Barden turned to his necromancer, the tall Dain looming over the man with the circle of finger-bones around his neck. "Never forget, Renrik. Never forget. They will always hate us."

16

16

EVRIN Evenstar cursed. Limping and hobbling, he'd managed to drag himself away from Salvation until he'd taken refuge in a forest far from the road, and then his fatigue, combined with the wounds he'd received at the Pinnacle, had the better of him, and he lost consciousness.

He sat up and cursed again. What time was it? Morning? More importantly, what day was it? How much time had passed since the destruction at the Pinnacle? How long had he spent in that dungeon?

He was lucky to have escaped, and lucky to be alive. A senior templar had visited the dungeon to make sure the Primate's orders were being followed — that the prisoner was being fed and watered, but also being kept under lock and key.

Evrin had looked up at the templar through the bars of his cell, his eyes suddenly squinting against the glowing pathfinder the templar held in his hand. When the templar turned the device to the cell, scanning the floor and walls, Evrin could finally see.

The templar had an enchanted sword, a straight length of rune-covered steel with a bronzed grip. The sword wasn't scabbarded; the templar had it drawn and was casually leaning on it, perhaps to impress the other guards.

Evrin had quickly scanned the symbols on the sword, looking for the activation sequence, finding the upper limit of what the enchanted blade was capable of.

"Shekular-suk. Ran-rumaya-tul-lan," Evrin spoke.

Evrin put his hands over his face, even as he continued to chant and his words took effect. The templar screamed as the sword expended most of its energy in a blinding flare. A wave of heat came from the blade, and with the sword's length close to his legs, the templar screamed and dropped the sword, jumping as far away from it as possible. It clattered to the ground, just in front of Evrin's cell.

Quick as a snake, Evrin's hand slipped through the bars and, ignoring the fierce heat, he gripped the hilt and pulled it through. The scratched thing was heavy, and Evrin sighed, he'd never been one for swords.

He activated three more sequences, careless to how much of the sword's energy he was draining. Evrin swung at the bars, and with three mighty blows and a shower of sparks he sliced through them like a scythe through wheat. On the other side of the hole the old man had created the templar stood gaping, and Evrin was relieved to see the man's eyes were clear of yellow.

Evrin felt the strength in his arms giving out, and took the sword in both hands. He swung the sword in a great sweeping arc in the direction of the templar's head, a clumsy blow that missed, but nevertheless shocked the templar into fleeing.