This stranger with his beaten, bronze-colored armor and his probing, dark eyes deserved nothing less than a S’danzo curse; Illyra decided. His stare was worse than a Beysib’s and his high-and-mighty attitude worse than that. He’d be less arrogant when the S’danzo were through with him. She wrapped her thoughts in the ancient forms, then dug deep in her memory to find the ritual words that would merge her desire with the Sight.
He sprang at her, though she prepared her curse in silence, and wres- tled her from the stone with his hand locked firmly over her mouth.
“You fool,” he exclaimed, dropping her to the ground. “You blind, hopeless fool. How many times has Sanctuary been damned by petty curses uttered in ignorance by petty fools who don’t recognize sanctity when they see it?”
Illyra swept the dust from her skirt as she stood. He was too sincere in his protests, too secure to challenge directly. “Who are you to scold me?” she muttered, watching the ground- “Who made you the guardian of Sanctuary? You’re just another stranger come to work on the walls. It’s my home and I’ll send it to hell and back if I want to.”
“You’re more the fool than I thought, Illyra the Seeress.”
“All right, I don’t want to damn it to hell. I’d love to see a Sanctuary where flowers bloomed along the streets and honest people didn’t have to hide after sundown. I’d love to see a Sanctuary where men loved their wives, wives loved their children, and children had a chance to grow up with food in their bellies.