Excerpt from CURSE OF THE MISTWRAITH:

     "Ath's own mercy, how am I to suffer this?"
     The Sorcerer sat his black stallion with the straight-backed formality of Daelion, Master of Fate.  "I will answer when you ask out of concern, Prince of Rathain."
     Arithon recoiled in a high flush of fury.  "No need to answer at all, Sorcerer.  Everywhere I turn, it seems I get saddled with sand kingdoms.  Well, pity has torn out my heart far and long before this.  I bear the ache already, like a bad scar."