Power over Unbelief


This too shall pass.

The reeve waved away his connection to the Flame and gave her a smile that did not quite reach his sad eyes.

"You are most welcome, child. I'm sorry I cannot do more, but such is our lot as mere men."

He glanced at Reliath, who was leaning back now as if in quiet rest. The lamp flickered for a moment, and when it had steadied he turned back to the young woman.

"If you don't mind, could you tell me how you came by your sword? I have not seen its like save once, a very rare example that had been broken long ago."

Merall remembered it well. It had taken pride of place in Archbishop Emeritus Deravell's huge collection, raised on a stand of silvered iron. A shattered thing, in a dozen pieces from the strike that had riven it asunder, but not quite dead even so. The force that had once lived within was long gone, but it had left an impression of its power behind.

A power that, one way or another, was echoed in the weapon before him tonight.

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