After the fight came the clean up. They moved among the dead to make sure they actually were dead and not faking it waiting for a moment to strike at the Keepers. Also they carefully searched each corpse looking for any stray maps, letters or any bit of information that might be useful. Teria and Ferwig also took the time to take any gold, jewelry or magic that they came across.
Everyone moved about their tasks with speed trying to finish as quickly as possible. In this evil fortress it paid to move quickly and not linger on this battlefield. They were aware that some of the guards had escaped and would undoubtedly call for help. And even if they didn’t the fight itself had made lots of noise and was sure to attract attention.
Teria took extra care searching the corpse of the mage while Danielle stood guard behind her. Even after the fight no one truly let their guard down and all remained wary of each body. Finbar didn’t worry about such things by simply slitting the throat of any body he was going to search.
Teria finished searching the body of the woman mage and looked up in time to see Misha carefully stuffing Celerius’ head into a large sack. “I thought you only collected ears.” She commented sarcastically.
“His head I don’t want but I know of people in the Pyralian Kingdoms who DO want it and will pay a lot of gold and Garrets for it,” was Misha’s explanation.
“I didn’t know you were a bounty hunter.”
“I’m not but I won’t refuse found money either,” the fox said as he closed the mouth of the bag. “And knowing that this monster is dead will help put a lot minds to rest.”
“How much is that head worth?” the mage asked casually.
Misha shrugged. “Not sure but probably between nine and ten thousand gold pieces.”
“TEN THOUSAND!” Teria shouted in amazement.
“Relax,” the vulpine scout countered sarcastically. “You’ll get your fair share.”
“You’re going to share that with everyone?” Teria said suspiciously.
Danielle nodded her head. “Everyone in the Long Scouts shares in the pains and rewards.”
For once Teria didn’t have an answer.
Rickkter picked up Celerius’ discarded blade and examined it closely. “I wonder which side he was on?”
Misha shrugged. “No telling. He murdered over twenty of his own relatives so a little thing like betraying Nasoj wouldn’t bother him.”
“He was most likely on his how side,” Matthias commented. “Fighting to get what he could for himself.”
Finbar nodded in agreement. “It would also explain why no one came to back Celerius up.”
“There has to be a way for us to make things even worse for Nasoj,” Finbar asked.
“I think we’re already doing that,” Rickkter answered. “What does he know? A group of his trusted Druzhina entered his citadel and then starting attacking his own guards. How do you think he will interpret that?”
“Another group of traitors he has to kill,” Finbar said cheerfully.
Edmund shook his head. “Paranoia knows no bounds,” he intoned.
“I don’t care whose side Celerius was on,” Misha said coldly. “What interests me right now is what was he guarding.” The fox turned and looked to the back of the room. There he could see a single door set into the stone.
“It must have been very important to have Celerius guard it,” Rickkter commented as he slowly moved towards the door.
The door in front of them was of wood stained to black by age. The hinges and lock were colored the same as the wood surrounding it making the door look like one seamless whole. The door may have looked old but a quick tug on the handle showed that it was strong and well maintained. It also told Misha it was locked.
Finbar reached into a pouch and produced a large hammer. The head of the hammer was of hardened steel, the type of material usually reserved for weapons or armor. The front end of the head was flattened but the rear was split into two sharp prongs. Edmund was surprised to see that. This wasn’t the massive, slap sided things wielded in combat. Instead it was a small metal tool used by carpenters and workman everywhere. Worthless in combat but very good against doors.
One sharp blow of the hammer shattered the lock on the door easily, the metal spraying in all directions. Finbar twisted the hammer around and with a sharp blow buried the prongs on the back of the hammers head deep into the wood of the door.
Misha motioned everyone away from the front of the door and then readied his own bow. With an arrow nocked he nodded to the ferret who pulled hard on the hammer. The door swung slowly open as Finbar jumped backward out of the way.
