Wyrm Quotes

I think I fell in love with you,” Rhys murmured, stroking a finger down my arm, “the moment I realized you were cleaving those bones to make a trap for the Middengard Wyrm. Or maybe the moment you flipped me off for mocking you. It reminded me so much of Cassian. For the first time in decades, I wanted to laugh.” “You fell in love with me,” I said flatly, “because I reminded you of your friend?” He flicked my nose. “I fell in love with you, smartass, because you were one of us—because you weren’t afraid of me, and you decided to end your spectacular victory by throwing that piece of bone at Amarantha like a javelin. I felt Cassian’s spirit beside me in that moment, and could have sworn I heard him say, ‘If you don’t marry her, you stupid prick, I will.’ ” I huffed a laugh, sliding my paint-covered hand over his tattooed chest. Paint—right. We were both covered in it. So was the bed.

Adventures are funny things. Some streak down upon you like a storm. Others emerge after many years have passed and something forgotten is revealed. They can be discovered on a dusty bookshelf or the yellowed pages of an ancient map. They promise great reward, but no adventure is without risk.

Now, the Wyrm rises To eclipse the Moon Devouring all within its grasp, Hunting the hunters. There is no garden to which we can flee. There is nowhere to hide. The end is upon us. — When will you rage?

But all you have to do is lie. If enough people lie, all the time, then there isn’t enough truth for law to work. That’s how I see it.

How many games had Cassian played as a child with Rhys an Azriel, where a long stick had been a stand-in for Gwydion? How many adventures had they imagined, sharing that mythical sword between them as they slew wyrms and rescued damsels? Never mind that Rhys's particular damsel had slain a wyrm herself and rescued him instead.

Those who have known pain should have mercy on others.

I wonder if I'll ever forgive Evandar? I wonder even more if I should bother," Aderyn said. "Of course you should," Nevyn said wearily, "but for your own sake, not his. Hatred binds a man to what he hates, and I think me you need to be free of him.

If human beings are all monsters, why should I sacrifice anything for them?" "Because they are beautiful monsters..., And when they live in a network of peace and hope, when they trust the world and their deepest hungers are fulfilled, then within that system, that delicate web, there is joy. That is what we live for, to bind the monsters together, to murder their fear and give birth to their beauty.

Lucifer unbound his absolution His purpose took unstoppable form A wyrm whose brilliance blinded Tenacity burned as radiant as the Almighty Lucifer remembered this so vividly A fond memory of when God stood thunderstruck

upon a hyll stands a treow but this treow it has no stics no leafs. its stocc is gold on it is writhan lines of blud red it reacces to the heofon its roots is deop deop in the eorth. abuf the hyll all the heofon is hwit and below all the ground is deorc. the treow is scinan and from all places folcs is walcan to it walcan to the scinan treow locan for sum thing from it. abuf the tree flies a raefn below it walcs a wulf and deop in the eorth where no man sees around the roots of the treow sleeps a great wyrm and this wyrm what has slept since before all time this wyrm now slow slow slow this wyrm begins to mof

You will hold this book in your hands, and learn all the things that I learned, right along with me: There is no immortality that is not built on friendship and work done with care. All the secrets in the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight. It takes forty-one seconds to climb a ladder three stories tall. It’s not easy to imagine the year 3012, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. We have new capabilities now—strange powers we’re still getting used to. The mountains are a message from Aldrag the Wyrm-Father. Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in. After that, the book will fade, the way all books fade in your mind. But I hope you will remember this: A man walking fast down a dark lonley street. Quick steps and hard breathing, all wonder and need. A bell above a door and the tinkle it makes. A clerk and a ladder and warm golden light, and then: the right book exactly, at exactly the right time.

The gloom beckoned, challenging her like the open maw of some great beast. A wyrm, poised to devour her whole.

In the dawn of the language, the word 'worm' had a somewhat different meaning from that in use to-day. It was an adaptation of the Anglo-Saxon 'wyrm,' meaning a dragon or snake; or from the Gothic 'waurms,' a serpent;

there was fashion and there was idiocy, and while she was vain enough to love the former, she was not willing to indulge the latter.

