Blood Mage Quotes

Doctor, what could you prescribe for Charlemund?” The doctor looked down his nose at the unconscious form of the arch-diocel. “Arsenic?” “Now, really. Something to give him a quality headache and a great deal of memory loss.” “Cyanide.

The age of kings is dead, Adamat, and I have killed it.

You’ve one mark on your record,” Tamas said. “You once punched a na-baron in the face. Broke his jaw. Tell me about that.” Olem grimaced. “Officially, sir, I was pushing him out of the way of a runaway carriage. Saved his life. Half my company saw it.” “With your fist?” “Aye.” “And unofficially?” “The man was a git. He shot my dog because it startled his horse.” “And if I ever have cause to shoot your dog?” “I’ll punch you in the face.” “Fair enough. You have the job.

Believe it or not, there are plenty of ways to satisfy your need for blood without harming anyone." I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?

The world is changing. People do not exist to serve their governments or their kings. Governments exist to serve the people, so the people should have a say in those governments.

I’m an investigator, my dear. Other people’s business is my business.

Don’t trust any man who surrounds himself with beautiful women. Least of all a priest.

When a man solved his problems by punching them, books were often a foreign thing.

There existed something in this world that bound a mage tighter than a blood oath: love. Love was the ultimate chain, the ultimate whip, and the ultimate slave driver.

You seem to be in unusually good spirits.” “I do?” Tamas said. “I haven’t said two words.” Prime cleared his throat. “I can sense it about you. It’s in the air. Like a first-year student who knows he’s going to be every professor’s favorite. It’s annoying.

In war, all choices are evil.

A king’s pride doesn’t fill the people’s bellies.

Loyalty is never built upon honor, brother. It is built upon blood.

For Dad For never being hesitant that I’d make it this far. Even when you should have been.

Red hair like yours is unusual in all corners of the world. Other folk have often feared the red-haired as witches, or called them soul-less... But, it's the perfect color for a mage! Red is the color of the Earth itself, and of the fire that burns within it -- and of the blood in our own veins" - Lindel, Ancient Magus Bride, V4

The lockpick gaped up at Adamat from his knees. “You’re making enough noise, you might as well have knocked on the front door,” Adamat said.

The problem with logic,” Prime said, “is that sometimes you are forced to believe your own hypothesis, even if you don’t want

Books are important. They link us to the past, to the future. Every written word gives us another hint about how to control the Else.

You know,” Taniel said, “we could have kept firing after they sounded the retreat. Would have wiped out thousands on the mountainside. The Kez did that to us in Fatrasta a few times.” Gavril snorted angrily. “War has to have some decorum. Otherwise it’s back to the Bleakening for all of us, and Kresimir be damned.

I believed it had been long enough that Kresimir would never return. I believed it was time for change. I thought all of Rozalia’s concerns were foolish, and that Julene was living in the past. I believed we were alone.” “My people have never been alone,” Mihali said. “The others may have left. I did not.

If they can kill,” Gavril said, “they can drink.

You gorged them on the blood of the nobility,” Mihali said gently. “They drank, but were not filled. They ate of hatred and grew hungrier.” He

Even a weak mage's blood can incapacitate a young vampire for days...I can't imagine what someone like me would do to someone like you.

Mages are detached from reality. They're obsessive, socially stunted egomaniacs. You know, like me,' she said and caught Thomil suppressing a smile.

Somewhere in his time playing mage's assistant, he had forgotten what he was: not a citizen of this city, just flesh that it fed on.

In the future, it may turn out that fossil fuels are the blood of the Earth and by extracting them may lead to serious consequences to the Earth's survival, and by association, that of the humans.

Obviously, I know nothing of the north or the blood mages. Or the Guard for that matter. You’ve lived that life, and I’m sorry I was so insensitive. I should be asking questions, not making assumptions.

Oh, there are little rhymes a mage might use to remember the sequence of what must be done, but the words themselves don't do a thing. You could write every 'spell' as high as a man on the barn wall, but if you don't have the power to start with, all you'd have is a strange rhyme. And a bad one at that".

Dark, shadowy figures moved closer, circling. Torel pulled his two seyani longswords free of their scabbards. "Come, then!" He shouted. "Come dance with the tairen, if you dare! Miora felah ti' Feyreisa! Joy to the Feyreisa! And death to you all!" And he became a whirling blur of motion - black leather, shining steel, red blood - spinning in the moonlight, delivering death to all he touched until he moved no more.