A large spear flew out the door and shattered against the far wall. Misha leaned into the door way and shot an arrow into the darkened room beyond. There was a garbled shriek and then a muffled thud. Caroline, Finbar and Matt rushed through the door and into the room. Edmund ran in, hard on the heels of the rat his sword and shield at the ready.
The fight was already over by the time the cheetah got into the room. Three figures lay motionless on the floor in pools of their own blood. He looked around at the room he was in. The Keepers were standing at one end of a long, narrow corridor. Scores of doors lined both walls running the full, forty foot length of the room. But the rooms looks weren’t what caught his attention the most. What grabbed his attention was the smell. A raw, stench assaulted the paladin filling his nose with a horrid mix of blood, decay, sweat and excrement. The smell threatened to overwhelm the cheetah and he stumbled backwards out of the room to relatively clean air of the hallway.
Edmund leaned against the wall for a moment and tried to clear his head of the noisome smells that seemed to have sunk into his clothing and even into his fur. He heard the sound of Finbar’s hammer being used followed by the crash of a metal lock being destroyed.
Suddenly he heard the ferret utter a long string of curses and oaths in a voice far louder then Finbar had ever used before.
“My God,” came Misha’s voice in a tone filled with horror.
Edmund straightened up and ran towards the door as fast as his legs could carry him.
The cheetah paladin found them all clustered around one of the countless doors. This one stood open, forgotten as the keepers peered into the room that had until now been closed. No one spoke or moved. They were just staring into through the open door.
Fearfully he looked at what his fellows were staring at. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and the shadows resolved them selves into various odd shapes and then into the forms of things he recognized. The first thing he did recognize was that of a person huddled in one corner.
Without thinking he stepped into the cell and knelt next to the figure. It was a woman whose body was covered with filth, dirt and uncounted bruises and wounds. Her hair matted and filthy and she reeked of excrement and dried blood. The woman looked at him with pained and fear filled eyes. He saw a world of pain, torture and fear in those eyes.
“Open all the cells,” Edmund ordered but no one moved at first. Too stunned to do anything.
He spun his head around and looked at the group huddled in the doorway. “NOW!” the paladin shouted. “FREE THEM ALL!!! MOVE!”
The stunned group exploded into action scattering in all directions. He heard the sounds of locks being shattered and wood being smashed but he paid little notice to those noises.
“No need to be afraid,” he said in a soothing tone. “You’re safe now.”
There was no reaction at first. Those eyes just stared at him but then she blinked and an emaciated hand reached out and softly caressed his muzzle.
“Safe?” the woman said in a voice as brittle as cracked glass.
“Safe,” he repeated.
“Safe.”
“What’s the final count?” Misha asked calmly.
“Fifty three,” Finbar answered. “Mostly Keepers but there were three Lutins. All in about the same condition; terrible.”
“Twenty of them need to be in a hospital if they’re to survive,” Edmund commented. “The rest all need a healers help for lesser injuries.”
“Edmund, Ferwig, Teria Finbar,” the fox ordered. “You stay here and care for them. I’ll take the rest and continue the search for the axe.”
“We cannot wait,” Edmund interjected. “They need help immediately. We need to get them to Metamor right now.”
“They’ve waited this long,” Misha said with a edge of desperation creeping into his voice. “They can wait a little while longer. We’re too close to her now to leave.”
Edmund stood up to his full height and walked over to Misha. “These people will not survive very long. You have to give up on the axe for now.”
“I CAN’T!” Misha shouted. “She’s so close,” he said in a voice full of anguish. “I can’t abandon her now. I’ve come too far to just abandon her to that monster Nasoj. I can imagine all the horrible things he is doing to her.”
“You don’t have to imagine what Nasoj does. Just look at these people all around. They are flesh and blood. They axe is metal and wood. She’ll survive like she has for two millennia. These people won’t,” Edmund replied in a soothing tone. “We have to get them to the Keep immediately. If we continue looking for the axe many of these people might die.”
