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These Stepsons tread where mortals don't belong, some of us think. They seek out battle high above their station. Who knows what powers may yet take them and their mystic allies to task, bring them their comeuppance?

Janet Morris

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Janet Morris
Age: 78
Born: 1946
Born: May 25
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Janet Ellen Morris
Janet E. Morris
Bring
Allies
High
Mortals
Comeuppance
May
Belong
Stepsons
Take
Powers
Tread
Think
Task
Mystic
Thinking
Tasks
Station
Seek
Suspicion
Battle
Stations

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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.
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It was his soul's freedom that was in question. And that question was whether freedom was worth the price when it meant shirking the responsibilities of honor.
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I won't go back and live in the sea again.
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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.
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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.
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To the death with honor, shoulder to shoulder, and no one gets closer to a Stepson than his partner.
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What wastrel mankind destroyed takes time for nature to put to rights.
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Niko's angular face caught a flicker of firelight and Tempus saw his future there: sharp purpose, discipline, and power in perfect balance love of man and gods, and mercy transcending all. If war ever wore a more humane face, this one would make it so.
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Go carefully, child of mat, where no mercy can be had, and let your faith lead you on.
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Gods have bloody hands.
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Keep your enemies at a distance, your partners close at hand.
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Now the Fates are here on the beach, three shadows blacker than black, walking through the dunes and looking for their own. Just shadows, lamb-white hands beneath black robes spun of tears, glide among the celebrants on this night wherein the spirits of Thebes have found a home, if serendipitously.
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Survival has its own etiquette.
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This fight coming is not a battle of weapons, but a battle of wills.
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Some nights, valor and cold purpose aren't enough.
Janet Morris
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This is for you. A mage named Randal told me to give it to the Band if you ever came back. 'It surmounts evil,' he told me, 'keeps doom at bay.'
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The heavens listen to what is said on these cobbles. Laws of man and nature come together here. Here you must be firm. Here you must be true.
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Sacred Bands and elite squadrons aren't what the mercenaries' guild is about. Field them at your peril.
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Men may not believe you, my son. But you must always say the truth, when the truth holds no danger for you or your loved ones.
Janet Morris
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You count up your dead, every one. Always. Recall them, each and all - every face, every heart.
Janet Morris