She stood watching a ritual she had seen many times before, yet which now seemed odd and extremely archaic; as if everything - the hill, the ox, the Mage, the cauldron, the king, the people looking on - everything belonged to a time so far away, so obscurely ancient that it could no longer be comprehended, only felt in the pulse of blood that flowed through her veins.

"Turn my back on the world..." the historian repeated softly and slowly, his head moving to face the mage. "Turn my back on the world!" Emotion rarely marred the surface of Astinus's cold voice, but now anger struck the placid calm of his soul like a rock hurled into still water. "I? Turn my back on the world?" Astinus's voice rolled around the library as the thunder had rolled previously. "I am the world, as you well know, old friend! Countless times I have been born! Countless deaths I have died! Every tear shed - mine have flowed! Every drop of blood spilled - mine has drained! Every agony, every joy ever felt has been mine to share! "I sit with my hand on the Sphere of Time, the sphere you made for me, old friend, and I travel the length and breadth of this world chronicling its history. I have committed the blackest deeds! I have made the noblest sacrifices. I am human, elf, and ogre. I am male and female. I have borne children. I have murdered children. I saw you as you were. I see you as you are. If I seem cold and unfeeling, it is because that is how I survive without losing my sanity! My passion goes into my words.

The people are hungry,” Mihali said. He lifted his hands, spreading them to encompass the city. “The people need to be fed. They need bread and wine and soup and meat. But not just that. They need friendship.” He pointed to a minor noble, some viscount decked out in his finest foppish frills, who poured a bottle of St. Adom’s Festival wine into the cups of a half-dozen street urchins. “They need companionship,” Mihali said. “They need love and brotherhood.” He turned to Tamas. He reached out with one hand, putting a palm to Tamas’s cheek. Instinct told Tamas to step back. He found that he couldn’t. “You gorged them on the blood of the nobility,” Mihali said gently. “They drank, but were not filled. They ate of hatred and grew hungrier.” He took a deep breath. “Your intentions were… well, not pure, but just. Justice is never enough.” He let go of Tamas and turned to the square. “I will put things right,” he said. He puffed out his chest and spread his arms. “I will feed all of Adro. It is what they need.

Magic might live in the blood, but not in the bloodline. It wasn’t passed from parent to child. It chose its own way. Chose its shape. The strong sometimes gave birth to the weak, or the other way around. Fire wielders were often born from water mages, earth movers from healers. Power could not be cultivated like a crop, distilled through generations.

he could feel the earth beneath, all the deep stone of it, cool and hard near the surface of the earth, but hotter and softer as you went deep, until it flowed like honey, a vast sweet fiery ocean of molten rock a thousand times more voluminous and ten thousand times heavier than the sea. It felt to him as if it were his own blood, and his heart pumped it.

My loyalties are not for sale,” Adamat said. “You’ll have to change your loyalties, then.

Yes. I’d already realized that.” Adamat gritted his teeth. “You’re the type of man who gives face to evil.

Tamas had heard that every genius was equal parts madness. He

Some say oil and some say blood Some say the temper of the years But there’s no blade stronger Ever forged by man Than a sword that’s quenched in tears

Nobody is born a hero. People become heroes when they choose to be brave and do what’s right.

It is too early for prophecies and the apocalypse,” she muttered. “I need some food in me first. Come on, let’s go get some breakfast.

He was a longtime street thug who had just enough ruthlessness to rise to legitimate businesses and not quite enough intelligence to leave his dark life behind him. Aptly suited as a banker.

Raile gave him an odd look. “You really wish to adopt her?” “I’m not sure if it’s my Rheben blood or my Tonkowacon heritage,” Trev’nor admitted honestly, “but I have this urge to adopt everyone. It’s a thing.