“They’ve been imprisoned for weeks, they can wait a few more minutes,” Misha countered.
“No they can’t,” the paladin answered calmly. “And in your heart you know that already.” He poked his finger into the foxes chest. “You’ve been in combat often enough to know injuries.”
The fox lapsed into silence as a flood of conflicting emotions flooded through his mind. She was so close. He could feel it in his bones. He was closer then he had been in far too long. It felt like an eternity since he had felt his hands clasp her cool, strong shaft. Misha never failed to enjoy the rush of power that he got when he wielded the powerful weapon.
The feeling of raw power was addictive and was he addicted to it. He understood that all too well. He knew how the axe had shaped and dominated his life at times. Such was the price of power. But he was also well aware of how much good he had done with it over the years. Misha remembered that night on the road to Elarial. That long and bloody night. The raiders had kept attacking over and over again no matter how many Misha had killed. Even so they had all survived the night and not one person in the carriage had been lost or even injured. They had called him a hero for killing people.
“How many Lutins have I killed over the years?” he asked himself. How many times had that axe killed some lutin intent on raiding a Keep settlement. How many Keepers had escaped death or slavery at the hands of a lutin because of his axe work. He laughed quietly to himself. “I haven’t done it all by myself. I’ve had a lot of help from my friends too. Together we’ve helped a lot of people.” People like those huddled around him now. If he left them to go hunting for Whisper they would die and it would be his fault. His conscience wouldn’t let him do that. She would understand. She had survived two thousand years before coming to Misha. She was old enough to take care of herself. The axe would survive a little longer.
“All right,” he said in a faint whisper. “Gather everyone together and I’ll start the incantation to take us back to the keep.” Every fiber of his being rebelled against it but his heart told him it was the right thing to do. But knowing it was the right thing didn’t make it any easier.
It was snowing lightly when they finally reached the outer gates of Metamor. It was a small group. Only a dozen people and three wagons. The tiny caravan climbed the steep road that lead to the outer gate. They moved with the slow gait of people who are tired beyond caring. Even the mules moved slowly pulling the wagons which creaked and groaned like a tired, old women. Rickkter came first with Matthias by his side. Both walked side by side not caring how close they were to each other.
The rest followed in a long column strung out down the road evenly spaced on either side of the wagons. As tired as they were and as close to the Keep as they were the people still watched all around them for any signs of trouble. They would not let their guard down till they reached the safety of the Keep.
Thomas didn’t see Misha at first but finally located the fox walking next to the first wagon.
Misha looked up at the Duke standing by the gate and stared at him with uncaring eyes. It just didn’t matter to the fox how important who he was looking at was. Misha looked down into the wagons bed without comment or even acknowledging Thomas’s presence. The scout seemed more interested in the contents of the wagon then on showing proper respect to his overlord. Not having the respect mattered less then the fact Misha didn’t care that Thomas was waiting there for him.
Misha had always been a strange person. Wild and unpredictable at best but his skill at fighting and scouting was unparalleled. He and his scouts had won many battles and saved many lives over the years. The problem was that he went where he wanted and did what he wanted regardless of what other people thought. He had been tolerated and even encouraged because what he usually wanted to do was kill Lutins. Lots of Lutins. His Long Scouts were a group unto themselves. They even lived and trained in their own isolated part of the Keep that no one else was allowed into. But what really had him mad was that Misha had stormed north without so much as a single word to the Duke. Misha had risked a score of lives besides his own on a fool errands to retrieve that axe. Nothing was worth risking so many lives over.
Duke Thomas stormed past Rickkter and Matthias and up to the fox without a word. “You didn’t get the axe,” Thomas said in an angry tone as he tried to contain his anger. “You risked the lives of twenty people on a silly, treasure hunt.”
