David Eddings

“What’s really going on in Perquaine?”

“A peasant rebellion—at least on the surface.”

Albron shook his head mournfully. “The lowlanders just don’t understand ordinary people, do they?”

“They haven’t got a clue. The aristocrats spend so much time admiring themselves in their mirrors that they don’t pay much attention to the commoners. From what I’ve heard, these rebellions break out every ten years or so. You’d think that after five or six times, the aristocrats might start to realize that they’re doing something wrong.”

“I certainly hope not. If the lowlanders start behaving like rational human beings, the clans of Arum are going to be out of work.”

“You don’t have to be so apologetic with me, Bheid,” Althalus told him. “I’m very tolerant about things like that. I gather that your murderers are on a salary of some kind?”

“A yearly retainer with a bonus for each murder, yes.”

“Then they aren’t just assorted fanatics who kill for their God?”

“Good heavens no! Fanatics want to be captured and executed. That makes them martyrs, and martyrs are rewarded in heaven. Our assassins are thoroughgoing professionals who never get caught.”

“Good policy. Never hire amateurs when you can get professionals.”

“I’ve looked deeply into the hearts of my fellow men, [...] and to be honest with you, I’d rather look into a cesspool.”

Althalus took the child by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to the fire.

“I didn’t do anything!” the child protested in a shrill voice, struggling to get free.

“That’s probably because you’re too clumsy for this line of work."

"We don’t believe in your wars, we don’t believe in your customs, and we don’t believe in your Gods.”

“Your lives are empty, then.”

“The money sort of fills that up—at least that’s what Sergeant Khalor told us.”

If you’d keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you, you wouldn’t hear so much that offends you.

“Class distinctions are an impediment to understanding, Althalus,” Bheid told him, “and anything that interferes with understanding should be discarded.”

“You might want to give some thought to keeping that particular opinion tucked up under your arm, Bheid,” Althalus advised. “It won’t make you very popular in certain quarters.”

“What did you do to Andine to bring her around? She didn’t really want to sell Eliar to me.”

I persuaded her to love me more than she hated him.“I thought you couldn’t do that sort of thing out here.”

I didn’t create her love, pet. All I did was encourage it. Andine’s very young and very passionate. She loves—and hates—with her blood and bones, and she loves even more intensely than she hates. All I had to do to unleash her love was to be adorable. I’m an expert at that, if you’ll recall.“I still think you’re cheating, Em.”

No, not really. Andine’s very pretty, and she smells nice. She’s soft and warm, and that voice of hers throbs like a bell. She’s very easy to love, and she responds to love with love of her own. I didn’t cheat her, Althalus. I did love her—and I still do.“I thought you were supposed to love only me.”

What a ridiculous idea. Just because I love her, it doesn’t mean that I love you less. My love is boundless, you know.

Religion’s based on a desire to know what’s going to happen in the future. Astrologers believe that the stars control that.

A really good thief shouldn’t have to kill people.

"... Can you pretend to be stupid?”

Eliar made a rueful kind of face. “Ma’am,” he said, “I’m a country boy from the highlands of Arum. We invented stupid.”

“Dear God!” Althalus exclaimed, brushing away more dust.

He’s busy right now, Althalus. Could I take a message?