Raistlin lay on the floor, his skin white, his breathing shallow. Blood trickled from his mouth. Kneeling down, Caramon lifted him in his arms. "Raistlin?" he whispered. "What happened?" "That's what happened," Tanis said grimly, pointing. Caramon glanced up, his gaze coming to rest on the dragon orb - now grown to the size Caramon had seen in Silvanesti. It stood on the stand Raistlin had made for it. Caramon sucked in his breath in horror. Terrible visions of Lorac flooded his mind. Lorac insane, dying... "Raist!" he moaned, clutching his brother tightly. Raistlin's head moved feebly. His eyelids fluttered, and he opened his mouth. "What?" Caramon bent low, his brother's breath cold upon his skin. "What?" "Mine..." Raistlin whispered. "Spells...of the ancients...mine...Mine..." The mage's head lolled, his words died. But his face was calm, placid, relaxed. His breathing grew regular.

How can you be so cold-blooded about everything?" She could have sworn that one corner of the Mage's mouth twitched upward for just an instant as he gestured toward the sun beating down upon them. "I am actually quite warm at the moment.

In the Final Days shall come the Innocent Mage, born to save the world from blood and death. He shall enter the House of the Usurper He shall learn their ways He shall earn their love He shall lay down his life And Jervale's Heir shall know him, and guide him, and enlighten him not.

At the age of 45, most days in Tucson were spent feeling like I was on the summit of Mauna Kea, as I was exhibiting debilitating health symptoms that corresponded to what I saw at very high altitude. I was later to find that I had erratic low blood oxygen levels after almost a decade of high altitude work.

There appears to be a form of chronic mountain sickness that comes from years of repeated frequent mal-acclimitization to very high altitudes by the sea level adapted human living at sea level. It eventually shows up as sleep apnea, bruxism, erratic low blood oxygenation, fatigue, forgetfulness, confusion, gastrointestinal issues, nutritional deficiencies, hormone problems, radiation sickness and failure to acclimatize to any altitude. Left untreated it progresses onto include nerve pains throughout the body, food intolerance, heart arrhythmia's, headaches, irritability, depression, disease and premature death. I call it 'Magee's Disease’.

Yet who listened to soothsayers these days?

Personally, I was done trying to explain ballistics to an elf who could boil a man’s blood with a wave of his hand.

The man blinked in the sudden light of the lantern, his mouth slightly open. His skin, hued with an almost reddish tint, marked him from Gurla, while his pudgy face and a body flabby around the middle and soft like a woman's betrayed that he had been castrated sometime before puberty. His head was shaved and he had no facial hair whatsoever.

The words are not necessary. Often, when a young mage begins their training, speaking the word is helpful. It allows them to focus. The power of the Spark is not in the words we speak, nor is it in your fingertips. It is in your head and your heart, it is… everywhere.

But he has wings.” “He does now, I suppose because his new body thought it needed protection from being kicked off something high this time around.” The blood mage had forgotten all his ire, a wistful grin sliding up his face. “That’s awful,” she hissed. He chuckled. “It certainly wasn’t my proudest moment, but I was only eighteen or so.

Horns? Infernal blood and noxscura itself flows through my veins. Blood mages don’t wear their heritage like half elves with their pointy ears and questionable affinity for trees. It’s just within us, lurking right below the human shell.” “What’s wrong with liking trees?” “Nothing, that’s not…listen,”—Damien rubbed his hand over his thigh, trying to wipe away the lingering feeling of her offensively soft touch—“I am corruption made corporeal, a nightmare in human flesh, the Abyss brought topside, all right?” Her blue eyes roved over his face, down to his chest and back up. “Yeah, but you don’t look anything like a demon. You’re not red or hooved, and you’re not that much bigger than anyone else. You just look like…a boy.

My father said that you would never leave a wounded man on the field!’ Langstrit winced. ‘That’s just ballads and poetry, boy. In war, all choices are evil.

To all religions, those outside the faith are heathen, an enemy whose very existence endangers the soul, for if the heathen can exist without God, their example undermines the faithful. Therefore all religions are at war with those who deny them.

We Gardnerians are a pure-blooded race, free from the stain of the heathen races that surround us. And my family line has the strongest, purest Mage blood of all.

It’s the oldest game in the world: claim your God is the only one and your enemies automatically become evil.

Law,’ she sneered derisively, ‘that’s just the current opinion of whoever’s in power – it’s got nothing to do with what’s right.

I did it because those grumbling students of philosophy at the university only play at rebellion. The age of kings is dead, Adamat, and I have killed it.

People do the worst evil when they do not have to take responsibility themselves but can blame others.

Most of the world’s biggest liars claim to speak for God.