Is that so hard to believe? My mother claimed I was so withdrawn and strange because I was born on the longest night of the year. She tried one year to have my birthday on another day, but forgot to do it the next time—there was probably a more advantageous party she had to plan.” “Now I know where Nesta gets it. Honestly, it’s a shame we can’t stay longer—if only to see who’ll be left standing: her or Cassian.” “My money’s on Nesta.” A soft chuckle that snaked along my bones—a reminder that he’d once bet on me. Had been the only one Under the Mountain who had put money on me defeating the Middengard Wyrm. He said, “So’s mine.

But now, well, he keeps telling me that solitude is the foundation of true wisdom, that all the brilliant thoughts in this house come as the desperate cry of one human being to another, saying, Know me, live with me in the world of my mind.

Whenever you think you are very clever, that’s when you are getting ready to be awesomely stupid.” “Based

He patted the side of the wyrm's head. The animal did not react: it was a stone fallen from the sky, still smoldering.

My da—” Diccon looked at the ground. “… my da calls me ‘Bent.’” Robin smiled. “No. Sorry, Diccon. It’s a good name, but a master archer had it and it died with him. Got another?” “My mother calls me a God-Damned Fool,” Diccon said with a smile. “Good, you’ll fit right in.

War is food and drink and disease and patience and anger and hate and cold and stealth and terror as well as sweet silver and bitter iron and the glitter of arms in the sun or under the moon.

I think I fell in love with you,' Rhys murmured, stroking a finger down my arm, 'the moment I realised you were cleaving those bones to make a trap for the Middengard Wyrm. Or maybe the moment you flipped me off for mocking you. It reminded me so much of Cassian. For the first time in decades, I wanted to laugh.' 'You fell in love with me,' I said flatly, 'because I reminded you of your friend?' He flicked my nose. 'I fell in love with you, smartass, because you were one of us- because you weren't afraid of me, and you decided to end your spectacular victory by throwing that piece of bone at Amarantha like a javelin. I felt Cassian's spirit beside me in that moment, and could have sworn I heard him say, "if you don't marry her, you stupid prick, I will.

Fire it was, purposefully wrought - fire as makes a blade, for slaughter. Its eyes seethed with flame, not good nor evil, the sanctarian read in her mind, but also that which makes a wyrm, that is, its cunning, and its malice.

There is no immortality that is not built on friendship and work done with care. All the secrets in the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight. It takes forty-one seconds to climb a ladder three stories tall. It’s not easy to imagine the year 3012, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. We have new capabilities now—strange powers we’re still getting used to. The mountains are a message from Aldrag the Wyrm-Father. Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in.

I pray that the world never runs out of dragons. I say that in all sincerity, though I have played a part in the death of one great wyrm. For the dragon is the quintessential enemy, the greatest foe, the unconquerable epitome of devastation. The dragon, above all other creatures, even the demons and the devils, evokes images of dark grandeur, of the greatest beast curled asleep on the greatest treasure hoard. They are the ultimate test of the hero and the ultimate fright of the child. They are older than the elves and more akin to the earth than the dwarves. The great dragons are the preternatural beast, the basic element of the beast, that darkest part of our imagination. The wizards cannot tell you of their origin, though they believe that a great wizard, a god of wizards, must have played some role in the first spawning of the beast. The elves, with their long fables explaining the creation of every aspect of the world, have many ancient tales concerning the origin of the dragons, but they admit, privately, that they really have no idea of how the dragons came to be. My own belief is more simple, and yet, more complicated by far. I believe that dragons appeared in the world immediately after the spawning of the first reasoning race. I do not credit any god of wizards with their creation, but rather, the most basic imagination wrought of unseen fears, of those first reasoning mortals. We make the dragons as we make the gods, because we need them, because, somewhere deep in our hearts, we recognize that a world without them is a world not worth living in. There are so many people in the land who want an answer, a definitive answer, for everything in life, and even for everything after life. They study and they test, and because those few find the answers for some simple questions, they assume that there are answers to be had for every question. What was the world like before there were people? Was there nothing but darkness before the sun and the stars? Was there anything at all? What were we, each of us, before we were born? And what, most importantly of all, shall we be after we die? Out of compassion, I hope that those questioners never find that which they seek. One self-proclaimed prophet came through Ten-Towns denying the possibility of an afterlife, claiming that those people who had died and were raised by priests, had, in fact, never died, and that their claims of experiences beyond the grave were an elaborate trick played on them by their own hearts, a ruse to ease the path to nothingness. For that is all there was, he said, an emptiness, a nothingness. Never in my life have I ever heard one begging so desperately for someone to prove him wrong. This is kind of what I believe right now… although, I do not want to be proved wrong… For what are we left with if there remains no mystery? What hope might we find if we know all of the answers? What is it within us, then, that so desperately wants to deny magic and to unravel mystery? Fear, I presume, based on the many uncertainties of life and the greatest uncertainty of death. Put those fears aside, I say, and live free of them, for if we just step back and watch the truth of the world, we will find that there is indeed magic all about us, unexplainable by numbers and formulas. What is the passion evoked by the stirring speech of the commander before the desperate battle, if not magic? What is the peace that an infant might know in its mother’s arms, if not magic? What is love, if not magic? No, I would not want to live in a world without dragons, as I would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith. And that, I fear, for any reasoning, conscious being, would be the cruelest trick of all. -Drizzt Do’Urden

