Stone of Tears

“Before you would think to kill me,” Sister Verna said in a measured tone, “you had better make sure you are not making a mistake.” Richard didn’t answer. He was incapable of speaking through the fury. “Look in her hand, Richard.”

He looked down at the lifeless body. Her hands were covered by her heavy woolen cloak. Using the sword, he flicked the cloak back off her arm to reveal a knife still gripped in her dead fist. The point had a dark stain on it.

“Did she scratch you with the knife?”

Richard’s chest still heaved with anger. “No. Why?”

“Her knife is coated with poison. All it would take is a scratch.”

“What makes you think it was meant for me! She was probably hoping to defend herself from the men who are chasing her!”

“There are no men chasing her. She is a sentry. You are always telling me to stop treating you like a child, Richard. Stop acting like one. I know about these people, how they do things. She meant to kill us.”

He could feel the muscles in his jaw flex as he gritted his teeth. “We could have tried to get away when she first spotted us.”

She nodded. “Yes, and we would have died. I am telling you, Richard, I know these people. The wilds are layered like an onion with different peoples, all of whom, will kill us if they find us. Had we let her reach her kind, they would have caught us and killed us.

“Don’t let the anger of your sword close your eyes. She has a poison knife in her hand, she had it to your back, and she fell into your arms to be able to get close enough to use it. You foolishly let her do so.” She turned a little and swept an arm behind. “Where are the ones chasing her?” She let the arm drop to her side. There is no one else. I could sense them with my Han if there were. She was alone. I have just saved your life.”

He drove the Sword of Truth back into its scabbard. “You have done me no great favor, Sister Verna.”

He didn’t know what to believe. He knew only that he was sick of magic, and weary of death. “What is that knife you keep up your sleeve? What’s the light in their eyes when you kill with it?”

“It’s called a dacra. I guess it could be compared to the poison blade she was carrying. With the dacra it’s not the wound itself that kills; the dacra extinguishes the spark of life.” Her eyes lowered. “It’s a painful thing to steal a life. Sometimes, it is the only way. This, tonight, was the only way to save our lives, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

“All I know, Sister Verna, is that you use it without hesitation, and that you didn’t even try anything else.” He started to turn away. “I’m going to bury her.”

“Richard.” She smoothed her skirt. “I hope you understand, and that you don’t misinterpret our actions, but when we reach the palace, we may have to take the Sword of Truth from you. For your own good.”

“Why? How could that be for my own good?”

She clasped her hands together again. The prophecy that you have invoked, the one that says “He is the bringer of death, and he shall so name himself,” is a very dangerous prophecy. It goes on to say that the holder of the sword is able to call the dead forth, call the past into the present.”

“What does that mean?”

“We don’t know.”

“Prophecies,” he muttered. “Prophecies are just stupid riddles, Sister. You invest too much concern in them. You admit that you don’t understand them, yet try to follow them. Only a fool follows blindly what he doesn’t understand. If it were true, I would call the dead forth and give this woman’s life back to her.”

“We know a lot more about them than you think. I believe it would be for the best if we took the sword, just for safekeeping, until we understand the prophecy better.”

“Sister Verna, if someone took the dacra from you, would you still be a Sister?”

“Of course. The dacra is simply a tool to help us in our job. It doesn’t make us who we are.”

He smiled a cold smile. “It’s the same with the sword. With or without it, I am still the Seeker. I would be no less a danger to you. Taking it away from me will not save you.”

Her fists tightened. “It is not the same.”

“You are not taking the sword,” he said flatly. “You could never understand how much I hate this sword, hate its magic, and how much I wish to be rid of it, but it was given to me when I was named Seeker. It was given to me to be mine for as long as I wish to hold it. I am the Seeker, and I, not you, or anyone else, will decide when I am to give it up.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Named Seeker? You did not find the sword? Or purchase it? It was given by a wizard? You were named Seeker? A real Seeker? By a wizard?”

“I was.”

“Who was this wizard?”

The one I told you of before: Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander.”

“You met him just this once, when he gave you the sword?”

“No. I have spent my whole life with him. He practically raised me. He is my grandfather.”

There was a long moment of dead silence. “And he named you Seeker, because he refused to teach you to control the gift? To be a wizard?”

“Refused! When he realized I had the gift, he practically begged to teach me to be a wizard.”