The tang of residual blood, faint as it was, danced along her senses, like a fizzy drink on her tongue. Everything sharpened, came into focus and awareness: The background buzz of the radio tubes in the other room that was usually inaudible nearly drowned out the music. The miniscule cracks in the enamel sink became a web of flaws. The effect was almost dizzying; Callie never felt more alive than when she took in the coppery scent. Every mage had an affinity for a particular element that strengthened and enhanced spells. Fire, air, water, earth… Hers was blood.

Aggressive airplane passengers probably have a bad case of Altitude Sickness. Many people are hypoxic at airplane cruising altitude. They would be wise to visit a doctor to see if they have lung or heart damage, hypoxic blood, Sleep Apnea, Altitude Hypersensitivity or something else that is causing oxygen starvation to the brain.

A woman on her period can get dangerous very quickly!

Truth is Perception”. It means that what you believe, however right or wrong, that is your truth, and it will be shaped by who you are, what you’ve seen, your gender, your race, your religion, your history. So when Godspeaker Acmed tells you that the Jhafi don’t love the Nesti, do not tell him that he is wrong and they do! Listen to him, and ask yourself: “Why is this their Truth?”, and “What can I learn from this?

He tried to hide behind a bunch of feathers, but Nikulo stopped and glared at him. “Cowering already? You know you don’t have a chance of winning the Blood Dagger.”  The Blood Dagger competition. Talis thought of the sparring competition held once a year and froze, realizing he’d forgotten all about it. Wasn’t it only a few days away? With Mara injured, they had already moved the date, but Talis knew that House Lei and House Storm would never allow Talis and Mara to forfeit to the likes of Nikulo and Rikar, his sparring partner. Claiming rights to hold the Blood Dagger for a year meant far too much to the royal houses, especially since their house had lost claim to the victor’s rights over the last few years. Nikulo’s coffee-brown eyes sparkled as if he were eager to tell a new joke. He waddled close to Talis, holding a porcelain jar in one hand. He yanked up silk pants that kept falling below his protruding belly. He scratched his curly hair and released a smoky fart, blowing the fumes in Talis' direction. Talis coughed, retreating quickly. Nikulo never should have swallowed that last potion he concocted. All his farts smelled like sulfur and spoiled onions.  “Thanks for that, just what I needed.” Talis rubbed his stinging eyes. “What are you doing slumming in Fiskar’s Market? Finding more noxious ingredients for your potions?” Nikulo moved the jar away from Talis. “No… nothing of the sort.” He frowned and pursed his lips. “Why are you holding a feather?” “It’s

You have to come now. Mara was injured in the swamp… by a boar.” Belesia clasped her hands together. “A boar? Good heavens. Are you responsible for this? Never mind about that, first tell me, is she bleeding?” “From the mouth.” The vivid image of blood dribbling wrenched Talis' heart.

look as if it wanted to consume all life and all flesh. Its body tried to reach out toward Talis, but it stopped as if some invisible barrier surrounded him. “Go forth and devour.” Zagros snapped his fingers and electricity shot into the abomination. The demon charged off at a ferocious speed and disappeared into the pale fog. Talis felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to retch. All those years the Rites of Royal Blood performed in Naru had created demons to add to Zagros’s army? And now Talis sensed a connection with the demon that was created with his own blood. He could feel its hunger and power and wrath. It was made from him and in some strange way possessed bits of his own character. Zagros chuckled, as if sensing Talis' realization. “Be gone with you, young royal. The Underworld is

Blood and battle and years mortared the stones. He wondered suddenly whether they might be riding into a tale themselves; perhaps some traveler in some distant year would look down at this bridge and think, Beguchren Teshrichten crossed the river here to do battle against the country of fire…

you need to think of the destination you want, and then work out the road.