Save them, save them all. In doing so, brother, you will save yourself.

Meine Wurst!” Better your sausage than your life, man!

a battle was a situation where two commanders each thought they had a decisive superiority and one was wrong.

The lie tasted of brass, and she suddenly longed for a glass of decent wine and an exceedingly sensational and frivolous novel, read in the comfort of her own bed.

Paciencia: Hay gente que hace cosas por miedo al látigo. Hay gente que hace cosas por temor a perder sus familias o sus vidas. Hay gente a la cual es posible comprar y vender. ¿Acaso no son esclavos? - Voluntad: Son esclavos de sus pasiones. Su miedo les gobierna. ¿Qué poder tienes sobre mi si tu látigo no me da miedo? ¿Soy tu esclavo si no temo perder a mi familia? Te obedezco de forma completa y fiel porque así lo he escogido: ¿soy tu esclavo? Y cuando llegas a odiarme porque soy libre y mi libertad es mayor que la tuya, y me ordenas hacer lo que no pienso hacer, entonces me alzo ante ti y no obedezco. Castígame entonces; he escogido ser castigado. Y si el castigo es superior a lo que estoy dispuesto a consentir, entonces usaré cuanta fuerza sea necesaria para hacer que pares de castigarme, y no más. Pero nunca, ni por un instante, he hecho nada que no haya escogido hacer voluntariamente.

Azriel dragged Bryce back, sword and dagger calling to her to draw them, use them. But he kept pulling her away, deeper into the tunnel as the undead thing and the Wyrm grappled with each other. The ceiling shook, debris shattering on the floor. Azriel arched a wing, shielding them both from its slicing rain. But there was nothing in that world to shield them from the being standing a few feet away. Hair drifting on a phantom breeze, Nesta glowed with silver fire. Still wearing her mask. A finger pointed toward the fight. Commanding that creature of bone and death to attack the Wyrm. Again. Again.

Don’t you dare,” Azriel began—but not to Bryce. Dread paled his golden skin. “Nesta—” Something metallic gleamed like sunshine in Nesta’s hand. A mask. “Nesta,” Azriel warned, panic sharpening his voice, but too late. She closed her eyes and shoved it onto her face. A strange, cold breeze swept through the tunnel. Bryce had endured that wind before, in the Bone Quarter. A wind of death, of decay, of quiet. The hair on her arms rose. And her blood chilled to ice as Nesta opened her eyes to reveal only silver flame shining there. Whatever that mask was, whatever power it had … death lay within it. “Take it off,” Azriel snarled, but Nesta extended a hand into the darkness of the tunnel. Mortal, an ancient, bone-dry voice whispered in Bryce’s head. You are mortal, and you shall die. Memento mori. Memento mori, memento— Bone clicked in the darkness. The earth shook. Azriel grabbed Bryce, tugging her back against him as he retreated toward the wall, as if it’d offer any shelter from whatever approached. The Starsword and Truth-Teller hummed and pulled at Bryce’s spine, and her hands itched, like she could feel the weapons in her palms— She didn’t see what it was that Nesta drew from the dark before the Wyrm found them.

