“I am always fascinated by the baubles and trinkets which are invented by the Paracelsus order. They know how to enchant weapons with special powers. They created the magic that gives light to the city. Their genius knows no boundaries. Even the Rikes use their magic to heal the sick or Plague-ridden. They say that each item must be carefully crafted. I do not understand the principles involved, but I have grown to appreciate the genius behind it.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The fire was small and sheltered within a hollowed-out stump to help conceal the light. Annon winced as Hettie pulled back Paedrin’s blood-stained shirt and exposed the gash. It was an awful wound, yet Paedrin sat like a stone, his face impassive. Several layers of skin and tissue that was white and purplish lay exposed. It made Annon ill to look at it.
Hettie shook her head slowly. “It’s too deep for just a compress. We’ll need to stitch it.”
Paedrin shrugged one shoulder.
“It will hurt,” Hettie said. “Do you want some ale for the pain?”
He looked at her coldly. “Do your worst, woman.”
Annon noticed Erasmus pacing around the camp, looking at each stump and tree, counting off the paces between them, looking at each patch of ground, often testing it with the toe of his boot.
“Annon, what do you make of this?” Paedrin said to him, tossing the dagger he had claimed in Havenrook.
He caught it easily enough, then realized it was surprisingly heavy. “This is odd,” Annon said. Immediately the stone in the hilt started to glow. That surprised him as well, and he brought it closer to the fire, where Hettie and Paedrin were.
“It did that in his hand,” the Bhikhu said. “Right before he cut me.”
Annon nodded, staring at the stone. He brought it closer to his face and thought he saw something inside, a little pulse of light. It was so tiny, yet it seemed to zigzag inside. It reminded him of Tyrus’s tower in Kenatos, all those orbs with the light that Tyrus seemed to sooth.
The light grew brighter and the zigzagging more intense.
Does it understand my thoughts? Annon wondered. Is it responding to my memories?
The stone dimmed and then flashed again, even more violently. It was as if something were struggling inside the stone trying to speak to him.
He glanced at Hettie and saw her looking at it also, her eyes curious. Then she removed her travel pack and started rummaging in it for supplies to stitch Paedrin’s wound.
“Not yet,” Annon said, halting her. “Hold a moment.”
He stared at the stone and saw that it was not a stone. It was a round orb of glass, no larger than a child’s toy. It was connected to the blade through an intricate mesh of metal weaving.
“There is something curious about this,” Annon said. It was a strange feeling, a familiar feeling.
“Why does it glow?” Paedrin asked.
“Because it is worth five thousand ducats,” Erasmus said, glancing over at them. “It has some power within it. Power that makes it more useful than just a blade alone. It is the craft of the Paracelsus to make such things.”
Annon turned the weapon over in his hand. The stone grew bright again, almost frantic. There was something about the weave of the metal in the hilt and how it formed an ornamental fashion around the stone.
“Five thousands ducats, you say?” Annon murmured. That was a lot of money in Kenatos or anywhere in the world. The light flashed almost pleadingly.
Erasmus stamped his boot on a spot of ground, probably after having inspected it a dozen times, and then slowly settled into the earth, wrapping the cloak about him protectively. “Five thousand. Maybe more, depending on the power.”
Annon held the handle in the flat of his hand and stared at it hard.
Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
He fed the flame with his anger, letting it bubble up within him. He focused it on the weave of metal, letting the flames dance over the swirls. He gripped it tightly in his hands until the metal became warmer and warmer, but it did not burn him. Still he fed the flames, letting it burn into the metal, softening it.
“Annon,” Hettie warned, looking at his face.
He was in control of the power, but he noticed he had a smile on his face. It was a pleasurable feeling. He gritted his teeth and focused it more, focusing it on the band around the place where the stone was embedded. The metal began to hiss with smoke.
The hilt sizzled and the stone plopped to the ground, free from the metal encasing it. As soon as it touched the ground, it cracked with a loud snapping sound, and there was a blast of white-hot light.
The stone sang with joy.
Annon closed his eyes, flinching from the sudden explosion, but he heard it now as clearly as a song. A spirit voice.