Sardelle Terushan wakes from three hundred years in a mage stasis shelter, only to realize that she is the last of the Referatu,

14. Zagros 15. Royal Blood 16. Haldrax 17. The Temple 18. The World Portal 19. Demon of War 20. Light Magic 21. The Black Crystal

6. The Descent of Shadows 7. The Devil's Spine 8. The Graveyard of Kirthgar 9. The Power of the Heart 10. Into the Night 11. The Unsteady Hand 12. The Depths of Darkov 13. The Underworld 14. Zagros 15. Royal Blood 16. Haldrax 17. The Temple 18. The World Portal 19. Demon of War 20. Light Magic 21. The Black Crystal

CONTENTS Copyright 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello Sun Mage 1. Enslaved 2. Seraka 3. The Hidden Arena 4. Evening Prayers 5. Breaking Away 6. The Descent of Shadows

Around a curved corner came the glimmer of an eerie green light. Talis stopped, his legs refusing to take another step. His blood thumped hard through his temples. Two ghostly-green, glowing orbs hovered in the darkness. In between stood a statue of the terrifying Zagros—in a battle-stance—wielding an executioner’s blade in one hand and in the other he held hundreds of tiny, severed heads tied together by a string. The onyx statue of the Lord of the Underworld. His mouth was open wide, tongue stretched out. Talis felt the hairs stand up along the back of his neck. The statue was revolting. A cloaked figure in black knelt before the statue, mumbling prayers. Golden orbs floated in the air all around the chamber. Candles were lit around the kneeling figure, giving off a freakish, flickering light. Mara grabbed Talis' arm and they hid behind a boulder and bent down, straining to listen. “I vow,” the figure said, “that my father… his soul find shall find respite. The endless war of Nyx—spare him, oh great Zagros, I beg you will spare him such a fate.” She leaned close to Talis, and whispered, “It’s Rikar.” What was he doing here? He was a foul-tempered student of the Order of the Dawn and Nikulo’s sparring partner. After she spoke, Rikar whirled around and glared at them. His eyes glowed green for a moment and then dimmed to black. “You dare violate the sanctity of this temple?” Mara and Talis stepped out from the shadows, bathed in the violent green light glowing around the statue. Rikar raised a hand and Talis felt a sickening energy creep up his legs and into his stomach, squeezing hard until massive bursts of pain shot through his body. Talis winced. What kind of strange magic was Rikar using on him? “Stop it!” Mara hissed, glowering at Rikar. “Leave it for the Blood Dagger competition.” Talis gasped and coughed as the pain diminished. He balled up a fist and started to charge at Rikar but Mara held him back. “I won’t even need to use a drop of magic against you pathetic runts.” Rikar stood and strode past them, shoving Talis aside. “Nice to see you’re all better, Your Royal Highness. I look forward to using my sword to make you wounded again.” He chuckled, pulling his cloak over his head as he stormed out. “What was that all about?” Mara shook her head. “Why was he in here, anyway?” “I really don’t want to know… Rikar has acted incredibly strange since his father died.” Mara shuddered, as if a cold chill had fallen over her. “Didn’t you used to be friends? What happened to him?” Talis wished he knew, but Rikar had always refused to talk about what had happened. Turning aside, she took a deep breath and faced the onyx statue, as if filled with a new resolve. “We have to complete the rites of initiation and do it quickly.” She motioned toward the shrine and they knelt together on the outer ley line. After their knees touched the ley line, a faint green light rose and strengthened into a blistering blaze that Talis could feel in his legs.

Around a curved corner came the glimmer of an eerie green light. Talis stopped, his legs refusing to take another step. His blood thumped hard through his temples. Two ghostly-green, glowing orbs hovered in the darkness. In between stood a statue of the terrifying Zagros—in a battle-stance—wielding an executioner’s blade in one hand and in the other he held hundreds of tiny, severed heads tied together by a string. The onyx statue of the Lord of the Underworld. His mouth was open wide, tongue stretched out. Talis felt the hairs stand up along the back of his neck. The statue was revolting. A cloaked figure in black knelt before the statue, mumbling prayers. Golden orbs floated in the air all around the chamber. Candles were lit around the kneeling figure, giving off a freakish, flickering light. Mara grabbed Talis' arm and they hid behind a boulder and bent down, straining to listen. “I vow,” the figure said, “that my father… his soul find shall find respite. The endless war of Nyx—spare him, oh great Zagros, I beg you will spare him such a fate.” She leaned close to Talis, and whispered, “It’s Rikar.” What was he doing here? He was a foul-tempered student of the Order of the Dawn and Nikulo’s sparring partner. After she spoke, Rikar whirled around and glared at them. His eyes glowed green for a moment and then dimmed to black. “You dare violate the sanctity of this temple?” Mara and Talis stepped out from the shadows, bathed in the violent green light glowing around the statue. Rikar raised a hand and Talis felt a sickening energy creep up his legs and into his stomach, squeezing hard until massive bursts of pain shot through his body. Talis winced. What kind of strange magic was Rikar using on him? “Stop it!” Mara hissed, glowering at Rikar. “Leave it for the Blood Dagger competition.” Talis gasped and coughed as the pain diminished. He balled up a fist and started to charge at Rikar but Mara held him back. “I won’t even need to use a drop of magic against you pathetic runts.” Rikar stood and strode past them, shoving Talis aside. “Nice to see you’re all better, Your Royal Highness. I look forward to using my sword to make you wounded again.” He chuckled, pulling his cloak over his head as he stormed out.

