Soldiers live. And wonder why. - Glen Cook

I went back to staring tomorrow in the face. Better than looking backward. But tomorrow refused to shed its mask.

It is a chance to flit off and double-check my memory, which I have found to be astonishingly unreliable.
Apparently none of us really remember anything exactly the way it happened. And often the divergence is proportional to the amount of ego and wishful thinking we have invested.

Krage eyed us from a face of stone. “I help you with something, Inquisitor?”
“Probably not. You’d lie to me if the truth would save your soul, you bloodsucker.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. What do you want, you parasite?”
Tough boy, this Krage. Struck from the same mold as Bullock, but he had drifted into a socially less honored profession. Not much to choose between them I thought. Priest and moneylender.