The Soul Weaver

CHAPTER 20

Karon

It was in the fourth month of the war in the Wastes that I received news of a half-dead lunatic found wandering at the fringes of the desert. He was not Dar’Nethi, the panting messenger reported as he drained a waterskin and flattened himself in the shadows of his horse to find a moment’s relief from the voracious sun. Nor was he Zhid.

Anyone found wandering alone in the Wastes was assuredly a lunatic, but if he was not Dar’Nethi, then he was not one of our own warriors who had survived a raid only to get himself lost in the desert. That meant he was from Zhev’Na, and therefore suspect, but possibly a valuable source of information.

Ven’Dar, the Preceptor who held the sector where the prisoner had been taken, sent word that the man was severely dehydrated, so it might be as much as two days until he should be moved. But Ven’Dar believed - strongly believed - I would wish to question the prisoner myself. I couldn’t imagine why, but I would accept Ven’Dar’s judgment. If I could be said to trust anyone in the world besides the Dulcé Bareil, it would be the Word Winder Ven’Dar.

I told the messenger to take his rest, and that he, Bareil, and I would leave for Ven’Dar’s encampment at dawn the next day, once I had set in motion the day’s battle plan.

The war was going nowhere, unless the matter of hastening our own destruction could be viewed as a positive accomplishment. On more than a few cold desert dawns, as I washed the metallic taste of too much sand and too little sleep from my mouth with a swallow of lukewarm ale, that particular accomplishment seemed eminently desirable.

But then, of course, would come the midnights when I would make my rounds of the day’s wounded, the destroyed youths restrained with leather straps and strong enchantments lest they chew their own hands away, the young women who stared silently into unending emptiness or tore at their skin, screaming to rid themselves of unseen terrors, the men writhing in pain from savaged bodies or raving from the relentless barrage of sun and desert. All of them would stretch their arms toward me, beseeching me for help when they should have been embracing husbands or mothers or children, or using their hands to build a life of beauty. On those nights I would swear again that no price was too high to rid the universe of the Lords of Zhev’Na. Perhaps it was because I had already paid the price that I could swear so easily and with such dreadful consequences.

The red half-disk that sat on the horizon had already broiled away the night chill when I called my commanders together the next morning. I told them I would open up the portal needed for the day’s attack on a Zhid war camp, but would then leave the portal in the care of the Preceptor Ustele while I went to consult with Ven’Dar. I designated N’Tien, my most able strategist, to monitor the progress of the day’s plan and shift our forces as he thought best. Old Ustele was powerful in the wielding of enchantment, but he had no talent for war, particularly for one who was so enamored of it.

Within the hour the battle was joined: the portal that allowed my warriors to bypass unending leagues of trackless desert was open, and I had saluted the valiant men and women who poured through it bearing swords, lances, bows, and sorcery to engage our soulless enemies. The encampment fell quiet once they were gone. The previous battle’s wounded had all been sent back to Avonar, and the dead buried or burned according to each one’s family custom.

As I expected, Men’Thor showed up at my tent, swathed in his usual mantle of righteous concern, just as I was ready to leave. “My lord, do I understand you are to be absent from the day’s battle?”

“If you’re here asking me about it, then I suppose you do.” I pulled on my gauntlets.

“May I inquire what draws you away? The Geographers have supported our assumption that the Dinaje Cliffs are an essential base for our next stage. The Zhid are entrenched with at least four levels of battle wards. Our own troops are in good spirits and resolute. Today’s foray is critical to our plans.” A properly concise analysis from the Effector.

Men’Thor was regarded highly for his talent in juggling arcane data and using it to form a plan of action. He could find a way to accomplish anything you set him to - especially if he agreed with it.

“Every day is critical to our plans, Men’Thor. When one has no alternatives, one has to make the best of whatever remains. And you may certainly inquire anything you like. I just won’t always answer.”

Something about Men’Thor always set my back up. He was such an honorable man. “So very worthy,” people said. “Destined for greatness.” I couldn’t see this great destiny, but I also could see nothing to justify sending him away as I might prefer.