Cassian nudged his bastard-brother-whatever out of the way, Azriel's mighty wings flaring slightly as he balanced himself. 'How the hell did you make that bone ladder in the Middengard Wyrm's lair when you look like your own bones can snap at any moment?' ... I met Cassian's gaze, if only because having Rhysand defend me might very well make me crumble a bit more. And maybe it made me as mean as an adder, maybe I relished being one, but I said, 'How the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?' Cassian tipped back his head and laughed, a full, rich sound that bounced off the ruddy stones of the House.

We need to help her,” Bryce panted to Azriel. “I promise you, she’s fine,” Azriel countered, urging them further into the tunnel. Out of the impact zone, Bryce realized. The Wyrm must have sensed the sword’s approach, because it bucked against the bones and claws pinning it to the rock. It managed to nudge the undead creature back, but only for a heartbeat. Nesta raised her free hand again, and the undead creature slammed the Wyrm back into the ground. The Wyrm thrashed, desperate now. With a dancer’s grace, Nesta scaled the undead beast’s tail, running along the knobs of its spine like rocks in a stream. Getting to higher ground, to a better angle. The Wyrm shrieked, but Nesta had reached the undead beast’s white skull. And then she was jumping, sword arcing above her, then down, down— Straight into the head of the Wyrm. A shudder of silver fire rushed down the Wyrm. That cold, dry wind shivered through the caves again, death in its wake. The Wyrm slumped to the ground. The silence was worse than the sound. Azriel was instantly gone, wings tucking in tight as he rushed toward Nesta and the undead beast that still held the Wyrm in its grip. “Take it off,” Azriel ordered her. The female turned her head toward him with a smooth motion that Bryce had only seen from possessed dolls in horror movies. “Take it off,” Azriel snarled.

You expect everyone to cooperate with the law. To make the law work." Duke took a deep breath. "But all you have to do is lie. If enough people lie, all the time, then there isn't enough truth for the law to work. That's how I see it." He looked at his feet. "If enough men are greedy, and willing to lie to get what they want?" He raised his head and faced them. "Then it's easy. Their way is easy. And you lot will sit here and debate.

The Middengard Wyrm had arrived at last. Precisely according to Bryce’s plan. She’d been dripping blood for it all this way, leaving a trail, constantly scraping off her scabs to reopen her wounds—ones she’d intentionally inflicted on herself by “falling” into the stream. If the Wyrm relied on scent to hunt, then she’d left a veritable neon sign leading right to them. She hadn’t known when or how it would attack, but she’d been waiting. And she was ready. Bryce fell back as not only shadows, but blue light flared from Azriel—right alongside the ripple of silver flame from Nesta. Back-to-back, they faced the massive creature with razor-sharp focus. Ataraxia gleamed in Nesta’s hand. Truth-Teller pulsed with darkness in Azriel’s. Now or never. Her legs tensed, readying to sprint. Nesta’s eyes slid to Bryce’s for a heartbeat. As if understanding at last: Bryce’s “unhealing” hand. The blood she’d wiped on the walls. Her musing about the linked river system in these caves, sussing out what they knew regarding the terrain and the Wyrm. To unleash this thing—on them. “I’m sorry,” Bryce said to her. And ran.

That which is unnamed was first,” it said. “But I am named, flesh queen. Remember.” Its pupils thinned. “The cold one on the ship. She was your kin.” Glorian looked at the other skull. “She fell to my flame. So will this land. We will finish the scouring, for we are the teeth that harrow and turn. The mountain is the forge and smith, and we, its iron offspring—come to avenge the first, the forebear, he who sleeps beneath.” Every warrior should know fear, Glorian Brightcry. Without it, courage is an empty boast. “You confess,” Glorian said, “that you slew the blood of the Saint.” Her voice kept breaking. “Do you then declare war on Inys?” Fyredel—the wyrm—let out a rattle. A score of complex scales and muscles shifted in its face. “When your days grow long and hot,” he said, “when the sun in the North never sets, we shall come.” On both sides of the Strondway, those who had not fled were rooted to the spot, fixated on Glorian. She realized what they must be thinking. If she died childless, the eternal vine was at its end. What she did next could define how they saw the House of Berethnet for centuries to come. Start forging your armour, Glorian. You will need it. She looked down once more at her parents’ remains, the bones the wyrms had dumped here like a spoil of war. In her memory, her father laughed and drew her close. He would never laugh again. Never smile. Her mother would never tell her she loved her, or how to calm her dreams. And where there had been fear, there was anger. “If you—If you dare to turn your fire on Inys,” Glorian bit out, “then I will do as my ancestor did to the Nameless One.” She forced herself to lift her chin in defiance. “I will drive you back with sword and spear, with bow and lance!” Shaking, she heaved for air. “I am the voice, the body of Inys. My stomach is its strength—my heart, its shield— and if you think I will submit to you because I am small and young, you are wrong.” Sweat was running down her back. She had never been so afraid in her life. “I am not afraid,” she said. At this, the wyrm unfurled its wings to their full breadth. From tip to hooked tip, they were as wide as two longships facing each other. People scrambled out of their shadow. “So be it, Shieldheart.” It steeped the word in mockery. “Treasure your darkness, for the fire comes. Until then, a taste of our flame, to light your city through the winter. Heed my words.