Spread over the extravagant supper table was a silk tapestry of moons and stars and the six symbols of death. Talis couldn’t help but stare at the design, for the weavings glowed and the drawing was animated with a nefarious life of its own. A frightful illustration that seemed to follow his eyes as they perused the tapestry. Etched along the tassels flowed a river of blood, the river leading into the Underworld. Farther up, layers of bodies were piled high, their vicious fumes rising as incense to the lesser demons above, who devoured the mortals’ flesh. Then above them were the taskmasters of the Underworld, great demons with spiked whips. They endlessly struck the lesser demons as punishment for the act of consuming the mortals’ flesh. Arranged around the center of the tapestry were the gods themselves. At the head stood Zagros, the Lord of the Underworld, then Ractan, the Lord of the Dragons, and Ishta, the Lord of the Genie Sorcerers. At the other side hovered Nestria, the Goddess of the Sky, and Nacrea, the Goddess of the Sun, and opposite her was Satvis, the God of Darkness. Between both sets of gods sat two mythological heroes: Nyx the Destroyer and Lord Heti of Calabastria. Here were the triumphant gods, playing with the lives and flesh of all mortals. Talis stifled a groan. Atop the tapestry were glass jars filled with what looked like trapped souls. Their ghastly faces peered out, eyes desperate and longing for freedom. How did they get inside? He felt a sickness rising in his stomach. The dark sorcerers studied him with grave looks, as if they glimpsed something distasteful inside. He could tell they were suspicious of him. He was too young, from a strange land untouched by their power, and to their murmuring voices, unsuitable to attend this grand feast. Now, all he could think about was leaving this wretched city. Whatever danger lay ahead, he’d rather face it than fester here in the insidious poison seeping through the black and gold walls of Darkov. “To your charmed fortune.” A sorcerer raised a crystal vial filled with some bubbling substance. The man appeared to be hundreds of years old. Deep, harsh wrinkles lined his eyes and forehead, and yet his hands were perfectly smooth. He wore a black silk cloak fastened around his neck with a gold broach, ornately designed like the sun. He drank the vial and after a while, he appeared as youthful as a young man. Talis was taken aback at the man’s sudden transformation. He steadied his wine cup with his other hand. “Fortune smiles on you...” “Every day.” The sorcerer frowned at Talis. “You’d be wise to remember that. Without fortune shining on you daily”—he leaned in close to Talis—”your life is at risk.” Turning, the man whisked away and disappeared behind another group of sorcerers mingling in the corner of the room. Talis tried to discover where he’d gone, but the man had vanished. Just then Talis felt a cold hand settle on his right shoulder. He turned, glimpsed the eyes of Aurellia, and resisted the desire to flee. “I see you’ve finally joined us here in our illustrious

