“If you reach for the stars, you just might land on a decently sized hill.”
“To a happy war!' laughter echoed with all the insane glee of an army of psychopaths.”
“And exactly how does a miserable face help the war effort?" he asked sharply, his mood beginning to change. "Will a frown bring back the dead or fortify a town? If I allow myself to laugh in the face of misery, I rest my mind from the stress of it all, and then it'll work the better for you and your war. And if I'm really to be one of your advisers, Your Majesty, accept this piece of advise: Take happiness where and when you find it, because there is going to be precious little of it in the next few months!”
“If you dare try to leave me behind, I'll follow on foot, and when I die in the snow, Ill come back and haunt you. I'll make your life a complete misery. No ghost will ever have been as inventive in its nastiness as I'll be: I'll turn your food rancid; I'll transform your drink into blood; I'll howl and moan throughout the night; there'll be no place safe from me. And don't think I couldn't do it, Thirrin, Queen of Icemark, because I can assure you, I could.”
“But leave us some magic in the world. Leave us some mystery to enjoy.”
“Thanks, Dad," she whispered in his ear. Then recovering her composure, she knelt before him and said, "I give thanks, my Father. May your decision be proved right and true.”
“Pain! Deep, tearing, throbbing, needle-sharp, hammer-blunt pain – ripping through his body and through his mind, twisting deep in his guts and slicing at his skin with razors and broken glass. Oskan wanted to scream, but his vocal cords had burned away. He was desperate for water and he could hear it dripping all around him, but his charred tongue found nothing in his mouth but blisters and scorched flesh. For hours he lay on the ropes of the low bed, unable to move, the pressure of the hemp on his destroyed skin sending new agonies deep into his body.”
“You are about to enter the realms of human beings. Be prepared for cruelty and kindness, for friendship and hatred. People are made of all possibilities and conditions.”
“One of the most important lessons she'd recently learned was that looking strong and confident was sometimes all the people required of you.”
“To be really honest, I think if anybody did derive comfort from the fact that 'there's always someone worse off than yourself,' they'd have to be a pretty sad and sick individual. If I've sprained my wrist, I'm not made happier by the thought that someone somewhere has broken their leg!”
“Madness was only a handicap only if you couldn't control its irrationalities.”
“Oskan, do you really believe that I don’t understand exactly what my soldiers are going through? Do you really think I’m a stranger to burdens?” She almost laughed at the bitter absurdity of it all, but she controlled herself, knowing that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
“They’re lucky, they only have to worry about a flogging if they break ranks and endanger their own lives again. But if I make a mistake, thousands could die, a country could be lost, and who knows what else could be inflicted on those unlucky enough to survive!” Her voice had slowly risen in strength as she spoke, and suddenly she let everything go in a glorious outpouring of emotion.
“Don’t talk to me about burdens, I drew up the plans for them! How many fourteen-year-olds do you know who rule a kingdom at war, who command an army, who keep together an alliance of more species than she can remember, who’s killed more people than she can count, who waits desperately day in, day out, every living blessed second, for the arrival of allies she’s terrified are going to let her down? Please tell me, Oskan, tell me her name. I’d like to have a cozy chat with her and compare notes! I’d like that, it might make me feel just a little less isolated, and just a little less afraid that at any minute the whole sorry, ludicrous, deadly, hellish mess is going to collapse around me, and everyone will finally find out that I don’t know what I’m doing and that I’m making it up as I go along!”
“If we'd just been fighting their army without the general, we might, just MIGHT have had a chance. But with him...?' The big man shrugged, then stood to leave. 'But that's defeatist talk. And I've got a fyrd to help train. I'll see you tonight at dinner, Maggie.”
“Good, that's a job well done," Grishmak said cheerfully. "Am I the only one who's hungry?”
“He may be King Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Defender of the Realm, Descendent of Thor, but to Thirrin he was just Dad, a man with a fondness for cats, a taste for comfy slippers and a huge laugh that could dent pewter at fifty paces.”
“And where did you spring from, Oskan? I’d already had enough shocks without you leaping out of the shadows like a skinny ghost!”
“Only fools skirmish in their backyard when war is knocking down their front door.”
“Thirrin pointedly ingnored the long woollen warmers that Oskan had carefully rolled down over the ears of his mule, Jenny. Even the fact that they were bright yellow with red pom-poms on the very tips didn’t drag any sort of comment out of her.”
“Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield carried her names with ease. She was thirteen years old, tall for her age and could ride her horse as well as the best of her father’s soldiers. She was also the heir to the throne of the Icemark. Her tutor might add that she was attentive when she wanted to be, clever when she bothered to try, and had her father’s temper. Few compared her to her mother, who had died when Thirrin was born. But those who remembered the proud young woman of the fierce Hypolitan people said that Thirrin was her double.”
“Thirrin’s fighting spirit still roared within her though, and as the creature lowered its jaws towards her throat she punched it hard on the nose. The werewolf shook its head and sneezed, taken completely aback.”