“Of course I had no intent to pry, Your Grace. You are the finest battle leader the Dar’Nethi have ever had. When you remind our warriors of the horrors you have seen, of the noble purpose that demands our sacrifice, they respond to your command with twice the fervor they give to any other commander. But if your private business intrudes… ”

“This is not private business, Men’Thor.” I yanked one leather strap of a canvas pack too hard and it snapped. I threw the broken piece to the ground, cinched the other one, and hefted the worn satchel. “Ven’Dar has a prisoner he wants me to see. A Drudge escaped from Zhev’Na, I believe. If Ven’Dar says it is important, it usually is, and so I’ll go. NTien will set our positions. Your father can hold the portal, and the warriors will follow you. You can send for me if I’m needed. Is that enough?”

“I am only concerned - ”

“For the welfare of Avonar and our people. I appreciate your attention to duty. Good day.”

“Good journey, my lord. I am on my way to the front.” At least Men’Thor was no hypocrite, staying back with his maps and plans while sending others to fight the battles he espoused so fervently. He relished being in the vanguard of this mad venture.

“Take me to Ven’Dar,” I said to the messenger, who stood waiting with Bareil and our horses as Men’Thor hurried away. “The Preceptor had better be right about the importance of this prisoner, or I’ll send Men’Thor to oversee his operations.”

The journey would be long and hot, for we had to use conventional transport, rather than one of the Dar’Nethi portals that could link one place to directly to another across a few steps or many leagues. All true power was saved to create and maintain the portals to the battlegrounds, for the battle itself, and for whatever healing could be done after it. I, the Preceptors, and the commanders had to shift the load between us, husbanding our resources carefully to muster enough power even for those most fundamental uses.

Ven’Dar and his small detachment were situated about a half-day’s ride from the main encampment. His troop’s primary function was to send small, quick-moving teams to harass vulnerable pockets of the Zhid. He considered his secondary mission, liberating the work camps of the Drudges, to be of far more importance. Drudges were not Dar’Nethi, but descendants of people from the mundane world who had been held in generations of servitude in Ce Uroth, the wasteland empire of the Lords.

Ven’Dar also kept up a special watch for Dar’Nethi slaves, sending in rescue parties at the least rumor of them. But we had yet to find any slave who had been allowed to live when we got close. If forced to abandon a position in a hurry, the Zhid impaled their slaves on stakes or set them afire. Death was not pleasant for any Zhid who encountered my sword after I’d come across such a sight.

“The Preceptor is in the blue tent at the center, my lord,” said the messenger, as we approached the perimeter of Ven’Dar’s encampment. It was nearing midday, and my primary interest was not the mysterious prisoner, but getting out of the sun and finding a drink of water that was not scalding like the dregs in my waterskin. Hardening oneself to life in the desert required more than a few months. Four years had passed since my imprisonment in Zhev’Na, and I wasn’t used to it any more.

When I walked into the stuffy dimness of Ven’Dar’s tent, the Preceptor and two sweat-sheened lieutenants were leaning over a small wooden table, poring over maps. A young aide was sorting food packets and waterskins in a wooden chest.

“Ah, Your Grace, welcome,” said Ven’Dar, pulling off a pair of spectacles.

“Sire!” The warriors straightened up, each laying his two fists over his heart before spreading his arms and opening his palms in greeting.

Ven’Dar came around the table and bent his knee, extending his open palms to me. “Ce’na davonet, Giré D’Arnath!” He smiled as I touched his palms and gestured him up. “I’m glad you’ve come. And Bareil, welcome.” The Dulcé had followed me into the tent.

Some men and women bend their knees to their sovereign out of duty, others out of fear, or awe, or custom. Ven’Dar was the only person I knew who expressed joy in his obeisance: joy in my position, in my life, in my friendship, joy in his own position and his own life. And no matter what the circumstances of our meeting, I could never greet his smile save with a smile in return. Ven’Dar was a living example of the Way of the Dar’Nethi, accepting, rejoicing, savoring every moment of his life, and fitting it into the larger pattern of the universe.

“This had better be important,” I said, taking a damp cloth offered by one of his aides and wiping my face and neck. “We hit five thousand of Gensei Senat’s troops at the Dinaje Cliffs this morning. I should be there.”