He placed a gloved hand on Vikram’s shoulder. “There are worms at the world’s heart, coiled at the seats of earthly power like a manifold tumor that has awoken to its own hunger and craves more. There may be many worms or only one that manifests as many, or perhaps myriad strands of the One True Wyrm, but it equates to the same misery. The parasites feed, grow, and spread in Mankind’s wake, infesting new worlds through the blood, sweat, and fears of their hosts, leaving us enough to survive and occasionally even prosper, but only ever in service to the sickness we bear.” Vikram was staring straight ahead, his teeth gritted and his fists clenched. He realized he was nodding along to the tale. Worms? Yes, that was the right name for them. Why hadn’t he found it himself? “Our masters probably delight in cruelty, for that has been the most constant thread in human history,” Niemand continued, “yet it is possible they imagine themselves equitable, benevolent even. Have they not driven Mankind to survive, strive, and conquer with a ferocity its foes cannot match? Would there be a union of faiths and nations without the invisible coils binding us to a common cause? Would we have seized the stars without their hunger to drive us?’ Would we have endured at all?” Niemand’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Perhaps worms are the gods we deserve.” “No,” Vikram rasped. His eyes met Skaadi’s and found a rage that mirrored his own. “No,” he repeated, fiercely this time. “No,” Niemand agreed. “Never. We will raise our own gods—or better yet, do without them.

You have no idea what you really are," the Elder Wyrm went on, "or why you are special to the dragons of Talon.

Without St. George, that balance would tip. Without the Order, there would be nothing to stop Talon and the Elder Wyrm from achieving what they wanted from the start: complete and utter dominion.

At times, the Wyrm had sounded like some sort of malevolent conspiracy-at others, a ravaging, ravening supernatural entity. As Dr. Julius rose through the ranks at Magadon, he learned that this was exactly what it was.

Can you grasp your right fist with your right hand? Obviously not -- your hand can't grasp itself. But there's another, less obvious reason why you can't do it: As soon as you open your right hand to grasp something, you no longer have a right fist.

So I watched your first trial. Pretending—always pretending to be that person you hated. When you were hurt so badly against the Wyrm … I found my way in with you. A way to defy Amarantha, to spread the seeds of hope to those who knew how to read the message, and a way to keep you alive without seeming too suspicious. And a way to get back at Tamlin … To use him against Amarantha, yes, but … To get back at him for my mother and sister, and for … having you. When we made that bargain, you were so hateful that I knew I’d done my job well.

Lesser Avatar of Nidhogg Nidhogg, the serpent that gnaws on the World Tree’s roots, was the first Planeswalker. His powers started as the ability to store Yggdrassil’s root and earth in subdimensional spaces. After absorbing enough of the great tree’s power, he transcended into a four-dimensional being with the power to move freely through space but not time. As a lesser avatar, the wyrm is no Planeswalker but has the power of spatial creation and manipulation. Until she masters her powers, the wyrm can only create sub-dimensional, vacuum-filled spaces. Sucking living entities into the space will satiate her almost endless hunger and add to her intelligence. However, a small mana pool limits how often she can use the ability. Would

The Wyrm bowed its scarred head over Muire’s. The snout swung to and fro, stately as a massive pendulum. It seemed to sweep its gaze along the beach, but only empty sockets marked where eyes had been.

