Conjunction

By Snekguy

The days grow longer and hotter, the stars drift out of alignment, and the kingdom is threatened by famine as the crops begin to fail. The only hope is found in an ancient scroll that tells of a magical artifact rumored to be capable of commanding the heavens themselves. A novice sorcerer named Caden is tasked with traveling to a ruined city in the far East to seek it out, being one of few who can be entrusted with such incredible power. Unbeknownst to him, its secrets are protected by a fierce tribe of reptilian warriors who view guarding it as their sacred duty and who will kill to protect its sanctity. Caden must contend not only with the dangerous natives, but with the perils of the Coral Sea, and the mysteries of the ruins themselves if he is to restore balance to the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Snekguy
• Release date: Mar 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215747377

Snekguy

My name is Snekguy and I like to write, primarily science fiction and urban fantasy with erotic elements.By supporting me, you can help me raise money for more art and book covers, and you can help me work towards my goal of writing for a living.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: ENDLESS SUMMER

The sun beat down on Caden as he made his way through the narrow, winding alleys, its harsh light baking the paved streets enough that he could feel it through the soles of his boots. He wrapped his cloak more tightly about his shoulders, its drooping hood casting a dark shadow over his face. There were few who would brave the streets these days. He only encountered a handful of people who were going about their business, all of them sticking to the shadows of the buildings as they skirted the glare. The white and beige facades of the timber-framed structures seemed to glow such that he found himself averting his eyes, their narrow windows protected by wooden shutters in the vain hope of keeping out the pervasive heat, their towering brick chimneys long idle. He could see the heat haze coming off their sloping, tiled roofs, making the air above them shimmer like a mirage. They had been fashioned to ward off rain and snow, not to endure these temperatures.

Where once the city had been overflowing with greenery, now the patches of grass were yellow and sickly, the once-proud trees wilting. Caden remembered a time when each and every home had sported window boxes that overflowed with lush flowers, their bright colors and their wonderful scents raising the spirits of the townsfolk. Now, they lay empty, the gardens left untended. There were no bees buzzing from blossom to blossom anymore, no butterflies fluttering on the breeze.

It was noon, but that term was slowly losing its meaning. The days grew ever longer, the sun lingering in the heavens, the cloudless sky as deep a blue as he had ever seen it. How long had it been since he had felt the rain on his face? When exactly had the seasons ground to a halt, plunging the world into an unending summer? He had become accustomed to this such that it was starting to feel normal, and that thought worried him. To adapt was also to forget – to become complacent.

He crossed a small bridge, the burbling stream that used to course beneath its stone arches long dry. He leaned over the side, seeing its parched, cracked bed. It wasn’t too long ago that a chorus of croaking frogs would have greeted him here, the cool night air rustling the reeds on the shores, but he found that he could scarcely recall the sound.

His destination loomed ahead of him, the twisted tower rising above the city’s slanted rooftops. It was a far older edifice than the buildings that surrounded it, the aging stonework held together more by the creeping plant life that had woven between the bricks than by its own ancient mortar. At its base were several gnarled trees, their stout trunks sprouting from the structure’s foundations, their winding branches serving to brace it. They had also suffered as of late, but they still retained some green leaves here and there, kept alive by the arcane power that resided within the crumbling walls. At its peak was a thatched roof that framed a large clock, its bronze hands slowly ticking away in spite of the fact that the twenty-four-hour day no longer held much meaning for the people who lived beneath it.

Caden walked up a snaking path that was lined with old cobblestone, the grass to either side of it slowly growing healthier as it neared the base of the structure, leeching off the aura that it exuded. Caden was attuned to its magic. He could feel it on his skin, in his very bones, an entirely different kind of warmth washing over him. If he strained, he could almost hear it on the air – a kind of musical hum with no obvious source. As he reached the old oaken door and turned the handle, the oppressive heat seemed to fade, as though a bubble of cool air had settled around the tower. It was relieving, but it did little to put him at ease.

It swung open on creaking hinges, and he stepped over the threshold, emerging into a grand library. From the outside, no one would have guessed that such a wealth of knowledge could have been contained within, shelves packed with dusty tomes extending high into the air as they spiraled up the center of the tower. A winding staircase led up to the top level, corkscrewing its way up the length of the structure, its banister carved with flowing floral patterns. No matter how many times Caden set foot inside, the disconnect between its outward appearance and its interior always made him do a double-take. The space within was somehow larger than the structure should allow, a powerful spell that had been cast long ago bending reality like a bowed branch, keeping it from springing back into shape.