Ven’Dar ushered his warriors and servants out, pointing Bareil to a water barrel and tin mugs sitting beside the curtain that screened his sleeping quarters. The Preceptor was only of medium height, slight of build, fair-haired, his unfashionable beard just starting to show signs of silver. Some might have called him unimposing, but only until they heard him speak or looked closely into his eyes. Ven’Dar could fill a room with his quiet exuberance, and the lines about his gray-blue eyes had been etched deep by sixty years of laughter. But it was the power of his words that could touch the essence of the universe, drawing a man’s tears or honing a woman’s fury, evoking a holocaust or an infant’s laughter. Even those who discounted the Way admitted that Ven’Dar was a formidable enchanter… and a formidable warrior when he chose to be.

“I think you’ll find this of far more moment than even so dramatic a turn in this pernicious war.” Ven’Dar hated the war, and though he carried out his duties faithfully, it was with far less relish than I. The war and its consequences were the only thing that could dim his smile - and so they did, at his next words. “This young wanderer we found - in his ravings, he speaks of your son.”

“He is with them then. Back in Zhev’Na where he belongs.”

My rage had cooled in the four months since the events at Windham, as lava will cool after it spews and boils its way from the volcano. I could speak of Gerick, even say his name or speculate on his plans and his whereabouts, without tasting blood. But as lava becomes a part of the mountain, my anger had become a part of me: hard, cold, smothering the life of everything it touched.

“Is your prisoner a Drudge?” I said. “Has he actually seen the Destroyer?”

“I don’t know. The poor fellow had been out there beyond Calle Rein near the Castyx Rocks for a day or two without food or water. My Healers have taken care of him and sent him deep to sleep it off. They should be able to wake him by tonight. He’ll be quite all right; I perhaps… exaggerated… his condition in my message. Slightly. But when he was first brought in, despite his weakness, he was extraordinarily agitated. He was begging to be taken… to your wife, my lord.”

“To my wife? I thought you said - ”

“He was near frantic. I think he was afraid he was going to die before he could speak to her. His exact words were, ‘I got to speak to the Lady Seri about the young master.’”

“Take me to him.”

“I had him brought to my quarters, but he’s not yet - ”

“Now!” Only one person I knew would say those words.

They had laid him on Ven’Dar’s own pallet. The sun had burned his skin to a deep red bronze. Thanks to the Healers, his face and arms were merely blotched and peeling. I dismissed Ven’Dar’s Dulcé Guide, Bastel, who was dripping water into Paulo’s mouth, and took over the duty myself.

“Go on about your business,” I said. “I’ll watch him.”

“Then I’m right,” said Ven’Dar, standing between the parted curtains as I sat cross-legged beside the pallet. “He is the boy of the stories, the boy who went with you to the Gate and survived Zhev’Na.”

“I owe him my life twice over and a great deal more besides.”

“He vanished with your son.”

“We found signs of a struggle outside the gates at Windham… and Paulo’s blood. We thought the Destroyer had killed him.”

Ven’Dar was a wise man. He made no attempt to give comfort when it wasn’t possible, nor did he intrude with words when I desired none. He didn’t question me during that long, hot afternoon as I sat with Paulo, for the Preceptor already shared my most painful and intimate truths. I was not likely to hide anything of importance from him for long. And when the Healer came at sunset to check on Paulo and bring him out of the deep sleep to which she had sent him, Ven’Dar knew I would not leave, even though it had become almost unbearable for me to watch a Healer work. So he stood behind me, laid his hands on my shoulders, and cast a whispered winding of words about my pain.

One can never recall the words of power spoken by a Word Winder making his cast. Sometimes you’ll hear a phrase in casual conversation, or catch an inflection in someone else’s speech that will infuse you with a breath-catching emotion far beyond what is warranted by the current circumstance, and people say it is because the sound has recalled to you a Word Winder’s enchantment. All I knew was that for a blessed moment I was eased. Then the Healer was done, and I was offering Paulo a cup of water.

“My lord!” The dismay that glanced across his face when he saw me caused a stone to settle in my gut.

“My friend,” I said, forcing a smile and a calm I did not feel. “Of all the stragglers we’ve picked up in the Wastes, I never expected to find my most faithful companion. Are you feeling better?”

I would have sworn he turned pale under the sunburn. “I thought I was done for,” he said. “It’s come a habit I got to break.”

“I’m glad we found you.”

“There was a sandstorm. Guess I took a wrong turn somewhere.”

He sat up, took the cup, and drained it, never removing his intent gaze from my face. I wondered what he was looking for, but he spoke before I could ask. “She’s dead, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Lady. I kept hopin‘ you’d been able to - But I guess not.”