Misha didn’t say anything but his whole body stiffened and his hands tightened their grip on the wagon till the wood started to crack and splinter. When he finally spoke it was a voice filled with anger and pain. “That’s all you think this was horse, a silly treasure hunt? Maybe you want me to give back all the treasure I captured. Or do you want it all for yourself?”
“Watch your tongue Misha I am still the Duke and I will not brook any insults from you. This was a fools errand from the beginning, running off like that without thinking or really planning. You risked the lives of all those people because of your obsession with that weapon. All you achieved was getting people hurt over a few pieces of gold and silver.”
“You don’t trust me and you never did,” the fox said in a voice full of pain as he sagged against the wagon. “That was all too clear with Zagrosek. After all we’ve done for you and Metamor you still don’t trust me or my people. I was an idiot to ever think you would.”
“Why don’t you look at that treasure Thomas before you make yourself look even more foolish,” Rickkter said calmly and pointed to the wagon Misha was leaning on.
Controlling his anger the Duke walked past Misha and looked into the bed of the wagon. It was full of people, some human, some morphs and even a few Lutins. All were thin, ragged, starved, filthy and badly hurt.
“They are the treasure we brought back,” Edmund said, speaking for the first time. “They are alive because Misha led us north and then brought us back. He gave up looking for the axe to save their lives.”
“If you don’t like this treasure perhaps you want us to give it back to Nasoj?” Rickkter commented sarcastically.
The silence that followed was long and pregnant with emotions. No one spoke or moved. Thomas had lost the foxes trust. The man who had faithfully fought for him for so many years felt angry and betrayed by someone he trusted. What was worse was that Misha was right. When Zagrosek’s involvement in the Patriarchs death had become known Thomas had deliberately withheld that information from Misha. He had left the Scout and all of the Longs in the dark about it. Thomas hadn’t trusted Misha to do the right thing then. It hurt the fox’s pride and left a wide chasm between them that Thomas didn’t know how to bridge. Misha had deliberately not spoken to the Duke before leaving. He didn’t trust that the Duke would have agreed to let him go. It would be a long time before Misha ever truly trusted the duke again.
Finally the Duke broke the silence. “Misha, my dear friend. What I did then was wrong. I’m sorry for that. I trust you with my life but you cannot keep up this wild behavior,” he said in a soft tone. “You cannot just go off without warning or planning and taking twenty other people with you. One of these days your luck will run out and you’ll get yourself and everyone with you killed. You’re not some wild and vicious berserker. You are a nobleman and an officer of Metamor. Many peoples lives are in your hands Misha.”
Thomas expected the fox to explode into one of famous tantrums with plenty of screaming, yelling and throwing things. Instead Misha just nodded his head in agreement. “I understand that Lord Thomas,” he said in a formal tone that didn’t softened as he kept talking. “What I did was rash and dangerous. I acted without thinking. I didn’t realize that till we found these poor prisoners. Their fate could just as easily been mine. I apologize. This won’t happen again. I promise you all that.”
Lord Thomas. Not Thomas or my friend Thomas. Misha had always shown a distinct disregard for the rules of court. Eschewing the Dukes full noble titles for something more friendly and unofficial. Thomas had grown used to the fox’s friendly manner and now he missed it. It meant that Misha no longer considered him a friend and didn’t trust him anymore. Using strictly formal and correct language Misha had still managed to insult the Duke.
Still the cold tones were far better then the screaming he had expected. He had even half expected the scout to slap him but again the fox had shown himself better then the Dukes expectations.
“We’ve gotten word of your axe,” Thomas commented flatly. Unsure of what else to say.
Misha’s head snapped around and his eyes bored into the Dukes with a frightening ferocity.
“The axe is in Caralore,” Thomas explained. “A messenger arrived from there this morning. It seems they have rebelled against Nasoj and the axe was instrumental in helping them free the town.”
“I’ll leave as soon as these people are taken care of,” Misha said softly.