In the center was a large wooden table, its surface strewn with yellowed manuscripts and leather-bound books. The Master was hunched over it, poring over a scroll, holding up an eyeglass as he scanned the faded text. He looked up from his work as he heard the door close behind Caden, his brow furrowing. He was wearing a long robe that was fastened about his waist with an ornate belt, the fabric a slate grey in color, patterned with arcane runes woven from threads of shining gold. His bushy, grey beard was almost long enough to reach his stomach, and his face was wrinkled by age. As old as he was, he remained spry, his blue eyes bright and alert.

Oh, it’s you, Caden. Come, come, he said as he waved him over with a liver-spotted hand.

You summoned me, Master? Caden asked as he walked around the table. If this is about the books on cryomancy, I’m still sorting through them.

He stopped beside the old man, eyeing the scroll that he had been examining. The yellowed parchment was stretched taut between two wooden rollers, each one topped by ornate finials cast from sterling silver. There were notes strewn around it haphazardly – it seemed that the Master was in the process of translating the rows of odd pictograms. It was no language that Caden recognized, nor did he see any common runes or symbols. Whatever it was, it was obviously very old.

I knew that it was somewhere in the library, the Master began, picking up his eyeglass again. "There was some...vague recollection in the back of my mind, a feeling of deja-vu, as if I had lived this moment before. When one reaches such an advanced age as I, one’s memory tends to get...patchy."

What is it? Caden asked, pulling back his hood and shaking out his mop of brown hair.

This has all happened before, the Master replied, sifting through his stacks of notes with a frantic urgency. It is cyclical, at least...that’s what these accounts have led me to believe. I must have read this scroll in passing long ago, or perhaps it was referenced by another scholar, but it tells of a great calamity that befell a long-dead civilization.

Read it in passing? Caden asked, cocking his head. It looks like you’re translating it to me.

I can hardly be expected to memorize every damned language that has ever passed beneath my nose, boy, the Master grumbled. There are thousands of them, and my memory is finite. I’m sure there must be a book of old notes hidden somewhere in the tower, but I found this first, and time is not our ally.

He snatched one of the pieces of paper, his eyes scanning the looping handwriting that he had scrawled upon it with his quill.

It was five thousand years ago that an identical event took place, though this scroll is not nearly that old. It is simply a record of an account passed down to a historian during the fourth age. Thank the Gods he saw fit to make a record of it, or we might never have come across this crucial piece of information.

Are you going to tell me what it is? Caden asked, the Master muttering under his breath.

Would that I had been granted an apprentice with some measure of patience, he complained, rolling the scroll across the table to expose more of the parchment. The account tells of an age when the days grew ever longer, and the people began to pine for winter’s release. The sun lingered in the sky, scorching the land, bringing drought and famine. The rivers dried up, the crops failed, and hope that the calamity would pass began to fade. I have been able to find myths and oral histories from other cultures that corroborate this. The sorcerers of the time, known as the Magi, devised a plan. They found a way to correct the celestial imbalance that they saw as the source of the problem.

Who were these people? Caden asked, leaning on the table as he glanced over the faded pictograms.

"Their name has been lost to the ages. None still live who remember what they called themselves, but they constructed great monuments and temples in the far East. Those edifices still stand to this day, if the reports of explorers and traders are to be believed. Their kingdom spanned the shores of an ocean in a land that was once green, but has long since given way to barren desert. It appears that they were very knowledgeable in the ways of magic, because whatever secrets they used to perform this feat are not known to the sorcerers of our age. The scroll speaks of an object that they created – an artifact that shone with dark light, though I cannot discern what the author meant by that. I know of no such devices."

I don’t suppose they made a record of a recipe or a blueprint? Caden muttered, already knowing the answer.

Caden, the Master began, turning to glance up at him. You know as well as I do that there will be no end to this summer unless we make it so. How long has it been since the last winter – since the last rainfall? Five years? More? The King has sought my council in private, and he has spoken of how the stores of grain are diminishing by the day – how rivers that once overflowed with fish are now little more than mud puddles. I explained to him that controlling the weather and directing the movements of the planets was beyond the power of any living sorcerer. There are none among our number who possess such knowledge. At this rate, our people will face starvation. This may be our only chance to save the kingdom, and perhaps the world, but this scroll alone is not enough. I need someone to travel East – to find the ancient city spoken of in this text and uncover the relic hidden within.

