There was, in his mind, no truer measure of stupidity than to imagine that the world could be reduced to two sides, - Steven Erikson

An old man emerged from the ditch, a creature
Of mud and wild autumn winds capering
Like a hare across a bouldered field, across
And through the stillness of time unhinged
That sprawls patient and unexpected in the
Place where battle lies spent, unmoving and
Never again moving bodies strewn and
Death-twisted like lost languages tracking
Contorted glyphs on a barrow door, and he
read well the aftermath, the disarticulated script
Rent and dissolute the pillars of self toppled
Like termite towers all spilled out round his
Dancing feet, and he shouted in gleeful
Revelation the truth he'd found, in these
Red-fleshed pronouncements - “There is peace!”
He shrieked. “There is peace!” and it was
No difficult thing, where I sat in the saddle
Above salt-rimed horseflesh to lift my crossbow
Aim and loose the quarrel, skewering the madman
To his proclamation. “Now,” said I, in the
Silence that followed, “Now, there is peace.

"Brys, how big do you want to make your escort?"

"Two brigades and two battalions, sire."

"Is that reasonable?" Tehol asked, looking around.

"I have no idea," Janath replied. "Bugg?"

"I'm no general, my Queen."

"We need an expert opinion, then," said Tehol. "Brys?"

It’s true,’ he said, ‘I have never believed in single answers, never believed in this…this divisive clash of singularity. Power may have ten thousand faces, but the look in the eyes of every one of them is the same.’ He glanced over to see Scillara and Felisin staring at him. ‘There’s no difference,’ he said, ‘between speaking aloud or in one’s own head – either way, no-one listens.