She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean.

She is not truly beautiful but something about her draws the eye.

Spikes, " he sighed. "Heads. Walls.

The old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. "It hurts, boy," he said softly. "Oh, yes. Choosing . . . it has always hurt. And always will. I know.

You always try to do your own thing. One of the things I wanted to do was to write a book that combines some of the best traits of contemporary fantasy with some of the traits of the historical novel.

His time was past, her handmaid Irri declared. No man should live longer than his teeth.

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.