What’s so funny? Stop chuckling at me.” Her eyes flared. “It’s only two years away! Besides, engaged is as good as being married… it’s like prison. Nobody breaks their engagement—well there was Lady Macela—poor thing, and she never got married. Isn’t she all on her own now? But to that old pig? What are my parents thinking? I truly despise them.” “Just tell them you don’t want to marry him. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” “I already did. You know they never listen to me. They claim they know what’s best. I’d rather run away than marry him. I simply won’t do it.” She cast a venomous glare at her soup, then sighed and looked up at Talis, raising a finger as if she had an idea. “Let’s win the Blood Dagger competition. If we win, we’re allowed any wish we choose. That’ll keep me away from that ridiculous man.” “But Rikar and Nikulo are undefeated… and they’re brutal—” “I don’t care! We can do it, I know we can. Ever since that old witch made me drink all her potions and tea I feel strangely powerful… like I can do anything.” “We’ve had a string of bad luck, though. We lost two times in a row in the training arena. And then you almost got killed by the boar.” Talis lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s like the gods are angry with us.” “Don’t say that,” she hissed. “Besides, there are rites of initiation we could try… a blood oath.” “A blood oath? You’ve got to be kidding! First you wanted to go after the boar, and now this?” Talis swallowed, not liking whatever she meant by the suggestion. “Don’t be a child. And look, we’re right here. We can do it now.” She looked at the vines covering the walls surrounding the Temple of Nyx, the God of War. Talis followed her gaze and felt a chill prickling along the back of his neck. “What? You want to make a blood oath at the Temple of Nyx?” The last time he’d been inside was when his brother Xhan had died. A painful memory. “No, don’t you know anything? I’ve got it all figured out. We must pray to Zagros, who favors the weak and fallen.” Zagros? What insanity would cause them to pray to the God of the Underworld? “I don’t think that’s a good idea… actually I think it is a terrible idea.” “Listen, we know the rites of initiation. We’ve been trained, right? What are you afraid of?” At her determined gaze Talis felt a clammy coldness creep

inside. The heat that separates and tears you apart from your home, he thought. Would he make it back safe? Or even if he did make it back alive, would there even be a home to come back to? Downstairs, he caught sight of his mother packing food for his journey. He gazed at her face, memorizing every curve and line. He hoped she’d be all right. As if she knew what he was feeling, she reached out and hugged him and choked back the tears. “Nothing will keep us apart for long. You’ll come back to us, I feel it in my bones.” The weight of her words made him even sadder to leave. His father ambled down the hallway, carrying something wrapped in a red silk cloth. “I’ve something for you, son. I’d hope to give this to you when you came of age. It will prove valuable on your journey.” He handed him a sheathed short sword. Talis withdrew the sword and gaped at the red-tinged steel with ghost patterns and smoky lines running along the blade. A tremendous weight rushed up his arm from the sword as if imbued with some terrific power. His arm tensed and he winced. “This… this sword is for me?” Father was really giving him this treasure? The sheath was made of blackened leather and elaborate swirling patterns ran down the spine, with silver studs lining the edge. Talis gasped. It was immaculate. Why would Father give him such a priceless gift? He gazed at the ruby-studded hilt—a puma’s face with ruby eyes shaping the hilt’s edge. “It’s the finest sword in Naru.” Father narrowed his eyes at the expression on Talis' face. “What is it, what are you feeling?” “I’m not sure,” Talis stammered, fighting the power. “It’s so strong.” His father’s eyes sparkled. “You’re sensing the power within the sword—” “It’s magical?” What did his father know of such things? He was a man of commerce and trade. “The magical gift runs deep in our family history.” Father took the sword from Talis and raised it to the firelight. “This is no regular sword… it possesses great power. The red color is not from blood; there's fire magic within.” Fire magic… Master Viridian said his element was fire,

Copyright 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello Sun Mage 1. Enslaved 2. Seraka

Copyright 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello Sun Mage 1. Enslaved 2. Seraka 3. The Hidden Arena 4. Evening Prayers 5. Breaking Away 6. The Descent of Shadows

14. Zagros 15. Royal Blood 16. Haldrax 17. The Temple 18. The World Portal 19. Demon

I’ve never resorted to assassination before. Not in twenty-five years of command.” “I can remember a few times you should have,” Sabon said. “Remember that shah we fought in southeastern Gurla?” “I try not to.” Tamas leaned over and spit. He lifted his canteen to his lips, still watching the barricades. He could hear musket shots and the occasional report of artillery from about two miles away, where Brigadier Ryze was commanding an assault on the armory. “I’ve met some bad men in my day,” Tamas said, thinking of the shah. “But that man was a monster. He’d have a man’s entire extended family buried alive if he questioned a command.” “You had him gelded,” Sabon said.

Kiernan’s snow-white Draca Cat moved silently to his side and gave him a nudge that almost sent him to the ground for a fifth time. Smiling, he reached out to pet the massive Draca whose head came up to his chest. Extremely intelligent and fierce fighters, the cats were said to have been used in battle by the Mages of long ago.