Hang on a minute, Caden stammered, taking a step away from the table as he raised his hands defensively. "Are you suggesting that I make this journey? Why not go to the King and have him hire an army of mercenaries and explorers to go there in my stead? What about sorcerers from other lands? I’m just an apprentice – little more than a scribe. You have taught me some magic, yes, but my time is spent stacking books and dusting shelves. What makes you think that I could do this?"

It is precisely because you are my apprentice that I wish for you to go, the Master insisted. If the Magi who helped build that city were worth their salt, then they will have protected their treasures. There will be ancient curses put upon its ruins that will have endured long after their deaths, and those without knowledge of the mystic arts will stand no chance of surviving them.

But...

This artifact holds an arcane power, Caden, the Master warned. Each kingdom has its Master, and each Master has their apprentices and students – this is true. But what might a Kingdom that obtains this power do with it once the task is complete? No, we must not let it fall into the wrong hands. I cannot even trust my fellow Masters with such a temptation. You are my protege, Caden, and there is no greed in your heart. You devote yourself to study and practice – you are honest and loyal. I place my trust in you alone.

I’ve never even ventured beyond the borders of the kingdom, Caden protested. My knowledge pales in comparison to yours.

I cannot leave this tower – I am far too old, the Master lamented. You know that well, Caden. I have accrued a debt to the Universe that will be collected the moment I set foot outside, and all my hundreds of years will catch up with me in an instant. Only the beating heart of this building sustains me, prolonging my existence and keeping me isolated from the stream of time. Even if I wanted it, I could not go.

This is madness, Caden replied, shaking his head.

You must also go alone, the Master added, giving his confused apprentice a solemn glance. None can know of your quest. You cannot travel with an entourage, nor can you employ a guide. This power is too great a temptation. The wealth that it represents may drive your companions to murder and treachery. You must trust nobody but yourself.

You expect me to travel across the world and brave the dangers of this cursed city entirely alone? Master, you know that I have the greatest respect for you, but what you ask cannot be done! I won’t make it ten steps outside the city walls! What about bandits on the roads? The dangerous beasts that haunt the wilds? Would you have me take up a sword, too?

No, the Master replied, shaking his head. It is time to accelerate your training, Caden.

What do you mean? he asked, cocking an eyebrow as the Master stepped away from the table. He gripped the winding banister and began to climb the spiral staircase, Caden following behind him, the aged steps creaking underfoot. They made their way up past hundreds of shelves that were piled high with dusty old books and rolls of parchment, the height of the tower extending far above what physics should have allowed. At its peak was another level, the staircase emerging onto a round floor made from crooked planks, the pointed spire of the tower rising above their heads. This was where the Master kept all of his magical artifacts. The room was packed with glass display cabinets, racks of staffs and rusted weapons, and tables that were strewn with all manner of items. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, as many of these objects hadn’t been touched in decades, maybe hundreds of years. There were four narrow windows, one for each cardinal direction, bright beams of sunlight bleeding through the grimy glass to illuminate the floating motes of dust. One of them was open, a large telescope that was standing on a tripod pointing through it.

The Master waded through the clutter, making his way over to one of the racks, beginning to sift through the many staffs that occupied it. They looked like walking canes to Caden, some more elaborately carved than others. Some were encrusted with jewels or overlaid with precious metals, while the rest were little more than polished branches.

Ideally, I would have waited far longer before introducing you to this kind of magic, the Master began. He stroked his long beard pensively, running his bony fingers across the staffs as though somehow testing them. It is our custom to first instill a great respect for magic in our apprentices – to teach them to be studious and patient before ever allowing them access to something with such a great potential for...destruction.

Master? Caden asked warily.

You have studied our history, so you know that sorcerers once fought wars and wielded terrible power against their fellow man. Long ago, we put a stop to that. We decided that only the most senior and trusted among our ranks would be taught these skills. I was a hundred and ten years old before my Master saw fit to entrust me with my own staff.

He pulled one of the staffs from the rack, balancing it in his hand, weighing it as he scrutinized it.

I don’t understand, Caden said, the Master turning to face him. Are staffs and wands not merely conduits – a way to better direct and focus magical energy? I have studied runes, incantations, and simple enchantments, but my duties have mostly been academic in nature thus far. What would I do with a staff such as this?

The Master blew some off the dust from the stave, then thrust it into Caden’s hands. As his fingers wrapped around it, he felt an energy coursing through him, a tingling sensation assailing his skin. His eyes wandered up its length, lingering on the precious ruby that sat at its tip, held in place by a spiral that had been hewn from the dark wood.