What grievance have you with Inys, wyrm?” Her voice came high and brittle. “Who are you?” She spoke in Inysh. Recognition sparked in its eyes. “Who comes after the one who came before,” came its answer. “I breathed flame into life, and made death flesh. I am the fire beneath, unleashed.” Its Hróthi was rumbling and harsh. “I am Fyredel.

His mount was blood-red Caraxes, fiercest of all the young dragons in the Dragonpit. The Dragonkeepers, who knew the denizens of the pit better than anyone, called him the Blood Wyrm.

Tristan and Declan had been Ruhn’s best friends for as long as he could remember, and always had his back, no questions asked. That they were highly trained and efficient warriors was beside the point, though they’d saved each other’s asses more times than Ruhn could count. Going through their Ordeals together had only cemented that bond. The Ordeal itself varied depending on the person: for some, it might be as simple as overcoming an illness or a bit of personal strife. For others, it might be slaying a wyrm or a demon. The greater the Fae, the greater the Ordeal.

Nesta glanced to the shadows behind Bryce, as if someone stood there. But she said, “A Middengard Wyrm.” “Middengard?” Bryce started at the word. “Like—Midgard? Did they come from my world originally?

An archway had been etched, stars glimmering around it. And in that archway stood a male figure, the image created with impressive depth. His hand was upraised in greeting. And Bryce might have looked closer, had the Middengard Wyrm not exploded from the river behind them.

WYRMS, WURMS, AND WORMS

There is no immortality that is not built on friendship and work done with care. All the secrets in the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight. It takes forty-one seconds to climb a ladder three stories tall. It’s not easy to imagine the year 3012, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. We have new capabilities now—strange powers we’re still getting used to. The mountains are a message from Aldrag the Wyrm-Father. Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in. After

Nell was not by his side, and Kit Foliak would never buy another gold embroidered sword belt.

The mountains are a message from Aldrag the Wyrm-Father. Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in.

tiltyards.

Game of Kings.

On the bottom row were the bases of his power—represented

There is no immortality that is not built on friendship and work done with care. All the secrets of the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight. It takes forty-one seconds to climb a ladder three stories tall. It's not easy to imagine the year 3012, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. We have new capabilities now--strange powers we're still getting used to. The mountains are a message from Aldrag the Wyrm-Father. Your life must be an open city with all sorts of ways to wander in. After that, the book will fade, the way all books fade in your mind. But I hope you will remember this: A man walking fast down a dark lonely street. Quick steps and hard breathing, all wonder and need. A bell above the door and the tinkle it makes. A clerk and a ladder and warm golden light, and then: the right book exactly, at exactly the right time.

: “Behold the Rooster who suffers much more than he must. Ah, Chauntecleer, Chauntecleer. Why do you suffer today and tomorrow?” oozed the compassionate voice. “Curse God. Curse him, and all will be done. Or, lest you forget the truth of things, remember: I am Wyrm. And I am here.

Narfo. Never heard of it.” “Fermented worm blood—” “Wyrm or worm?” “What’s the difference?” “Scales.” “Worm.” “Wyrm or worm? They sound the same.” “I know. Ridiculous.” “I agree. Which one’s blood are you drinking?” “The one that burrows through the ground.” “So the worm.” “Round we go.” “You got a son that works down in the tunnel?” “Aye. A guard.” “I feel like I’ve had the same conversation with him. You mean the thing that is not related to a dragon.” “Like a garden worm. But bigger.” “Right.” “That’s the one.” “And you drink its blood?” “Fermented.” “Right, you ferment the blood and then you drink it?” “Someone else does, but yes. Good for the heart. Keeps the hair on your chest.” “Is it, I mean, like a banded worm?” “Nothing so grand. Believe that’d kill a dwarf.” “So it’s a particular species.” “Aye, the Narfing worm. Bred for flavor. Plump little bastards. They have the most delectable meat to them. Melts in your mouth.” “Interesting. Have you, I mean, is that fresh?” “It’s fermented, of course it’s not fresh.

What the fuck was that thing?” Nesta glanced to the shadows behind Bryce, as if someone stood there. But she said, “A Middengard Wyrm.” “Middengard?” Bryce started at the word. “Like—Midgard? Did they come from my world originally?

