I see ranks ready for battle, stretching out. Five, six horses across, ranks in formation. Endlessly.
Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price. And that price is blood. The sound of it in your veins. The pound of it in your head. The volume of it in a human body; the sickness when you've spilled it.
Gods colliding, ethos and mythos trying to combine. The Sacred Band caught up in a whirlwind not of any god's devising: he and Niko had wanted to save twenty-three pairs of fated Theban fighters. Now everything feels fated and fighting oversweeps its boundaries of time and place and plane.
Let fools believe what fools believe.
When you give death, you give of your own life - every time.
Sometimes the cost of winning for all the right reasons is so great that spirits die and hearts grow cold.
To take care of the world seemed, finally, a privilege rather than a burden. The Riddler had led them to life's greatest victory. They had found a home.
Nothing walks the earth more savage than a mare enraged.
These warriors of the Sacred Band were inscrutable; they loved their war and death and picking through the bones of time to sort out right from wrong, good from bad, holy from profane, honor from dishonor.
I survive. I survived it all then and I'll survive the rest of it. Without your help.
One man, one horse, one holocaust on demand.
Men make their own fates - it's personal, not a matter for debate.
Be careful what you pray for.
What we hold sacred is honor, justice, and glory. You need not swear allegiance to our storm god, to serve with us. Fighters are among us from many lands, with many gods and many beliefs. Believe as you will. What is between a man and his god is theirs alone to say.
Then what difference does human striving make: mortal struggle, valor, pain? If you live, then live for the test of spirit, for the celebration of the heart. Live to fight on other days. Lose your beloveds one by one. And remember. Exalt the kiss of friend and horse and wind and sun, which venality cannot cheapen nor stupidity belittle.
Go carefully, child of mat, where no mercy can be had, and let your faith lead you on.
War's balance will prevail.
It's all the same - no good without evil, no balance...no maat. If we lose one, we lose the other. It's just life, that's all.
Keep your enemies at a distance, your partners close at hand.
When the balance is restored, people get hurt.
What is needed is never to be had without price.
Bandara was not an easy place to return to: it could hide from the common worlds whose periphery it inhabited. But Bandara never had, in all its years, completely disappeared.
Tempus would be protected, better shielded from whatever the Stepson thought threatening, if love could heal and save.
Don't forget, Riddler, how I love thee. Or all we shared together. Or that this sea and all other seas can lead you back to me.
Life to you, Riddler, and everlasting glory.
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