Swordheart Quotes

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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 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.

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,

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

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.

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?

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Even in her most dramatic imaginings, Halla didn’t think she could beat herself to death with the chamberpot.

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

But I want to go! It’s not an abduction! Really!

I am capable of following simple orders, you know.” “Without having to have a lengthy discussion about them, you mean?” Halla narrowed her eyes. “…that’s what I thought.

Sarkis?” “Do you not like that? I’ll stop if you don’t.” “No, it’s lovely. I have a question.” A sigh. “Of course you do.

For my sins,” said Sarkis softly. “There are few sins that should chase a man beyond death. I do not think yours qualify.

If she chose to wander about wearing nothing but strategically placed lizards, that would be her choice, and you would say nothing.

Dead bodies don’t worry me. It’s the live ones that get you.

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.

But dammit, Sarkis liked her. She was as earnest as a new recruit and she was trying so damn hard. And every now and then, she’d come out with a sly remark and startle him into laughing.

The miller back home was like that,' she said. 'He had a little bit of power and he lorded it over everyone. Although there's less damage you can do with a mill than with a religious order.

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.

Bartholomew had been kind to her, before greed went to work like a poison in his mind. It was easier to think of him as two people, and to mourn the kind one even as she had hated the greedy one.

I had a cousin who guarded caravans, but then a horse stepped on him and then his foot fell off... no. no, the two were actually unrelated. But he got out of the business after that. Oh, hello there mister bandit, now why did you go into this line of work...?

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.

Bartholomew, it’s fine,” said Halla soothingly. “I’ll go to the market and get the makings of dinner…” “Not dressed like that, you won’t,” growled Sarkis, immediately abandoning his resolution about rationality. Halla wheeled around and stared at him. “What are you, my mother?” “If you were my daughter, you would be wearing more clothing!” She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll put on shoes.” “You’re wearing a nightshirt and the ceremonial robes from a death cult.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she was the sort of person who ran up the stairs to her bedchamber, grateful for the reprieve. This was a depressing discovery. But not, I suppose, an unexpected one. At least I am the sort of person who slams the door. That’s worth something.

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.’ Is anyone likely to come from above?

Sarkis, intending to continue as he started, insisted on entering it first, hand on his sword hilt. “Now you’re just hamming it up,” muttered Halla under her breath. “There could be assassins.” “I don’t know how they’d fit.” His lips twitched.

I’m a middle-aged widow, Bartholomew,” said Halla. Now would be the weary one-of-us-is-stupid-and-I’m-pretty-sure-it-isn’t-me expression. “If anyone thinks that I am debauched, it would probably be an improvement.

Sorry,” said Zale, clearly not remotely sorry. “But think how much we’re learning!” said Halla. “The two of you are like kindred spirits. Horrible, horrible kindred spirits.” He took another swig of water.

Occasionally, its eyes would flash green and it would begin roaring in an impossibly deep voice about the end of the world and the screams of the damned.

Zale steepled their fingers. “Do you want to talk about that?” “Not particularly.” “All right. But you know, I am a priest. It’s sort of what we do. Talk to people. Take confessions. That sort of thing.” “I thought you were more concerned with legal matters.

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.’ Is

connection to the people before you,” she said, and he heard the heaviness of that knowledge in her voice. “To come unmoored in history. It’s why I became a historian in the first place. We must help each other find our place again.

I am not sweet. Did I mention that I've fought dragons?

A paladin wouldn’t do me any good getting my inheritance back.” “I suppose they could chop your relatives into tiny bits, but there would be repercussions.

living among her relatives.

recommended a great deal of fire followed by a great deal of holy water.

She slapped her hip. 'A good breeder. Strong hips.' Sarkis wisely said nothing to this.

That sounds like plain good sense.” “Perhaps there’s so little of that to go around that they had to make it divine.

You are sure that everyone means well,” said Zale, clearly amused. “Which is why I think you are perhaps well matched with Sarkis after all. He’s sure that everyone is determined to kill everyone else in their sleep. Between the two of you, you average out to a nicely functional outlook.

Sarkis liked watching her. She waved her hands a lot and her face was never still. It was an odd performance to find pleasure in, perhaps, but he found himself wanting to smile. He scowled fiercely to prevent any trace from escaping.

Her grin made his stomach turn over rather oddly, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

If I were younger or better looking, someone might care. As it is, they might think I’m being foolhardy, if anybody notices me at all.” He scowled at her. “You are a fine looking woman. If your countrymen cannot see that, it is the fault of the decadent south, not you.

It was certainly not the first time that a woman had had their face in that vicinity, but Sarkis really preferred them to be awake and enthusiastic about it, not snoring.

I’m not completely useless, you know,” she said, picking at her skirts. There was a long silence, and then out of the dark, his voice said, “I never thought you were.” She was glad that he couldn’t see her blush.

Are you sure you’re unhurt?” he asked.

It’s all right. You couldn’t have known.” “I was so stupid.” “No,” he said. “Just kind. It’s all right. It will be all right. I’m here. You’re safe now. No harm done.

The urge flared again to go after the people who had done this and kill them. Or possibly just burn the entire world that was so unkind to people like Halla.

But dammit, Sarkis liked her.

The great god have mercy,” he said, and kissed her.

I find that I would rather be an exile in my heart than the last survivor.

Despite everything, the world had not broken her.

If you sheathe the sword and go in