“Seri is alive.”

He almost leaped out of the bed. “Cripes! You had me there for a bit. I thought… you just looked… damn! Where is… I mean… she’s not here, I guess. Not in the Wastes. The ones who found me said you had battles going on.”

“She’s safe in Avonar.”

He breathed deeply and slowly. “It’s fine to hear that.”

“She was very ill.”

His eyes flicked away from my face. “I’d give a deal to see her.”

“I’ll take you to her, if you want. It might do her good to see you. Once a day we send our wounded back to Avonar through a portal. But we can’t keep it open for too long at a time lest the Zhid find our camps. I’ve matters to attend tonight, but we’ll go tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.”

The wind billowed the tent walls, rattling the lamps and tools hung from hooks on the cross poles.

Paulo settled back onto the thin pillow the Healer had slipped under his head. “I think I’ll sleep then, if it’s all right. I got to tell you about what happened and all, but I’m swiped right now. I was afraid to sleep out there in the desert, thinking as how I’d never get up again. Got a lot to make up.”

“I’m sure that’s true. The Preceptor Ven’Dar and his aides will be close if you need anything, but I’ll tell them to let you sleep.”

“I’ll be all right. I don’t want to keep nobody from their business.”

“You can tell me all about your adventures tomorrow before we go to Seri. I have to understand how you got here, where you’ve been… You know that.”

“I understand. My lord, am I your prisoner?”

“No. You’re not a prisoner. Sleep well, lad.”

I took my leave and stepped through the curtain. Ven’Dar was waiting, and I motioned him to walk out into the night with me. “Leave him unguarded,” I said.

“But, my lord, if he’s been with your son… ”

“I’ll be watching.”

The night wind blew cold in the Wastes and quickly erased the memory of the furnace that was daylight. For a while I shared my warriors’ campfires, allowing them to relive the day’s battle for me until they’d rid themselves of enough of it that they could sleep, but always I stood where I could keep an eye on Ven’Dar’s dark tent. As the hour grew late and the campfires smoldered, flaring into false life with a gust of wind, then dying again in swirls of sparks, the warriors rolled into their blankets to dream away the horror.

Ordinarily, once I had seen to those who had to face the Zhid another day, I would go to the wounded, but on this night I sat in the dark on a hillock of warm sand and gravel, alone until Bareil brought me warm cheese, bread, and ale. “Do you wish for company, my lord, or should I leave you?”

“You are always welcome, Dulcé. A tree does not consider its trunk ‘company.’ ”

Bareil, the wise companion who had been instrumental in restoring my memory and saving my sanity after Dassine’s death, sat cross-legged on the sand beside me. “How fares young Paulo?”

“The Healers tell me he’s only blistered and dry. He tells me nothing at all.”

“Surely you do not doubt him? He would give his life for you.”

“Watch Ven’Dar’s tent, and we’ll see.”

I considered invoking the link between my madrissé and me, to discover if somewhere in his vast knowledge he could formulate any good reason why Paulo would be wandering around in the desert beyond the Castyx Rocks, bearing a message for Serf - any reason that would not speak treason. But, on second thought, I needed no more unproven theories.

Less than a quarter hour passed until the dark form rolled out from under the rear of the blue tent, crept to a clump of dead trees, then slipped through the darkness toward the lights and activity of the pavilion where the wounded lay. Bareil and I followed quietly, staying well back. The boy’s timing was perfect. He lay still on the sand, waiting for half an hour or more as the Healers went about their business. But Ven’Dar had no sooner finished the words that left a wavering oval distortion in the air before the pavilion, than the slender figure darted out of the shadows and straight through the portal. A few shouts rang out from those watching, but I assured everyone that there was no cause for alarm, and they soon went back to their grim business of transporting their fellows through the portal, patching the lesser wounds of those who were to stay, and caring for the dead.

I told Bareil to take my horse back to my headquarters, then I spent a few moments with each of the wounded before reopening the portal to Avonar and stepping through it myself.

The portal opened into a large building that had been converted into a hospice for those the Healers could not return to health or those who needed a longer time to recover. I didn’t go there often enough; it was too difficult when there was nothing I could do for those who lay in the endless rows of simple white pallets. But on that night, I spent a while with my brave warriors. I knew where I would find Paulo eventually, but it would take him some time to learn where she was and get himself there.

