Sacred Bands and elite squadrons aren't what the mercenaries' guild is about. Field them at your peril.
Your honor blinds you, Tempus, to what's right and wrong these days.
Such hubris could only come from a man's mouth.
You have crossbows: Shoot early; shoot often.
If the gods sent you to fight here, then the gods are fools.
Something is going on everywhere, most of which no one understands.
Choose life over death, Niko, when a choice can be made that puts no soul in jeopardy.
To the death with honor, shoulder to shoulder, and no one gets closer to a Stepson than his partner.
And Tempus thought then that nothing was more worthwhile than what was growing in this whitewashed barracks, where he has come to build a force such as men or gods have never seen - a force worth reckoning with, if you were of a mind. And something was of that mind. And something else opposed it. He should have expected that. Battle in the heavens, battle on the earth.
Niko, you're halfway to where you need to go. It's the most dangerous time. And all the gods and forces have a stake in you, Hero. Or do you want to be just a memory, a cult somewhere, with people sacrificing horses to your name?
Loyalty must be forged - to him, to his: stronger than iron, from experience, from risk - it can't be bought, or taught, or promised before the fact. Allegiance must be earned so it will hold, win or lose.
Deception is a tactic: use it. Do whatever it takes to win.
War's balance will prevail.
A wise one determines his own fate.
Order is its own reward.
Keep your enemies at a distance, your partners close at hand.
Wars don't bring lasting peace, only lasting death.
For the gift of life, the only true thanks was in living fully, and facing death with honor.
Death is a doorway, Niko, that leads to an adventure greater than any you have ever known.
Death's easy to find. If She wants you, you'll meet Her here as well as anywhere.
The two stallions, the silver and the black, represent the equine god (whomsoever horses pray to) in this ritual so ancient that no one knows what god to thank.
You three have done quite enough today: all of you and your feckless, treacherous god.
Gods and men honor those who have fought in battle.
"Godling? Demigod?" Lysis nearly howled. "You'd be beaten black and blue in Thebes, and staked out overnight for claims like that. In Sparta, the secret police would ambush you, violate you, skin you alive and use your skull for a drinking cup."
I think we're all in Cime's army now. But never mind, the Storm God hasn't forgotten us. Heaven is no farther away than it ever was.
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