Sir Edmund knelt slowly in front of the altar. After praying in caves and out in the wilderness it felt good to do his ablutions in a proper place of worship even if it wasn’t in the cathedral at Metamor.
Edmund didn’t have to be here. When they had finally returned to Metamor after their long trek to Nasoj’s citadel Edmunds mind had been on his bed and the cathedral. Then they had discovered that Misha’s axe was in Caralore and he was headed north to retrieve it. He didn’t have to go. It was a short trip and the town was in friendly hands but the paladin just couldn’t stay behind. He’d been in this from the start and he wanted to see it through to the end. And something tugged at his heart and soul and pushed him north again with the fox.
He had wandered away from the crowd and the noise that had greeted them upon their arrival. For a while Edmund had meandered through the streets of the town till he had heard the bells and followed their sound to the church he was in now.
“Sir?” a voice asked as Edmund felt a small tug on his wrist. Turning he found himself looking at a short, gray haired man dressed in the robes of a Follower priest. His robes were a bit threadbare and dirty and had definitely seen better days. No member of the clerical order would let his clothes get that bad but his face radiated a warmth and openness that was impossible to miss. In the mans eyes was the glint of determination and steely courage.
The paladin stood up quickly and then bowed deeply to the priest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Father.”
“Thank you,” the priest responded. He returned Edmunds bow with one of his own by touching his right hand to his chest and bowing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Sir. I am Father Guerin.”
As he stood up Edmund noticed that the priest was missing three fingers from his right hand. “I am Sir Edmund Delacot.”
“I noticed that you wear the symbol of the order,” the priest explained and pointed to the cheetahs chest.
Edmund looked down and saw the blue tabard he was wearing. In the center of the tabard was sewn a large, gold, Follower cross. He had been wearing it so long he had forgotten it was there.
“I am a proud member of the order of the Dawn,” Edmund intoned.
The man smiled openly revealing several missing teeth. “Nasoj has been control here for so long that I’d never expected to see one of your order openly walking the streets of Caralore.”
Edmund placed his hand on the priests shoulder. “Times are changing and Nasoj’s days are numbered.”
“We’ve been fighting him for so long that I’d never dare dream of a day when his control was over.”
The paladin nodded. He realized how the priest had lost those fingers and why many of his teeth were missing. Not everyone who fought evil did so with a sword and shield. It was one thing to fight Nasoj with a sword but how much more bravery did it take to face such evil unarmed? What courage did it take to live up the Savior’s commandment to turn the other cheek?
“If I can help you father in any way please ask,” Edmund said.
“Thank you Sir Edmund. Do you know about the magic involved with the curse itself?”
“Aside from it’s effects upon me,” the paladin answered and motioned toward his own fur clad, cheetah shaped form. “I have only limited knowledge.”
Father Guerin’s face drooped in disappointment.
“I may not know much about the curse but the mages at Metamor do,” Edmund commented quickly. “They have spent the last eight years studying the curse and over a decade combating Nasoj’s magic.”
The priests face instantly brightened and he smiled. “We have someone who has been mostly terribly crippled by Nasoj and his magic. We have done what we could to help her but she is beyond our help. Nasoj’s magic is too strong for us. But not too strong for the mages of Metamor.”
Edmund nodded in reply. “Who is this person that you need help with?”
Guerin motioned off to the left toward a door that was set in one wall and then started walking toward it. The feline paladin fell in step with him.
“Recently Hermann arrived here after escaping from Nasojassa. From Nasoj’s citadel itself!” the priest exclaimed. “but he did not come alone. With him came another animal person. A woman who had been a prisoner like himself.”
He paused for a moment in front of the door with his right hand on the door knob. “She escaped from Nasoj along with the ermine Hermann,” Guerin explained. “But he knows nothing about her except that she was a victim of Nasoj’s magic like himself. But she was a lot worse effected then him. She doesn’t seem to have any memory and she’s more an animal then a person. She can barely walk upright.” With those words he opened the door revealing a brightly lit courtyard. Although snow remained in spots the flag stones on the ground had been swept clean.
