“In keeping with his cryptic nature, all your Story Weaver said was 'The horses know where to go.' It's certainly not a military strategy I would use, but I've learned that the south uses its own strategy. And, strangely enough, it works.”

“Do you really want to know why you lost?” I asked.“Do you really have an answer?” he countered.“You need to get off your horse and run with your men. You don’t have the stamina for a long fight. And find a lighter sword.”“But it was my uncle’s.”“You’re not your uncle.”“But I’m the King, and this is the King’s sword,” Cahil said. His brows creased together. He seemed confused.“So wear it to your coronation,” I said. “If you use it in battle, you’ll be wearing it to your funeral,” I said.”

“You’re better off fighting hand to hand than wielding a weapon you don’t know how to use. A skilled opponent would simply disarm you. Then your troubles would be doubled. Not only would you be under attack, but you’d have to counter your own weapon”

“I stared at Irys. My Story Weaver had to be laughing his blue ass off right now. My future appeared to be a long twisted road fraught with knots, tangles and traps. Just the way I liked it.”

“Pain jabbed Janco where the lower half of his right ear used to be. He rubbed the scar. “Now, I’m not a genius—”“Got that right,” Ari mumbled.”

“Don't worry. I'm only your escort tonight. I would offer to protect you from the drunken attentions of the other men, but I know all to well that you're quite capagble of holding your own. You're probably armed. Right?"Always.”

“Your mother sounds like a formidable woman," Valek said into the silence."You have no idea," Leif replied with a sigh."Well, if she's anything like Yelena, my deepest sympathies," Valek teased."Hey!"Leif laughed and the tense moment dissipated.Valek handed Leif his machete. "Do you know how to use it?""Of course. I chopped Yelena's bow into firewood," Leif joked.”