Shadow of the Avatar

Chapter 13 -- Corona's Intoxication

Legends speak of great artifacts of power that have in them the spirits of once living things. There are even stories of weapons that can communicate with their owners. My question is...why? Who wants backtalk from their sword?

--Wren

The armory suddenly felt tiny to Wren. Corona, the dagger, hummed in her fist and a surge of warmth ran up her arm. The smells of oiled leather and steel, jeweling powder, and paraffin grew strong in her nostrils. Cassandra froze as though confronted by something that stood right in front of her. She stared straight ahead. Wren looked where Cassandra did. She saw nothing but a wall of adventuring paraphernalia; shields, swords, and other fine tools of war and exploration.

Somehow the mage knew Desiray had arrived, sensed her as if she were present in this chamber. Here already? A queasy feeling squirmed through Wren's insides. This whole tower and its labyrinths acted like an extension of Cassandra. Doors opened and closed with a look. She knew the instant Wren peered in the window of her tower. Wren had heard of the walls of wizard's tower having eyes and ears, but never really believed the stories.

Magic. Powerful magic, like what Cassandra used to make Corona. Wren glanced at the sheathed starwand she held. The weapon hummed, like the purring of a kitten.

"Desiray seems agitated. Not surprising I suppose." Cassandra turned away from the wall. She glanced at Corona. "He likes you."

Wren swallowed and stared at the dagger. What could she say? She found the idea of a weapon with feelings tough to accept. She'd heard stories of the warwands, kamajaer, and the kingstaves, but they were legends. She could accept magic like the blistering explosion the wizard Cinnibar hit her with, or Sovereign Dauntless' teleportation spell. Now, Cassandra introduced her to Corona. A living weapon designed to kill a god. Kill, it sounded impossible. A weapon able to scratch a deity would be impressive enough. That brought her back to why Cassandra gave her the dagger; Hethanon. Her stomach knotted. Desiray was already here. She hadn't even gotten used to the idea of facing the avatar.

"If Desiray is upset, we shouldn't keep her waiting," Wren said.

Cassandra nodded and turned to leave. Wren followed her out of the armory through the alchemy lab and its myriad odd smells back to the walkway that overlooked the titanic library.

As she followed, Wren realized she probably shouldn't see Desiray. During the journey to Ivaneth, her resentment of the guildmistress had grown. Corona's hum turned to a growl in her hand. She didn't care what the other guilders thought. To her, Desiray was nothing but egotistical bitch who'd let her talent, beauty and good fortune turn her head. Desiray's neglect had killed Grahm as certainly as that cultist's knife. She was responsible; she and those know-nothing toe-kissers. The thoughts made Wren's footsteps heavier. Loud enough to make Cassandra give her a sidelong glance.

Wren slowed as she looked out over the giant library. She smelled ancient leather, glue, and parchment. The place resonated with Cassandra's personality. The chamber gave a sense of cool austerity and aloofness.

She gazed at the millions of books and scrolls. It boggled her mind. How much of that knowledge had Cassandra learned? Was all this for show or as Cassandra suggested, each book like an arrow in the quiver of a huge arsenal? The more telling question had to be--why? Why stockpile such power? She made Corona with it. What else did she have planned? For what ultimate purpose? The thoughts gave Wren an uncomfortable itchy feeling.

The mage leaned against the rail next to her. "Nice isn't it?"

Wren nodded. She wanted to ask the whys of the library, but sensed the mage would take it wrong. She placed the bundle of boots, cloak, and armor on the rail and leaned to look down to library floor some thirty yards down. The hall of archives in Corwin might hold a tenth of what this place did.