And Bryce might have looked closer, had the Middengard Wyrm not exploded from the river behind them.

What is she—” Bryce began, but Azriel clamped a hand over her mouth, hauling her farther down the tunnel. So Bryce could only watch in awe and utter terror as Nesta’s fingers closed into a fist. The beast’s jaws encircled the Wyrm’s entire front end and smashed it down into the earth, pinning

But something massive and white slammed into the Wyrm instead. A creature of pure bone, larger than the Wyrm. The skeleton they’d encountered down the tunnel. Reanimated.

The attack came sudden as a thunderbolt. Caraxes dove down upon Vhagar with a piercing shriek that was heard a dozen miles away, cloaked by the glare of the setting sun on Prince Aemond’s blind side. The Blood Wyrm slammed into the older dragon with terrible force. Their roars echoed across the Gods Eye as the two grappled and tore at one another, dark against a blood-red sky. So bright did their flames burn that fisherfolk below feared the clouds themselves had caught fire. Locked together, the dragons tumbled toward the lake. The Blood Wyrm’s jaws closed about Vhagar’s neck, her black teeth sinking deep into the flesh of the larger dragon. Even as Vhagar’s claws raked his belly open and Vhagar’s own teeth ripped away a wing, Caraxes bit deeper, worrying at the wound as the lake rushed up below them with terrible speed. And it was then, the tales tell us, that Prince Daemon Targaryen swung a leg over his saddle and leapt from one dragon to the other. In his hand was Dark Sister, the sword of Queen Visenya. As Aemond One-Eye looked up in terror, fumbling with the chains that bound him to his saddle, Daemon ripped off his nephew’s helm and drove the sword down into his blind eye, so hard the point came out the back of the young prince’s throat. Half a heartbeat later, the dragons struck the lake, sending up a gout of water that was said to have been as tall as Kingspyre Tower.

Changed, blessed ones, Druudrazil communicated. I cannot imagine what twisted thoughts are going through their mind. # Will: No. There is no way you read a fucking manga and thought “hey, this is a great idea and completely bounded in reality, I should add it to my repertoire.” Caiyeri: I didn’t read that much of it. I found the plot utterly dull and uninteresting, but the fight scenes were illustrated quite vividly. Will: Dear god. You’ll have to show it to me. I’ll be the judge of your taste. Caiyeri: It is less interesting to read about magical combat and politics when that’s day-to-day life. Will: Hmm. That’s fair. Do you have it? Caiyeri: No, it’s Lev’s. I have no idea where he is. Will: Oh, shit. I almost forgot about him. I’ll toss him a text, see how things are going. Caiyeri: You should probably focus on the wyrm in front of us first. Will: Point taken. No-selling the necrotic

The first horse to fall exploded.

You will hold this book in your hands, and learn all the things I learned, right along with me: There is no immortality that is not built on friendship and work done with care. All the secrets in the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight. It takes forty-one seconds to climb a ladder three stories tall. It’s not easy to imagine the year 3012, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. We have new capabilities now—strange powers we’re still getting used to. The mountains are a message from Aldrag the Wyrm-Father. Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in. After that, the book will fade, the way all books fade in your mind. But I hope you will remember this: A man walking fast down a dark lonely street. Quick steps and hard breathing, all wonder and need. A bell above a door and the tinkle it makes. A clerk and a ladder and warm golden light, and then: the right book exactly, at exactly the right time.

She looked forward to instructing them on the folly of rushing an elder Wyrm in an enclosed space.

Everything in this world is terror,” the old man said. “If you care to see it that way.

A dragon,” Entreri remarked. “Another stinking dragon. What game is this to you?” he asked his partner. “You keep placing me in front of stinking dragons! In all my life, I had never even seen a wyrm, and now, beside you, I have come to know them far too well.

wyrm

I think I fell in love with you,” Rhys murmured, stroking a finger down my arm, “the moment I realized you were cleaving those bones to make a trap for the Middengard Wyrm. Or maybe the moment you flipped me off for mocking you. It reminded me so much of Cassian. For the first time in decades, I wanted to laugh.” “You fell in love with me,” I said flatly, “because I reminded you of your friend?” He flicked my nose. “I fell in love with you, smartass, because you were one of us—because you weren’t afraid of me, and you decided to end your spectacular victory by throwing that piece of bone at Amarantha like a javelin. I felt Cassian’s spirit beside me in that moment, and could have sworn I heard him say, ‘If you don’t marry her, you stupid prick, I will.