In the quiet hour before dawn I commandeered a horse and rode out of the north gates of Avonar, up the winding road that led to the Lydian Vale and a quiet, graceful white house called Nentao, “the Haven.” I had refused numerous offers of protection from those uneasy at seeing their sovereign ride out unaccompanied in the night. I hoped what I told them was true, that I had no need of guards. I didn’t want to believe that Paulo had turned traitor, too.

When I left my horse in the front courtyard and walked through the rose arbor into the garden, the sky was already a vibrant pink. A hand touched my sleeve from out of a leafy bower. I would have been sorely disappointed if nothing of the sort had occurred, and I stepped into the sheltering shrubbery without hesitation.

“A surprise to see you here, my lord.”

“Good morning, Radele.”

“She has a visitor this morning. The stable boy… but then you must know that. It’s why you’re here.”

“Has he said anything?”

“He’s only just found her.”

“I presume there has been… ”

“… no change, my lord.”

“Yes. Thank you, Radele.”

I left him and walked up to the little terrace centered by a dribbling fountain. Seri was sitting in a chair by the fountain as she did every morning, her lovely face bathed in the dawn light. A dusty, blistered Paulo knelt at her feet, panting as if he’d run all the way from Avonar.

“My lady, can you hear me? Please, my lady, what’s wrong? I’ve brought you a message.”

“She won’t answer you,” I said, stepping out of the shade.

He looked up, startled. Seri didn’t turn her head.

“She’s said no word since her injury. I think she hears us, but she makes no acknowledgment. She walks when we guide her. She eats whatever is put before her. She’ll hold a book and look at it, but she does not turn the page. She neither laughs nor smiles nor weeps, but I don’t know if she cannot speak or if she will not. No one has been able to tell me that.”

“Oh, my lord. I’m so… I never thought… ”

I brushed my hand over her beautiful hair, silky dark brown with the touch of fire in it. A few strands of gray. Her quiet expression with the little frown between her eyes did not change as she peered into the rising sun.

“And even you… ”

“I have nothing to give her.”

Paulo looked back at my wife, and to my surprise, took her limp hand and kissed it. “Ah, my lady, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Tears rolled down his sunburned cheeks.

“Come,” I said. “Let’s walk a bit.”

He did not move or take his eyes from her.

“I insist.” I took his arm and pulled him up, noting that he’d grown again. He was almost as tall as I. “I wanted you to see my son’s handiwork for yourself, lest somehow he has managed to retain some remnant of your misdirected loyalty. He’s killed her, Paulo, as surely as if she had breathed her last.”

He was quiet for a long time, but I didn’t push him. There were other Dar’Nethi who would, but I believed nothing could be as devastatingly persuasive as the sight of Seri in her walking death. I knew what it had done to me.

“Now, tell me where you’ve been, and what is this message you’ve brought my wife.”

He didn’t look at me, just walked alongside me, his hands clasped behind his back. His sand-colored brows were drawn together in a thoughtful frown.

“Everything’s wicked confused; I suppose my head’s still muddled from the desert. I remember I followed the young master from the gardens at Windham. I was ready to kill him for what he done to the Lady. I caught him and took him down, but I don’t know for sure what happened then. We traveled someplace… a new place. It’s like a dream that lasted forever, but right now it won’t come into my mind any more than a dream what slipped away when you woke up. Next thing I remember, I woke up in the desert thinking I had to find the Lady.”

“Where did he take you? Was it Zhev’Na?”

“It wasn’t there. I’d have known Zhev’Na. We were in Valleor for a time, someplace in the north I’d never been before, but I’m no good at maps to tell you where. And then we were in this other place. Not an evil place, I don’t think.”

“And what message would he have you give Seri?”

“I can’t say the message.”

I left it for the moment. “Where is he now? Where did you leave him? Was he already joined with the Three?”

“He’s not one of the Lords no more. Even with my head so thick, I’ll swear as it’s true, my lord. And he’s not in Zhev’Na. But I can’t tell you where he is. He’s hiding, my lord, hiding where nobody can find him. He’s afraid of you.”

“As well he should be.”

“He knows you won’t believe him. He understands that and holds no blame to you for it. I think that’s why he sent me to the Lady.”

