Swordheart

“One of the grimmer realizations of Sarkis’s youth had been the discovery that knowing you were being an ass did not actually stop you from continuing to be an ass.”

“I am the servant of the sword,” he said. “I obey the will of the—great god, woman, put on some clothes!”

“What would you say if I tortured you?" asked the bandit leader conversationally.Halla blinked at him. "Err, 'Ow,' probably. 'Stop, Stop, Stop,' something like that?" *What a bizarre question. What does he expect me to say?*”

“This comes of always being the practical one, she thought, a bit wearily. Nobody will comfort you, so you learn to do it yourself.”

“I am Sarkis of the Weeping Lands!” roared the servant of the sword, in a voice loud enough to shake the walls. “And you are in my way!” Cousin Alver let out a squeak and nearly fell in his haste to get off the staircase. “It is so gratifying when that works,” murmured Sarkis. “Does it not usually work?” “Not on actual warriors, no.” He started down the steps, one hand gripping Halla’s. “Normally they just yell back, ‘No one cares, come and die.”

“Sarkis turned around and began to beat his forehead very gently against the wall. “The great god is punishing me,” he said softly, “for my crimes. I cannot go to his hell, and so he has sent a woman to torment me.”

“Halla rolled her eyes at him, licking bacon grease off her fingers. Sarkis’s gaze locked on her mouth, and it took her a moment to think why.Oh. Uh. Licking my fingers. Yes. Men get very interested in that.Should I try to flirt? Or am I supposed to lick something else? She was out of bacon and probably nobody found licking a tin cup sexy. Licking the wagon was right out.Dammit, I’m bad at this.”

“I have a great deal of experience skinning my enemies,” he said, deadpan. “Do you have many enemies among the potatoes?” “Not any longer.”

“I am a lawyer and a priest,” said Zale. “There is probably someone on earth more bound to confidentiality, but I have yet to meet them.”

“The priest looked away, clearly disgusted. His gaze settled on Sarkis. “Can your husband not speak for himself?” “I can,” said Sarkis. “Then why don’t you?” “My wife talks enough for both of us.” The mounted man snickered. The priest shook his head, turning back to his horse. “I will pray for you.” “I would appreciate that,” said Sarkis, deadpan. The mounted man put his hand over his mouth.”

“Without a handy wilderness to vanish into, they would probably need a city. Cities were basically wildernesses with too many witnesses anyway.”

“Halla went for a high note and Sarkis listened to make sure the song was the only thing being murdered.”

“Sarkis occasionally thought that his own mind believed he was an idiot. He only wished that he had evidence his mind was wrong.”

“she chose to wander about wearing nothing but strategically placed lizards,”

“Sarkis rubbed his forehead. “She is lovely and kind and generous of spirit and someone has to keep her from walking off a cliff.” “And they say romance is dead.”

“Your god. Why a rat?” Zale shrugged. “Why not a rat? Rats are smart and they travel with humans, but they are neither our servants nor our prey. They eat the food that we eat, they live within our homes. Who better to understand us?”

“There were so few people who kept a sense of humor when they were miserable, you learned to appreciate it.”

“I shall not be wielded by a man with clammy hands!”

“A good marriage is one where both parties feel that they got the better deal,”

“He’s really very kind. I mean, he mutters about burning my civilization to the ground a lot, but that’s just his way.”

“The number of men who could get away with kissing a woman’s hand, in Halla’s experience, were exactly zero, but now she had to change the number. Apparently if you were six feet tall and chiseled and capable of killing demons, you had the presence to pull it off.”

“She grimaced. She had always been a poor liar, particularly to herself.”

“What would you say if I tortured you?” asked the bandit leader conversationally. Halla blinked at him. “Err…’ow,’ probably? ‘Stop, stop, stop,’ something like that?” What a bizarre question. What does he expect me to say? The bandit leader’s face took on an expression that Sarkis would have found immediately familiar. “I meant about being a wonderworker.” “Oh. I mean, it’s torture,” said Halla uncertainly. “I’ll probably say anything you want to make it stop. But I’m still not going to be able to make anyone invisible afterward, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Love is a patient, exasperated emotion, and she knew it well.”

“Once you have a legal system in place, you mostly need good clerks and people to make sure that the powerful don’t walk all over everyone.”

“The dead are bound beneath the earth and their tongues stopped with clay but the day will come when they are free to sing the praises of the worm!” “Perhaps a very tiny god,” said Zale, tapping the bars. “A very tiny angry god,” said Sarkis. “Tweedle-tweedle-twee…” “You’ll take it back, won’t you?” said the priest hopefully. “I’ve been keeping it in here, but it scares the novices.”

“People do frown on monstrous evil,” said Halla. “Not nearly often enough if you ask me,” Sarkis said.”

“She didn't mind being older, she just wished her bones hadn't aged faster than the rest of her. Somewhere in her early thirties, her hips had decided they belonged to a much older body.”

“People manage to kill each other all the time. How hard can it be?”

“Did he teach you pain?” he asked softly. “I’ll kill him.” “He’s already dead.” “Do you think that will stop me? Give the word and I’ll hunt him across the great god’s hells and tear his soul out through his bowels.”