Edmund shook his head sadly. “The evil some people are capable of never fails to amaze and sadden me.”
Guerin pointed into the center of the courtyard and the paladin followed the priests finger. There he found a figure curled up in a pile of blankets under a tree. There was no movement at first from the person and she was seemingly asleep. But the moment they stepped into the room the figure jumped up and looked in their direction. It gave Edmund a good look at her.
Standing upright she was slightly shorter the Edmund but with a stockier build. Her body was covered wit short, thick red fur. The color was a shade darker then Misha’s fur but it still reminded him of the fox scouts own fur. The body under the fur looked like a foxes down to the pointy ears and long, bushy tail. What really caught his attention was her legs which were long and spindly. It was like she was walking on fur covered stilts.
“Do you know her name?” Edmund asked.
“No. She responds to no name.”
“Can she speak?” the feline paladin asked.
The priest shook his head in response. “No and she’s incapable or reading or writing. But she has learned a few words since she arrived. We have no clues as to who she is or where she’s from. We suspect she was taken from Metamor Keep or subjected to the same magic.”
Edmund nodded in agreement. “She surely resembles the countless animal based Keepers I’ve seen.”
“We have done what we can to help her but we haven’t been able to free her from the magic,” Guerin said. He motioned with his hand to the female.
The paladin nodded again. “No one has been able to do that. Not even the mages at the Keep and they are the most powerful in the world.”
Hesitantly at first but steadily she stepped toward the priest and the paladin moving with the wary caution of a skittish animal.
“We thought as much but we cannot even free her mind back to what is was. She has nothing,” the priest explained. “No memories, no skills. She’s like a new born baby. We don’t even know her name.”
The animal woman stopped just out of arms reach from the two. She was wary of both of them but her eyes remained fixed on Edmund.
“She’s very interested in me,” Edmund said in a soft voice as he tried to stand perfectly still. Every move of his body, even the twitch of his tail brought a nervous reaction from her. It was like being around a wild animal.
“Not surprising. Aside from Hermann you’re the first Keeper she’s ever seen.”
After a long moment she stepped closer to Edmund and tentatively reached out with her right hand. Her fingers gently brushed the sensitive whiskers on his muzzle. Her touch felt like a soft breeze tickling him.
“She is beyond our help,” the priest said calmly.
He reached out with his own right hand and softly brushed the fur and whiskers on her muzzle. It seemed to relax her and he saw the tension leave her body. “I can take her back to the Keep. The mages there might be able to restore her mind even if they can’t restore her body.”
Edmund looked into her eyes and she saw the spark of a bright and vivacious mind. “Does she have a name?”
“Bridgette. We call her Bridgette after Saint Bridgette upon whose feast day she arrived here”
Teria stared at the back of the wagon and the weapon that lay there. A real Runic weapon. Millennia old and immensely powerful. It was the type of thing she had always dreamed of.
It would be so easy to just reach out, grab the handle and take the weapon for herself. A part of her mind understood just how deadly that would be. She knew that the very life would be drained from her in a instant. Her death would be painful and brutal. But that didn’t stop her from dreaming of touching it. Dreaming of all the power and glory she could gain.
If she could control or dominate the personality in it all that power would be hers to use. A thousand different plans and ideas suddenly raced through her mind on how she could do it but none would work.
She was so close to having such immense power. With power like that she could conquer an empire and rule a vast realm all her own. Any person wielding that axe would have incalculable power at her command. In combat she would be unstoppable, no one would be able to defeat her. She could march into the palace at Koelarch slaying any who got in her way. Then she could butcher that fool Murle and take the throne for herself. Queen Teria had a nice sound to it. No! Empress Teria sounded even better.
But then what would she do? Would Ferwig be so quick to be the husband of a ruler. The thought came to her; if she was queen why not make him king?
