Death said, “there weren’t many humans alive to remember the power existed. Even the legends became scarce.”
“When did we have it?” Talfi demanded.
“I just said—in the days before the Sundering.” Death waved her needle, and the multicolored shards rushed about the cave in a rainbow river. “You were there, dear. You just don’t remember. Not yet.”
“I don’t know if I want to remember,” Talfi muttered, and Ranadar touched his shoulder.
“A thousand years ago, when the Stane went to war against the Fae, they created the Iron Axe, a weapon so powerful it could sunder the earth itself.” The shards formed into a great glowing axe that matched the one on the table, though this one crackled with power. “But the Fae allied with a group of Kin to steal the Axe away, and the Stane were left with one recourse—to destroy it before the Fae could use it against them.”
Death waved her needle, and the Axe shimmered into a shower of brightly colored dust that sculpted itself like sand into a small stone altar. A group of tiny people dressed in clothing so outdated Danr couldn’t even think of it as old-fashioned were gathered around it. The people were a mix of dwarfs, trolls, giants, humans, and orcs. Danr did recognize that some of the trolls were actually trollwives, the most powerful magicians among the Stane.
“The Stane had their own allies among the Kin—humans and orcs and even a few merfolk,” Death said. “The trollwives summoned magic to destroy the Axe. But magic requires a sacrifice, and rather than ask for one among themselves, the trollwives demanded one from the Kin, who gave them one.”
Two robed men dragged a teenage boy to the altar and a blond woman in plate armor clasped a small medallion around his neck. Even though the image was small and the boy wore strange clothing, Danr recognized Talfi. Talfi, the real Talfi, went pale as milk, and Danr wanted to stop the whole thing, even though it wasn’t real. Ranadar put an arm around Talfi and tried to turn his face away from the sight, but Talfi watched with steadfast determination.
“The trollwives fashioned a dagger,” Death continued.“They used it as a conduit, you see, and they thrust it into the sacrifice’s heart.”
Her words were duplicated by the silent glowing figures of dust. Danr, who had watched Talfi die a number of times, still felt the terrible pang when the dagger went in, and he almost reached out to stop the trollwife who wielded the dagger, even though none of this was real and it had happened a thousand years ago anyway. The real Talfi made a small sound. The dagger stood upright in image Talfi’s chest, beating with his heart, while dusty, glowing blood gushed from the wound. The medallion glowed white-hot. To Danr’s surprise, battle-hardened Kalessa set her mouth and turned away for a moment.
“But the Stane back then were even more selfish than the Kin knew,” Death said. “They didn’t tell the Kin that the sacrifice’s blood was a mere catalyst, a way to start the spell running. In order to destroy the Axe, the trollwives needed to draw on some power, a great deal of power. Rather than drain their own, they took it from the Kin.”
The gathered trollwives raised their hands. From all the assembled Kin and from sources Danr couldn’t see came streams of power. The power rushed through the dagger sticking out of Talfi’s chest, focused through the medallion around Talfi’s neck, and poured into a single trollwife. The Kin dropped to their knees, squirming and convulsing as the power left them. The trollwife exulted while Talfi writhed sickeningly on the altar. Now the real Talfi buried his face in Ranadar’s shoulder. Danr’s mouth went dry. These were his people torturing a young boy and hurting the Kin. Did Talfi blame Danr for any of it?
The trollwife gathered the power—all of it—and released it in a great geyser. The dust exploded into a shower of light again that reformed
“When did we have it?” Talfi demanded.
“I just said—in the days before the Sundering.” Death waved her needle, and the multicolored shards rushed about the cave in a rainbow river. “You were there, dear. You just don’t remember. Not yet.”
“I don’t know if I want to remember,” Talfi muttered, and Ranadar touched his shoulder.
“A thousand years ago, when the Stane went to war against the Fae, they created the Iron Axe, a weapon so powerful it could sunder the earth itself.” The shards formed into a great glowing axe that matched the one on the table, though this one crackled with power. “But the Fae allied with a group of Kin to steal the Axe away, and the Stane were left with one recourse—to destroy it before the Fae could use it against them.”
Death waved her needle, and the Axe shimmered into a shower of brightly colored dust that sculpted itself like sand into a small stone altar. A group of tiny people dressed in clothing so outdated Danr couldn’t even think of it as old-fashioned were gathered around it. The people were a mix of dwarfs, trolls, giants, humans, and orcs. Danr did recognize that some of the trolls were actually trollwives, the most powerful magicians among the Stane.
“The Stane had their own allies among the Kin—humans and orcs and even a few merfolk,” Death said. “The trollwives summoned magic to destroy the Axe. But magic requires a sacrifice, and rather than ask for one among themselves, the trollwives demanded one from the Kin, who gave them one.”
Two robed men dragged a teenage boy to the altar and a blond woman in plate armor clasped a small medallion around his neck. Even though the image was small and the boy wore strange clothing, Danr recognized Talfi. Talfi, the real Talfi, went pale as milk, and Danr wanted to stop the whole thing, even though it wasn’t real. Ranadar put an arm around Talfi and tried to turn his face away from the sight, but Talfi watched with steadfast determination.
“The trollwives fashioned a dagger,” Death continued.“They used it as a conduit, you see, and they thrust it into the sacrifice’s heart.”
Her words were duplicated by the silent glowing figures of dust. Danr, who had watched Talfi die a number of times, still felt the terrible pang when the dagger went in, and he almost reached out to stop the trollwife who wielded the dagger, even though none of this was real and it had happened a thousand years ago anyway. The real Talfi made a small sound. The dagger stood upright in image Talfi’s chest, beating with his heart, while dusty, glowing blood gushed from the wound. The medallion glowed white-hot. To Danr’s surprise, battle-hardened Kalessa set her mouth and turned away for a moment.
“But the Stane back then were even more selfish than the Kin knew,” Death said. “They didn’t tell the Kin that the sacrifice’s blood was a mere catalyst, a way to start the spell running. In order to destroy the Axe, the trollwives needed to draw on some power, a great deal of power. Rather than drain their own, they took it from the Kin.”
The gathered trollwives raised their hands. From all the assembled Kin and from sources Danr couldn’t see came streams of power. The power rushed through the dagger sticking out of Talfi’s chest, focused through the medallion around Talfi’s neck, and poured into a single trollwife. The Kin dropped to their knees, squirming and convulsing as the power left them. The trollwife exulted while Talfi writhed sickeningly on the altar. Now the real Talfi buried his face in Ranadar’s shoulder. Danr’s mouth went dry. These were his people torturing a young boy and hurting the Kin. Did Talfi blame Danr for any of it?
The trollwife gathered the power—all of it—and released it in a great geyser. The dust exploded into a shower of light again that reformed
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