A pox on the notion! Why, I buy it by the potion, And toss it into the ocean. Is love not born inside a lie, a pretty pastime till we die? Mark it mine? Fie! Then why do I pine, stare into my wine, refuse to dine? If I be not … thine? Popular Hakooi Ballad, Anon As I recall, that day set my feet upon a fresh course. No longer was I Arlak no-name. I was Arlak, Scourge of the Westland. That, if I could, I would have cast this title to the ground, spit upon it, and crush every last syllable into dust with my boot-heel, mattered nought. What I had wrought in the seasons of the Lymarian war felt abhorrent. That boy I had been before, that puppy in the pleasure-house, was dead. Now, in the season of my ruin and Ulim’s triumph, I understood at last what I was not. Jyla would have me become that monster of the Westland. Give her the pleasure? May I wither and rot at the thought!
