The Skull Throne

You came to lands that were not yours, murdered thousands of men, raped their women, enslaved their children, and think your soul is clean because their holy book’s a little different from yours! You keep the demons from them, ay, but chickens on the chopping block don’t call the butcher Deliverer for keeping the fox at bay.

Love nothing so much you cannot leave it at the bargaining table.

Arther, what is first on the agenda?" ... "The same as ever, Highness. Elections, land, and entitlements." Arther had learned to mask much of his distaste at that last word, but his lips still puckered as if it soured his tongue. ... Entitlements. Leesha hated the word, too, but not for the same reason as Arther. It was a cold word, used by those with full bellies to bemoan feeding those without.

Every child had heard the proverb in the Canon that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Ay, wait,” Rojer said. “Don’t I get a say in this? All a sudden I’m intended, and have to live with my new mother-in-law?” “What’s wrong with my mum?” Kendall demanded. “Nothing,” Rojer said. “Corespawned right,” Kendall said.

Speak not of Everam and Nie, Par’chin. You believe in neither.” “And still better at your religion than you!

Their families bled for him, and he repaid them in candy.

That is faith. You cannot measure it with weights and doses like your herbs. You cannot classify it in your books, or test it with chemics. But it is there, more powerful than any bit of old world science. Only the Creator can see the path ahead. He makes of us what he wants—what the world needs—us to be. But we can have a glimpse, looking back.

Inevera raised an eyebrow. “You suggest I mislead the council of Damaji about what I see in the sacred dice?” Abban smiled. “Damajah, please. Do not insult us both.

Why should I help you?” Jardir asked. “Because,” the Par’chin said, “we’re going to capture a mind demon and make it take us to the Core. “It’s time we brought the fight to the alagai.

He bowed. “With respect, Sharum Ka, how are we to get your warriors to the city on the lake to conquer it without boats?” “We will build our own. How hard can it …” Jayan trailed off, looking at the huge cargo vessels with their intricate rigging. “Put them out!” he cried.

Kaji’s ways,” Abban said. “Interpreted by corrupt Damaji to their own ends over the centuries.

I don’t know if there’s a Creator or not, but I know He didn’t come down from Heaven and write any books. Books are written by men, and men are weak, stupid, and corrupt.

That.” Jona pointed. “That is faith. You cannot measure it with weights and doses like your herbs. You cannot classify it in your books, or test it with chemics. But it is there, more powerful than any bit of old world science. Only the Creator can see the path ahead. He makes of us what he wants—what the world needs—us to be. But we can have a glimpse, looking back.

Entitlements. Leesha hated the word, too, but not for the same reason as Arther. It was a cold word, used by those with full bellies to bemoan feeding those without.

Indeed, their auras matched the look, shame and embarrassment palpable. Jardir assessed the situation, and his eyes darkened. Even if Shanvah had lain with him willingly, she was Shanjat’s daughter, and Jardir’s niece. Whether his spirit was penitent or not, Jardir would have no choice but to sentence his old friend to death.