He nodded, a torrent of emotions flooding through him at her words. They’d won the Blood Dagger and won the right to fight in the Arena of the Sej Elders. In front of all the crowds that gathered to watch the fights. Talis remembered his father’s beaming face after his older brother Xhan had won his first Blood Dagger competition. It was his turn to earn Father’s pride. He couldn’t wait to run home and tell his family.

CONTENTS FIRE MAGE 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia

My Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity (EHS) appeared to be caused by blood clots in the brain which had to be flushed out to cure it. The mystery was why I had the blood clots there, which recently was solved by the medical profession as I have a hole in my heart that creates them. It is estimated that 25% of the population have a hole in their heart and Atrial Septal Defect (ASD) may be one of the triggers for the onset of EHS in a person.

triumphant hug.  She whispered in his ear, “I knew we could do it. You were amazing, Talis. The best I’ve ever seen you fight. Thank you so much for fighting for me. It means the world to me.” He nodded, a torrent of emotions flooding through him at her words. They’d won the Blood Dagger and won the right to fight in the Arena of the Sej Elders. In front of all the crowds that gathered to watch the fights. Talis remembered

I challenge you for the right to wield the Blood Dagger,” Talis shouted. “And the Blood Dagger we shall hold”—he flushed, trying to remember the words—”we shall hold until the spring bud kisses the maple tree.” He raised his sword and aimed at the zenith.

CONTENTS FIRE MAGE 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello

There were a number of powerful factions within Adro: the Wings of Adom mercenaries, the royal cabal, the Mountainwatch, and the great noble families.

Rikar was entertaining the soldiers, again, telling crude jokes and making fun of people in Naru. But mostly, he said things at Talis’s expense. He told stories about Xhan, Talis’s older brother, and what a tremendous fighter Xhan had been (as opposed to Talis). It didn’t matter that Talis had beat Rikar in the Blood Dagger competition, Rikar always chose to tell stories about older fights in which Talis had lost. Rikar whispered something into a younger soldier’s ear, and they both scoffed and shook their heads at Talis. Could

Magic might live in the blood, but not in the bloodline. It wasn’t passed from parent to child. It chose its own way. Chose its shape. The strong sometimes gave birth to the weak, or the other way around. Fire wielders were often born from water mages, earth movers from healers. Power could not be cultivated like a crop, distilled through generations. If it could, Antari would be sewn and reaped.

At the W.M. Keck Observatory on the very high altitude summit of Mauna Kea, there was no routine monitoring of mental functioning, blood oxygen levels, blood pressure or heart rate of workers.

*What’s happening?* This young man was crazy, unhinged, having shot fire at men in the cellblock... “What’s going on?” Robert growled, vocalizing Marcel’s own sentiment. The flames in the air dissipated, doused by raindrops. The boy waved them forward in a beckoning gesture. Robert grasped Marcel’s arm and pulled him along, forcing him to step out of the pool. A memory surfaced in Marcel’s mind. His ‘training’ session, where he’d been forced to use ice magic to torture a prisoner as Bertrand and the Law Officers watched, judging if he could kill or not. Seeing the boy’s look of fear, Marcel made a horrific guess. *Was this one of his training sessions?* Marcel’s blood ran cold. He and Robert were being brought up for the sake of demonstration.

Doctor, what could you prescribe for Charlemund?” The doctor looked down his nose at the unconscious form of the arch-diocel. “Arsenic?” “Now, really. Something to give him a quality headache and a great deal of memory loss.” “Cyanide.

Show me the boy who rose from nothing to become boss of the Apolli. Show me the king who built an empire from thin air. Show me the most powerful mage in this Nyx-forsaken world. Show me the soul who struggles every fucking second for sanity but still manages to rise above everyone else. And show me how much that man loves me, if he loves me at all.

Obviously, I know nothing of the north or the blood mages. Or the Guard for that matter. You’ve lived that life, and I’m sorry I was so insensitive. I should be asking questions, not making assumptions.

There are six definite causes of depression: 1. Negative social interactions. 2. The chemical balance can be off in the body. 3. Living at altitude, called the ‘Hypoxia Blues’. 4. A damaged blood oxygenation system. 5. A damaged body. 6. A toxic environment.

The medical profession could not diagnose my low blood oxygen levels. It fell onto me to purchase a recording pulse oximeter and detect the erratic blood oxygenation levels.