When the throne room was quiet, the blood was draining into the throne, and no new attacks were in the offing, the Ebon Blade turned its attention to the hexblade daggers. Two of the strange rogues had one each, and one had two, but before it questioned their souls, it examined their corpses.

There were three different types among the four weapons: a Vorpalblade, a Shiftingblade, and two Poisonblades. Only two of those granted it new powers. The third did something quite unexpected.

As it absorbed each power, the runes on its blade briefly shifted to different colors as the new magic coursed through it, and the runes that made up its power shifted forms slightly. These transformations had happened many other times to the blade since the start of its journey, but it had never been able to study them in such detail.

This time, it watched as the new threads of magic tied in with the existing ones, making the tapestry of its soul that much more varied and complex before the new weave stabilized. The Vorpalblade made its runes glow a soft silver blue, the shifting blade made them briefly translucent, Shiftingblade and Poisonblade made them burn a sickly chartreuse.

Poison Strike 1: For the cost of 1 Life Force the blade can add poison to attack, doing a small amount of damage long after the blow is struck.

This ability didn’t interest the blade at all. Not only was the use of poison highly dishonorable, but the amount of Siphon that it inflicted with its icy touch now was enough to kill most men; when the force of its swing and the power of its edge were added to the equation, most men were killed thrice over, and no meager amount of poison would change a thing.

Vorpal Strike 1: For the cost of 10 Life Force the blade can cut right through steel armor and most other hardened material as if they were no more than hard cheese for a single moment.

This was much more interesting to the blade. Though it already had the strength to cleave through plate mail and steel blades, there were other, harder materials, like ironbound city gates, enchanted armor, and even dragon scales, that would be strong enough to resist it. So, in those situations, this power would be a real advantage.

As useful as it was, though, it wasn’t as interesting as the final blade. It didn’t give the weapon a new power. It converted an existing secondary power to a primary one.

False Image 4 duplicates the power of Shifting Blade 3. Incorporating.

Shifting Blade 3: Both weapon and wielder are made invisible for up to ten seconds at a time, appearing as no more than a heat shimmer at the cost of 5 Life Force a minute or one can be focused and made almost invisible. Alternatively, minor changes can be affected on the wielder or the weapon, making them appear different. These are blurry and instinct, and major alterations will be noticed on closer inspection. Striking or being struck in combat will nullify this power for several seconds.

Still not useful in most cases, the blade decided after reviewing it. Now, it regretted that it did not get the secondary power that increased the healing of its wielder that it had glimpsed on the battlefield months ago.

Surely one of these very important corpses will have something I can use, the blade told itself, putting its guardians to the task of harvesting anything they even suspected of being magical, as it turned its attention back to souls it had stolen.

To the first rogue, it was demanded the identities of the mastermind behind the latest assault. While the men didn’t have names, it was clear by the dress and the price they’d been willing to pay to the guild that they were members of the Aetharchy. Rene had met with them only briefly, but in that meeting, his guild master had taken the mages’ very generous offer and doubled it before sending the three brothers who specialized in assassinations to their deaths.

“I’d send thieves, but we all know this will involve a lot of fighting and dying,” the guild master had explained sympathetically. “The best you can hope for is to seize the thing and toss it from the throne room’s window. The mages are only paying you to remove it from the throne, not save the whole bloomin’ city your damnselves.”

The man had promised them that every penny, minus his commission, would be given to their sister, which made it as clear to the blade as to everyone involved that there wouldn’t be any survivors. The fact that they’d gone anyway spoke well of the men but not enough to make the blade regret striking them down so casually.

Since it doubted that either of the other brothers knew any more about the Aetharchy or the mission, it asked them about the thieves guild and the city, learning much about the place. The Lord mayor had never been more than a figurehead, apparently. It was mostly the heads of the various guilds that determined policy, but those were almost all Paralons as well.

That intrigued the blade enough to try to seek out those cousins in high places. The pictures and words weren’t as clear as they were with the dead man’s children, but with every soul the blade examined in Severin, it found fear more than anything else. Whether it was a coin counter for the city watch or the master of permits sitting in his plush office off the main square, everyone stank of fear, and no one seemed to know what to do.

Where are the mages of this family? The blade wondered, looking around but finding none. While it was possible that there simply weren’t any, the Ebon Blade quickly realized that it was more likely the Aetharchy knew exactly how the chair it was trapped with worked and had either excluded the King’s brood on purpose or shielded those members from its gaze in some way.

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While frustrating, the blade had plenty of mage souls to interrogate, so it did not represent a real setback. With those souls out of the way and a larger grasp on things, it shredded the Lord Mayor’s soul next. The man might be a fop, but he was an important one, and the blade was sure he would have names.

Who put you up to this! It demanded. Who sent you to your death?

The man made no effort to resist him. Instead, he gave up all that he had on the subject. His older brother Margrave Paralon, general of the local garrison, the head Magister of the local Aetherarchy tower, Archmeister Quell, and his gray robbed associate Magister Wexin. Both were apparently quite formidable, though the blade was not at all eager to trust the instincts of such a slovenly opponent.