I am telling you for two reasons,” he said, his face so cold, so calm, that it unnerved me as much as the news he was delivering. “One, you’re … close to Tamlin. He has men—but he also has long-existing ties to Hybern—” “He’d never help the king—” Rhys held up a hand. “I want to know if Tamlin is willing to fight with us. If he can use those connections to our advantage. As he and I have strained relations, you have the pleasure of being the go-between.” “He doesn’t inform me of those things.” “Perhaps it’s time he did. Perhaps it’s time you insisted.” He examined the map, and I followed where his gaze landed. On the wall within Prythian—on the small, vulnerable mortal territory. My mouth went dry. “What is your other reason?” Rhys looked me up and down, assessing, weighing. “You have a skill set that I need. Rumor has it you caught a Suriel.” “It wasn’t that hard.” “I’ve tried and failed. Twice. But that’s a discussion for another day. I saw you trap the Middengard Wyrm like a rabbit.” His eyes twinkled. “I need you to help me. To use those skills of yours to track down what I need.” “What do you need? Whatever was tied to my reading and shielding, I’m guessing?” “You’ll learn of that later.

I marveled that their stunted species had ever reached the stars.

I wanted to rip that finger right off Tamlin’s hand. And feed it to the Middengard Wyrm.

The Wyrm's hard-earned lesson impacting meteorlike in the forty-three-million-dimensional terrain of thought. the ballistic shock of education, which, at its best, provides the realization: life can be different. It does not all need to be cruel effort.

The king’s dragon, Sunfyre, too huge and heavy to be moved, and unable to fly with his injured wing, remained in the fields beyond Rook’s Rest, crawling through the ashes like some great golden wyrm. In

Ah, so you are the one. The Greencloak who took Takoda from the monastery. The one who succumbed to the Wyrm in Sadre, and eventually turned on him and all his allies.” “Yes, but what happened there … I didn’t have a choice,” Conor explained hastily. “There’s always a choice,” Naveb responded sharply. “And you made yours.” “No, no. You don’t understand. I had no control.” Conor rubbed the mark, as if he could wipe away its stain. Meilin’s blood began to boil. She could not allow this man to insult Conor for being infected by the Wyrm, even if he was an elder. She knew how hard Conor had battled against it, what he had sacrificed, and how some of his actions while under the Wyrm’s influence still tore at his heart. It wasn’t fair to him and it wasn’t fair to what they’d all endured.

There’s a lot of Dark territory between us and the Shadow Canyons,” Lief pointed out unhappily. “Ghants and blight-wolves and Murgl-wyrms and all sorts.” His finger traced a line from Shogg’s Ford, showing the route. “Not convinced that the power of prophecy’s going to get us through all that.” “It will be an epic journey,” Harathes said potentiously. “A worthy quest, through monsters and the servants of the Dark one, past evil forests, marshes, and jagged rocks . . .” “Mm.” Lief grimaced. “You’re not selling it to me.

The wyrm, instead of attacking, simply looked down at the young man with what could have been a smile.

It had taken a long time. But thanks to his friends, he was finally, truly, free of the Wyrm.

to find out through the gem of the soul." Ruth Beck 010s9469s7009was Wyrm lived for 9,000 years as head of the Red Dragon.

We are the Descendants of the Mighty Dragon, and we rise against the slander painting us as Beasts. The wyrms are the ones spitting flames. Not us because Eastern Dragons don’t breathe fire.

You take it all for granted,” he said. He sounded as if he was angry—or if he might weep. “It’s bloody good, this thing we have. But you forget it’s not natural. You expect everyone to cooperate with the law. To make the law work.” Duke took a deep breath. “But all you have to do is lie. If enough people lie, all the time, then there isn’t enough truth for law to work. That’s how I see it.” He looked at his feet. “If enough men are greedy, and willing to lie to get what they want?” He raised his head and faced them. “Then it’s easy. Their way is easy. And you lot will sit here and debate. When the only real answer is to arm, go out in the streets, and fucking kill every Guardsman and every Galle on every corner until we hold the city.