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they were of recent vintage and might well be unreliable. He also did as he had been commanded by the Consilliarii and their agent, Finndali. In all the time we had been together, he had never once returned to his homeland for new instructions. Whether he could or would answer my question depended upon his assessment of me and, I supposed, my perceived threat to him and Elvendom.
    A curt nod prefaced his answer. "Divisator is a blade of fate. It has many prophecies concerning it. It earned its name because of a black event in our history, proving the veracity of one prediction made of it. It is because of that prophecy being true that we have an interest in how the sword is used in case the others also come true."
    I frowned. "Such as."
    His dark eyes narrowed. "The blade will win an empire, but bring tragedy to the Man who wields it."
    "Came true for Tashayul." I spun the blade in my hand.
    "It was not necessarily meant to apply to Tashayul." The Elf looked back at the Reithrese towers. "That prophecy could possibly pertain to you, Neal. The Reithrese soothsayers were working from that same prophecy, but their translation may have been different from ours."
    "I don't understand."
    Aarundel shrugged. "Words can be chameleons, and translators can be magicians. 'Empire,' for example, could be read as 'immortality' or as a confluence of both terms."
    "That's not so bad." I spun the blade again. "Immortality or an empire or both? Certainly the fare for a hero, I'm thinking."
    "Yes, and more likely your get than any Reithrese. They read the word 'man' as a synonym for 'individual.' We believe it means Man."
    That sobered me for a moment. "So the Consilliarii want the blade to prevent the winning of a human empire?"
    "The infamy of the Eldsaga has not escaped us." The Elf opened his hands slowly. "A war with humanity sparked by a desire for vengeance is not something we wish to see initiated."
    My head came up. "But Finndali was willing to give the Reithrese fifty years to destroy us."
    "Ah, but Finndali knew Tashayul was wrong about the sword. After all, he did assign you a bodyguard to keep you alive until you reached your twentieth summer, did he not?"
    Aarundel had a point, and it made me think of Finndali as being far more shrewd than I had thought before. "Is there any alternate interpretation to the word 'tragedy' in this prophecy, then?"
    Aarundel shook his head.
    I shook off the chill cutting at my spine. "Then I'll declare it a tragedy if I'm not able to bore Finndali to death with the tales of my scars in two score five years."
    "It would be the height of tragedy indeed, my friend."
    I threw him a wink. "And this 'immortality,' might it not be in tale and song rather than in a physical sense?"
    "It could be indeed."
    "Then, I'm thinking, in deed I'll win it." I rounded the corner of the alley in which we had hobbled our horses and killed the natari. "Do you think we can ride from Reith before they've stopped their squabbling?"
    "Even if we were to carry our horses from here and not vice versa, yes."
    "Dead men do not carry horses."
    "Nor dead Elves."
    I laughed and swung up onto my horse's back. "Now that we have that settled, let us be away from this place. It's time for us to come back from the dead and give bards plenty of fodder for insuring we never die again."

Chapter 1
An Encounter on the Way to Aurdon
Early Spring
A.R. 499
The Present
    The bandits swarmed over the broken caravan like hyenas tearing at a carcass. Their howls of glee and yipped calls of triumph echoed through the vale, filling a placid dusk with the promise of a haunting night. Bright blades flashed red—tinted more by the sun's dying red light than by the blood they spilled—and left bodies scattered haphazardly on the road. Reduced to black silhouettes as they passed in front of a burning wagon, the bandits used their horses to herd crying women and terrified children into the grassy field on the downhill side of the road to