into the Iron Axe.
“The power destroyed the Iron Axe,” Death said as thehandle broke away from the Axe’s head. The pieces bled light. “And the blow sundered the continent. Have you ever wondered why the spell would do such a thing?”
“No,” Danr replied.
“Think on it, then. Why would the trollwives fashion a spell that would destroy the continent on which they were standing?”
“I don’t know. I can’t know, and you’re trying to hold back information so you can look powerful and mysterious—sorry,” Danr said.
“You do have a way to know,” Death countered. “And I’m giving it to you, if you pay attention.”
“It has to do with me,” Talfi put in slowly. “Doesn’t it?”
Death ignored him. “As I was saying, the Stane paid for the destruction spell in blood, and so did the Kin who colluded with them. Unfortunately, so did all other Kin everywhere. The power of the shape, the power that had destroyed the Axe, didn’t return to the Kin after the trollwives used it. There was no way for it to do so, you see. Not with the catalyst dead and gone.”
“But it—I—didn’t die,” Talfi said in a hoarse voice. “I lived.”
“You did not live, child,” Death contradicted. She tapped the dust with her knitting needle, and it all vanished. “The Axe split into three pieces—it haft, its head, and its magic. The magic entered you and kept you alive in the way a
draugr
is alive. A few days after the continent sundered and the sea flooded the place the Nine Races now call the Iron Sea, you washed up onshore, took a new breath, and wandered away with the trollwives’ medallion around your throat.”
Talfi’s hand automatically went to the silver medallion around his neck, the one he had worn as long as Danr hadknown him. The edges were worn. It had an Axe on one side and the symbol of the Nine on the other.
“That was a busy time for me.” Death went back to knitting. “The point of all this, though, is that the Kin lost the power of the shape.”
“What does the power of the shape do?” Danr asked, relieved that the scene was over.
“Many things, depending,” Death said. “The orcs once used it to change into the wyrms they can now only ride, for example.”
Kalessa gasped. “We did?”
“Indeed. And you could bond more tightly with your wyrms—read their thoughts and command them from a distance. The merfolk changed into humans and walked on land, or they changed into other sea creatures, like seals and dolphins. But humans were the most versatile. They changed shape into any number of creatures—wolves and bears and eagles. Some could do it on their own, others needed a skin of the creature first. Some Kin learned to change the shapes of other people or animals. Witches turned their enemies into toads, and wizards created chimaeras and sphinxes by smashing three or four animals together. Some learned to grow to the size of giants, and others learned to shrink smaller than fairies. It was a heady time.” Death rocked faster, caught in the memories.
“All the Kin could do this?” Danr said, amazed.
“Goodness, no.” Death checked her knitting, discovered she had dropped several stitches, and unraveled a row with a click of her tongue. Danr thought he heard faint screams. “Talent for the shape runs in families, you see, though the occasional wild gift shows up. The more talent you have, the more you can do. Some talents let you only change your own shape, and some only let you change the shape of others. The truly gifted could do both. And it all takespower. Lots of power.” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “That’s where the fun began, dear.”
“Fun?” Ranadar said.
“When you change your shape, it becomes easier to share your inner power with someone else. Change yourself into a cat, and another Kin can draw off your power more easily for his own magic.”
“Familiars,” Danr whispered.
“Draw too much, and the familiar dies,” Death said.
“The power destroyed the Iron Axe,” Death said as thehandle broke away from the Axe’s head. The pieces bled light. “And the blow sundered the continent. Have you ever wondered why the spell would do such a thing?”
“No,” Danr replied.
“Think on it, then. Why would the trollwives fashion a spell that would destroy the continent on which they were standing?”
“I don’t know. I can’t know, and you’re trying to hold back information so you can look powerful and mysterious—sorry,” Danr said.
“You do have a way to know,” Death countered. “And I’m giving it to you, if you pay attention.”
“It has to do with me,” Talfi put in slowly. “Doesn’t it?”
Death ignored him. “As I was saying, the Stane paid for the destruction spell in blood, and so did the Kin who colluded with them. Unfortunately, so did all other Kin everywhere. The power of the shape, the power that had destroyed the Axe, didn’t return to the Kin after the trollwives used it. There was no way for it to do so, you see. Not with the catalyst dead and gone.”
“But it—I—didn’t die,” Talfi said in a hoarse voice. “I lived.”
“You did not live, child,” Death contradicted. She tapped the dust with her knitting needle, and it all vanished. “The Axe split into three pieces—it haft, its head, and its magic. The magic entered you and kept you alive in the way a
draugr
is alive. A few days after the continent sundered and the sea flooded the place the Nine Races now call the Iron Sea, you washed up onshore, took a new breath, and wandered away with the trollwives’ medallion around your throat.”
Talfi’s hand automatically went to the silver medallion around his neck, the one he had worn as long as Danr hadknown him. The edges were worn. It had an Axe on one side and the symbol of the Nine on the other.
“That was a busy time for me.” Death went back to knitting. “The point of all this, though, is that the Kin lost the power of the shape.”
“What does the power of the shape do?” Danr asked, relieved that the scene was over.
“Many things, depending,” Death said. “The orcs once used it to change into the wyrms they can now only ride, for example.”
Kalessa gasped. “We did?”
“Indeed. And you could bond more tightly with your wyrms—read their thoughts and command them from a distance. The merfolk changed into humans and walked on land, or they changed into other sea creatures, like seals and dolphins. But humans were the most versatile. They changed shape into any number of creatures—wolves and bears and eagles. Some could do it on their own, others needed a skin of the creature first. Some Kin learned to change the shapes of other people or animals. Witches turned their enemies into toads, and wizards created chimaeras and sphinxes by smashing three or four animals together. Some learned to grow to the size of giants, and others learned to shrink smaller than fairies. It was a heady time.” Death rocked faster, caught in the memories.
“All the Kin could do this?” Danr said, amazed.
“Goodness, no.” Death checked her knitting, discovered she had dropped several stitches, and unraveled a row with a click of her tongue. Danr thought he heard faint screams. “Talent for the shape runs in families, you see, though the occasional wild gift shows up. The more talent you have, the more you can do. Some talents let you only change your own shape, and some only let you change the shape of others. The truly gifted could do both. And it all takespower. Lots of power.” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “That’s where the fun began, dear.”
“Fun?” Ranadar said.
“When you change your shape, it becomes easier to share your inner power with someone else. Change yourself into a cat, and another Kin can draw off your power more easily for his own magic.”
“Familiars,” Danr whispered.
“Draw too much, and the familiar dies,” Death said.
Similar Books