“NO!” she thought harshly to herself. “I conquered the throne so why should I share with him?” If he objected she would kill him too. One quick swing of the axe would lift that arrogant head from its shoulders. She had taken the throne and didn’t need to share with anyone. The image of Ferwig’s beheaded corpse laying at her feet suddenly came to her. That image shook Teria to the core. She loved Teria deeply and the idea she would even consider killing him scared her. Teria started shaking like a little girl. The mage realized how easily that thought had come to her. What was that old adage: Absolute power corrupts, absolutely.
She caught a flash of movement off to her right and the faint whiff of a fox came to her nose. Turning Teria found herself looking straight at Misha. The fox morph was standing there, his arms folded across his chest. He was looking at her with a fierce, almost feral gaze. He knew what it felt like to wield all that power. Teria had seen him use all that impressive magic and it didn’t seem to effect him. Then she looked at Misha’s hands and saw that he was missing several fingers. Looking at his face she saw the long, ugly scar that traveled along the full length of his muzzle. Those were the physical scar but what of the emotional ones? She was reminded that great power came at great cost.
What truly scared her was the feral look in his eyes. She could feel the anger and hate bubbling up in Misha. He knew she desired the axe and that made him angry and jealous. She wondered who actually controlled who? Misha or the axe.
That brought her back to reality. He had been using the axe and still been wounded badly, almost killed. It made her realize that she wouldn’t be invulnerable with the axe. It also reminded her that all her dreams of power were just that; dreams. She would never control that axe and it certainly wouldn’t let her even touch it. Never mind using all that power. Teria was reminded of how she had so casually killed Ferwig in her dreams of power and conquest. Suddenly she wasn’t so upset that the axe was forever beyond her reach. Teria dropped her hand to her side. She hadn’t even realized she had been reaching for the axe. How long had he been standing there looking at her? How long had she been standing there looking at that weapon.
Misha’s demeanor changed instantly, softening. “Are you done?” he asked in a voice taut with anger.
Teria nodded numbly and backed away from the cart and it’s contents. A thought came to Teria. If the axe would let her conquer a kingdom it should be the same for Misha. Wielding that powerful weapon he could have easily taken a throne for himself. It would have been child’s play for him to kill Thomas and become Duke himself. Why hadn’t he?
“You learn anything?” George asked from behind her.
Trying to cover her surprise she looked at the old canine for a moment and didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say.
“Has she spoken to you?” Misha asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
“I’m not sure,” Teria answered truthfully.
“She’s subtle and slow to show herself to people,” the fox answered enigmatically.
“What does that mean?” Teria asked.
“It means,” George explained. “That the best lessons are the ones gained when you don’t realize you’re learning.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Misha said. “You should feel privileged that she did teach you a lesson instead of just killing you outright.”
“Most people don’t survive touching the axe.”
“I touched it?” she whispered. Teria had no memory of actually touching that weapon. She held up both hands and stared at them. They didn’t look any different then before. Had she really touched it?
Misha walked up to the cart and reached for the axe. The crowd around the wagon drew backwards and a hush filled the air. He grasped the handle with both hands and held it up till the massive blade was level with his head. With surprising tenderness he kissed the flat side of the head.
He spun the axe in tight circles so fast that the weapons deadly blades were just a black blur. He whipped Whisper around his body with a speed and grace the belied the weapons five foot length. With a swing of his left arm he tossed the axe high into the air. The massive weapon spun end over end, the light glistening along it’s razor sharp edges. It seemed to hang there forever, defying gravity before it slowly floated back down to the fox. Still spinning, the weapons deadly blades sliced through the air with a frightening ease. Misha reached out and grabbed the spinning axe effortlessly and the weapons spinning stopped. He hefted the axe over his head. “TCHAU UAE!” Misha shouted with a voice that boomed like thunder. “SHADOWS EDGE HAS RETURNED!”