“You’re a good friend, Paulo. Seri and I, and everyone in both worlds, are forever in your debt. But it will all be undone, all the suffering and death, all the sacrifice of thousands of people will be wasted if Gerick rejoins the Lords. You understood the consequences before, and they’ve not changed except for the worse.”

We had come to the edge of the garden terrace, a white railing beyond which the land dropped away into the soft green swathes of the Lydian Vale, the Vale of Eidolon closest to Avonar. Its sun-drenched woodlands nestled between the spires of the Mountains of Light, and in autumn its leaves splashed fire-yellow and scarlet against Avonar’s deep blue skies. In my four years in Avonar, I had often walked this vale and dreamed of bringing Seri here. I had imagined her face reflecting its beauty, enriching it beyond measure with her delight. But now her eyes reflected nothing, and I saw no beauty anywhere. I gripped the white iron railing until my knuckles looked a part of it.

“Do you understand what Gerick’s betrayal has cost us? You knew the three who were once Zhid, the ones I healed at the Gate. They were ready to destroy the heart of power in Zhev’Na, while the finest sorcerers in Avonar encircled the fortress and created a barrier of enchantment the Lords could not breach. My counselor Jayereth had found the means necessary to free the Dar’Nethi slaves. We could have won without bloodshed, Paulo. We could have worked a healing on this blighted land. But all was undone by my son, and we are left with nothing but weapons and blood. But even they are not enough. Gerick’s betrayal has strengthened the Lords, revealed our vulnerabilities, and if he joins with them again, we will be lost. Both worlds. Forever. I cannot allow it. You must tell me where he is.”

Paulo, the youth I thought I knew, looked me in the eye as he had never done, one man to another. Neither fear nor awe nor willful deceit showed itself in him. “My lord Prince, I owe you and the Lady all as is possible to owe. I would lay down my life for you, or ride to the ends of the earth to fetch for you, or give you my legs back if you was to need them, or my arms or my head. If it means you must hang me or put me in irons or send me back to the life I was born to, then so be it, but I cannot tell you what you ask. I’ve sworn my oath… and I feel it as deep as a man can know what’s right. He is not with the Lords. He’s hiding where no one can find him. I can tell you no more than that.”

“You know that any Dar’Nethi could read you and find out everything you know.” Not exactly true. Few had the ability any longer, but Paulo couldn’t know that.

He did not waver. “The Prince I honor wouldn’t allow that. Not if I said to him that I gave him no leave to do it.”

“Maybe the Prince you honor doesn’t exist any more.”

“Then this war is lost anyway, no matter what I tell or don’t tell.”

And that, of course, had been the whisper in my own mind for four villainous months, but I would not hear it from an illiterate boy. I released the fury pent up in my hands and sent him sprawling across the terrace. “Radele!”

The young Dar’Nethi came running.

“Put this traitor under restraints. He is not to leave this house until I decide what to do with him. I want him to serve my wife, to see her every day as a reminder of what his friend has done to her.”

“Of course, I’ll do as you say, my lord, but that seems too good for a betrayer.” Radele… always ready to prove his zeal.

“You will not harm Paulo, not in any way. No one is to speak to him or make any attempt to question him. I alone will hear what he has to say when I decide he will say it. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, my lord. As you wish.”

“Consider this simple puzzle, young fool,” I said, turning my back on the bleeding youth lest I lose control of my fist again. “What kind of person corrupts his loyal friend’s mind and memory? Or sends him into the middle of a war half enchanted, while he himself cowers in the shadows? Perhaps it is the same one who rips a young mother apart at the beginning of her life or forces a strong and decent man to slit his own belly. If your tongue is forbidden to speak the truth of where you’ve been, then perhaps your mind is forbidden to remember the truth of what he is.”

I did not watch Radele work his enchantments and lead Paulo away. I stood behind Seri and stroked her hair. She sat on the edge of her chair, gazing into the sunrise as if she expected to see someone she knew walk out of it.

But I could not stay long in her company without going mad. So, after only a few moments, I left the garden, threw myself on my horse, and returned to the Wastes. By early afternoon I had slain fifty of Gensei Senat’s Zhid warriors. My beleaguered troops rallied around me, cheering and waving their swords, shouting that the Heir of D’Arnath had come to bring death to Zhev’Na. And I, the bringer of death, drowned my fury in the blood of my enemies.