The clouds of battle assemble at the horizon, and the motley collection of thieves and swordsmen and small-time sorcerers who make up the city of Sanctuary needs to come to a decision as soon as and for all which aspect they're on.
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Additional resources for Storm Season (Thieves' World, Book 4)
Then a book was still a Book, Where a wistful man might look, Finding something through the whole Beating—like a human soul. In that growth of day by day, When to labour was to pray, Surely something vital passed To the patient page at last; Something that one still perceives Vaguely present in the leaves! Something from the worker lent; Something mute—but eloquent ! Austin Dobson. A BOOKISH BALLAD. ) I have a goodly library, but oft they disappear, Those cherished volumes which I hold so very,—very dear.
Now-a-days we are apt to forget either salutation; yet the thrill of pleasure an old favourite or a much-longed-for new book inspires, at times bursts into song. Your lover has a habit of dropping into rhyme in a way which oftentimes, to be quite honest, does more credit to his devotion than to his culture; even with a facile writer bathos waits nearer than pathos. The few eternal verities come with fatal ease; and, vivid as they may be to the rhymer, fall somewhat tamely on a listener's ear. Therefore it would be rash to declare that all poems about books are worthy of their subject.
Imperishable they had stood! They did not seem like books to him. But Heroes, Martyrs, Saints—themselves The things they told of, not mere books Ranged grimly on the oaken shelves. To those dim alcoves, far withdrawn. He turned with measured steps and slow, Trimming his lantern as he went; And there, among the shadows, bent Above one ponderous folio, With whose miraculous text were blent Seraphic faces: Angels, crowned With rings of melting amethyst; Mute, patient Martyrs, cruelly bound To blazing fagots; here and there, Some bold, serene Evangelist, Or Mary in her sunny hair; And here and there from out the words A brilliant tropic bird took flight; And through the margins many a vine Went wandering—roses, red and white.