The names meant nothing to the weapon, but the surrounding information did. The Golden Tower was the local branch of the Aetharchy. Though named for its wealth and proximity to the throne, it was not actually made of gold. The blade could see it from the castle, though, standing twelve stories into the air, lording over the surrounding district of temples, banks, and luxurious manses.

That’s the first place I’ll go when I have a new wielder, the blade promised itself.

The ivory tower glittered in the morning light, tapering slowly as it reached the top. The weapon wondered if it might smite the thing from here with the throne’s miracle power, but it decided against it for now. Instead, it looked at the men forming up on a distant plaza and wondered if that would be the next assault it would have to fend off.

While the blade would happily slaughter another wave of mages and men, it would rather do so with its own blood. Killing the invaders with the golden guardians was like beating someone in chess, not in battle. Even if the weapon got to feast on their souls, it didn’t get to taste them. There was no visceral joy, which made the victories hollow ones.

Still, it had yet to find a good candidate, so all it could do was watch as the assembled forces grew larger and larger. Even when they swelled to thousands, the blade was certain it could take them. It was only when magical gateways opened up, and troops from other places joined up, doubling and doubling again the size of the army, that the Ebon Blade decided that it had to do something.

While the blade had ruled out using the miracle power earlier to topple the tower for reasons that were both selfish and pragmatic, when the line of soldiers started snaking their way from the parade grounds toward Altbarstein in tight, well-disciplined formations, it changed its mind.

Something must be done, or I’ll be buried under men soon, the Ebon Blade whispered. Normally, that would have been a welcome event, but not so today. Today, it would not taste their flesh, and it did not need their souls; it sat upon a font of near-limitless power. With that in mind, the blade took a moment to examine the miracle skill more closely, and it liked what it saw.

Miracle: For a million Life Force, you can beseech divine aid from the high gods. Depending on who accepts your request for aid, it will be handled quite differently. Possible options include:

Lusitiverie - Lady of beauty, song, and vengeance.

Hydonar - the Lord of Light, health, and safety.

Argandin - the Lord of War.

Vergozza - Guardian of the Underworld, Keeper of the Dead, and warden of the things that should not be.

Terri’nera - The Elven Lady, Goddess of woods, wild places, and magic.

Gordon-val - Lord of the Deeps, Champion of dwarves, Father of the Forging Arts.

Nuella - The First Demoness, Lady of Sorrow, Princess of Power, Master of the Five Flames and the Nine Rings.

The blade activated it with a simple command, eliminate that army. As it did so, the throne and the rest of the throne room burned with light as it came to life. The blade had never channeled this much power before. It had never even imagined that such power was possible, and though it was not in the direct circuit of the thing, the result was still very impressive.

Traceries of light passed from the throne through the floor mosaics and into the gilded elements of the walls. For a moment, the entire magical architecture of the keep glowed. Then, when the blade expected the light to either lance toward the target or beam skyward, it was abruptly sucked into the depths at the very roots of the castle.

When the light show was over, the weapon was not sure how it would happen or what the consequences would be, but it did not care. Part of it wondered if the gods could refuse such a destructive request.

Surely, they were in league against it, weren’t they? It wondered. It didn’t have to wait long for its answer.

Gordon-val, Lord of the Deeps, has heard your call and accepts your gift!

Almost as soon as that message appeared, the ground started to shake. Moments later, that shaking became an earthquake, but a very localized one. Though the blade could barely be felt from where it lay on the throne, buildings throughout the entire quarter of the city where the bulk of the army was located began to collapse, and plumes of dust filled the air.

The blade could only faintly hear the screams of panic that erupted from the citizens over the rumbling of the earth, but it could see the fear on their faces before the dust consumed them. The disaster lasted for more than a minute, but the dusty pall hung over the city for much longer than that.

When it finally cleared after nearly half an hour, the Ebon Blade could see that the better part of the east quarter had been leveled, and where the formations had been thickest, there were only dark rifts. The earth had risen up and devoured its foes, and for the first time, the blade decided it might like this throne after all, even if it increasingly hated him as its power waned.

That should teach them this is a bad idea, the blade decided. Still, after a few moments of reflection, it decided that it should hammer the point home just to be sure.

Hear me, children of the dead king, the blade declared. Half your capital now lies in ruins, and the armies you hope to send against me are dead. The throne of the nation has vast powers, and I will continue to use them until I find my wielder. Opponents will be faced one-on-one, but armies will be slaughtered, and if it levels Severin in the process, then so be it.

One could argue that what the blade had done was an attempt at mercy, but it didn’t see things that way. The warning was to its benefit. While it could fight hundreds, it was not all convinced that its nine toy soldiers could fight thousands of men at once, and until it had a wielder so that it could join them or escape, it was entirely defenseless, which was not a pleasant feeling.