The Search of Mavin Manyshaped

“How is that possible?”

“To a Wizard, anything is possible,” the Dervish said with more than a hint of scorn. “Or so they lead themselves to believe.”

His understanding is not great, but his sense of power and treachery is unfailing.

I have discovered something else, Throsset of Dowes. And that is that men give women jewels when they have absolutely no idea what might please them and are not willing to take time to think about it.

“Every promise is like that,” she whispered to herself as she stopped counting strides for a moment. “Every promise has arms and legs and tentacles reaching off into other things and other places, strange bumps and protrusions you don’t see when you make the promise. Then you find you’ve take up some great, lumpy thing you never knew existed until you see it for the first time in the light of morning.”

“He is a Seer,” Mavin said sullenly, aware of her lack of logic.

“Poof. Seers. Sometimes they know everything about something no one cares about. Often they know nothing about something important.”