“At the far end of the hall she could make out the raised dais where a throne of black oak stood. Its arms had been carved to represent the forelegs of a bear, and its feet into those of a dragon. And above it hung the battle standard of the Icemark: a standing polar bear, lips drawn back in a vicious snarl and claws outstretched.”
“Ah, that’s better!” Redrought boomed again. In fact, the King only ever seemed to bellow, boom or shout, no matter what his mood. But nobody seemed to mind too much; at least he never had to repeat himself.”
“Put her in any situation that was even vaguely new and personal and she was lost; her pale, almost translucent skin and auburn hair seemed to signal everything she was feeling. She may raise her chin in proud disdain and even curl her lip in an emergency, but nobody was likely to be fooled if she glowed the colour of a midsummer sunset.”
“She knew she could kill him in a variety of gory ways in less time than it took him to adjust the strange spectoculums that rested on the very end of his nose, but even this distraction didn’t seem to help!”
“Thirrin could be charming when she forgot to be a princess. But just recently that happened only rarely, and Totus was beginning to wonder what was on her mind. He thought perhaps he knew, but couldn’t be sure. And how exactly would one ask the heir apparent if she was afraid that she’d have to rule the country before she was ready, and if she was afraid that she’d have to rule the country before she was ready, and if she was frightened that her father would die before she’d had time to experience life properly?”
“She’d invited Oskan to the Yule Feast. Or rather, she’d sent a royal command ordering his presence on the twenty-first day of Icemas.”
“In all that enormous excitement of fighting spirit, only Oskan noticed that the terrible warlike figure of Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Drinker of Blood was still wearing his fluffy slippers and that Primplepuss the kitten was peeping out of his shirt collar to see what all the noise was about.”
“I know you’ll probably think it superstitious nonsense, Maggie, but I’m going to ask Oskan to perform…” Thirrin shrugged her shoulders as she struggled to find the right word, “something…a ceremony of some sort before we go into the trees. Something that’ll help the people believe they’re protected in some way.”
“On the contrary, Madam, I agree with the idea,” Maggiore answered and smiled. “It’s wise to use everything you can to keep the citizens calm. I’ll be there chanting whatever you want and waving around as much incense as you think necessary.”
“Healers make the most dreadful enemies, Scion of the House of Strong-in-the-Arm. The knowledge that saves lives can be used to do exactly the opposite. Especially when they have the blood of the Wise Ones in their veins.”
“Thirrin and King Grishmak reached the entranceway and swept out of the Blood Place, followed by their escorts and Oskan. The massive double doors slammed shut after them with a deep boom. Oskan woke from his reverie with a shock – the slamming doors had only just missed him. Swinging round furiously he glared at the studded and hinged woodwork with such fierce intensity that suddenly they burst open again, crashing back against the walls inside the palace and splintering deeply.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to be rude,” he bellowed over the heads of the courtiers cowering just inside the entrance. “Your doors seem to be slammed shut in a draught. I’d get that fixed if I were you.”
“it's better than a stick in the eye”
“Our story is over, though in its end lies its beginning. ”
“Yet these real, material dangers, when once past, leave in the mind the satisfaction of having struggled with difficulty, and overcome it. Strength, courage, and experience are their invariable results; whereas, I doubt whether suffering purely mental has any good result, unless it be to make us by comparison less sensitive to physical suffering …”
“He set the RAM on the desk, then reached into his back pocket to pull out his grimoire. The size of a small paperback novel, it'd been a gift from Ambrose to help him understand some of the madness that surrounded him, and to answer some of the "other" questions that came up.
"All right, Nashira," Nick said in a low tone. "Talk to me. What the heck is watching me?"
He slid his knife out of his pocket, opened the book, and pricked his finger, allowing three drops of blood to touch a blank page. "Dredanya eire coulet" he whispered, waking the female spirit who lived inside the enchanted pages. The moment he finished speaking, his blood began swirling until it formed words:
Do not fear that which cannot be seen.
For they are lost in between.
'Tis the ones who come alive
That your blood will allow to thrive.
Nick snorted at the cryptic stanzas. "Not really useful, Nashira. Doesn't answer my question."
His blood crawled over to the next page.
Answer, answer, you always say,
But it doesn't work that way.
In time, the truth you shall find.
And then you will understand my rhyme.
"I'm such a masochist to even try talking to you"
Underneath the words, a picture of an obscene gesture formed.
"Oh very nice, Nashira. Very nice. Wherever did you learn that?"
In your pocket I reside.
Ever privy to your deride.
But more than that, I can see.
And that includes bathroom stall graffiti
Nick screwed his face up in distaste. "Oh my God, no. Tell me you haven't been spying on me in the rest room. You perv!"
Calm yourself, you evil troll.
My job is not to console.
But if it is privacy you seek,
Leave me in your backpack so I can't peek.
Now he understood why other people got so aggravated with his attitude disorder. He wanted to strangle his book.”
“This pouring thoughts out on paper has relieved me. I feel better and full of confidence and resolution.”
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