail against it." "We've been here before, Mendorallen," Mister Wolf said sourly.

If you'd just try, I'm sure you'd be able to fly.

Silk laughed. "You really should try not to let your knife do all your thinking for you. That's the one quality we find least attractive in our Cherek cousins." "And we find this compulsion to make clever remarks which seems to overwhelm our Drasnian brothers now and then almost equally unattractive," Barak told him coolly.

He felt oddly powerless, as if his entire life were in the fingers of two faceless players maneuvering pieces in the same patterns on some vast board in a game that, for all he knew, had lasted for eternity.

As they prepared to mount, Barak's horse, a large, sturdy gray, sighed and threw a reproachful look at Hettar, and the Algar chuckled. 'What's so funny?' Barak demanded suspiciously. 'The horse said something,' Hettar replied. 'Never mind.

Because they were both young, she was intolerant and he was stubborn.

His outburst that morning had been directed almost more at himself than at Aunt Pol. He had called her a monster, but it was the monster within himself he hated. The dreadful catalogue of what she had suffered over uncounted years for him and the passion with which she had spoken – evidence of the pain his words had caused her – twisted searingly in his mind. He was ashamed, so ashamed that he could not even bear to look into the faces of his friends.

Mad with terror, many even leaped into the deadly water of the river. ‘We’re not going to be able to get through that mob, Polgara,’ Barak said.

But in time the night, as all nights must, came to an end, and the morning dawned clear and bright.

The land, indifferent to human boundaries, flowed on unchanged.

As long as I know that my motives are good, however, I’m seldom very concerned with the opinions of others.

By ostentation and propinquity to the throne, small men are able to avoid facing their own inadequacy.

Lying is an art. A good lie shouldn’t be embellished so much.