What do you feel? the Master demanded, watching him intently.

I feel...pins in my fingertips, Caden replied, grimacing with discomfort.

Don’t feel with your fingers, fool, the Master snapped. You know better than that.

Caden closed his eyes and exhaled, beginning to concentrate on the staff. In his mind’s eye, with a sense beyond sight or touch, he saw magic coursing into it. Like the winding streams of a river delta, he watched the glowing energy making its way down his arms and through his fingers, as bright and as brilliant as starlight. It poured into the stave, focusing there, roiling within its confines.

It feels...wrong, he grumbled.

How so? the Master demanded.

It’s...dissonant.

Good, the Master replied, snatching the staff from his hands. Caden’s eyes jolted open, the connection that he had felt to the object interrupted in a way that felt oddly jarring. Then this one is not for you.

What are we doing? Caden demanded.

Stop asking so many questions and use a little deductive reasoning, the Master muttered. You will not be able to rely on my knowledge for much longer – you will have to make your own way. He picked out another stave and handed it off to Caden. Your magic is like music, and your staff is a tuning fork. You must match the tone, the frequency – the two must resonate harmoniously.

This one was even more ornate, the pale birchwood overlaid with silver and gold, intricate reliefs spiraling their way up towards a pointed crown at its tip. Its handle was wrapped with fine, tightly-bound leather, its weight far greater than that of its predecessor.

This one looks a little expensive for the likes of me, he grumbled, but the Master’s only response was a dismissive wave of his hand. He closed his eyes again, concentrating on the feeling of the leather against his skin, the blazing image of the staff seeming to burn itself into his retinas. He felt it siphoning the energy from his very body, drawing on it with a palpable thirst, his arms starting to tremble.

It was snatched from his grasp just like the last, jolting him out of his trance. He blinked at the Master as he returned the staff to its place on the rack, the old man shaking his head as he muttered to himself.

Not that one, not that one... Once more, he lifted another stave, this one far more modest than the prior two. Its design was simple enough that it could have been mistaken for a mere walking stick, with an unimpressive rod of polished rosewood that was topped with a bronze hook in the shape of a falcon’s beak. As soon as his fingers touched it, he felt the air around it begin to vibrate, as if a low hum was emanating from it. His energy poured into it, the staff becoming an extension of his own body, as though he was being reunited with a lost limb. Where the other staffs had leeched away the magic that coursed through his body, this one circulated it – amplified it. What he gave was returned fivefold, its intoxicating strength welling within him.

What do you feel, Caden?

"It’s...powerful," he gasped, unable to stop himself from grinning.

Be wary, apprentice, the Master warned as he watched him turn the staff over in his hands. This is a power that corrupts. It can make you brash and overconfident, and it will seduce you into using it for unnecessary purposes.

Does it possess a will of its own? Caden asked.

No, he replied with a shake of his head. It is no more conscious than a rock or a tree, but the power that it bestows upon its wielder preys upon many human failings. Greed, ambition, vanity. It can be used to accrue wealth, to take that which does not belong to you, and to elevate you beyond the station of common folk. But it must never be abused in such ways, Caden. Promise me.

Caden struggled to get a hold of himself, willing that burning sensation of power to recede, his breathing becoming more regular as the feedback of amplified energy faded.

You have my word, Master.

And I know that you will keep it, he replied, breathing a sigh of relief. To be granted a staff at the age of twenty-two has been unheard of for generations, but our need is extreme. You must always remain conscious of this danger, Caden. Keep it in the forefront of your mind.

You still haven’t told me why I need this, he replied.

To defend yourself, of course, the Master explained. Wands are used merely as an aid to direct energy during spells and incantations – they are tools that help one focus. A staff is a weapon. It amplifies that energy, drawing on it to destructive effect. Just as a knight wields a sword, so too does a sorcerer wield his staff. Before you venture out into the world, you must learn to harness its power, and you must memorize the relevant spells.

Wait just a moment, Caden protested, the staff still clutched in his hand. I became your apprentice because I wanted to learn, not because I wanted to hurt people.

"I realize that, but there are people out there who may wish to hurt you, the Master replied. You will have to learn how to protect yourself if you are to succeed in your mission. If you should die, then all of our hopes would die with you."

I don’t know about this...

The time for doubt is long past, Caden, the Master chided. The path that you must walk is clear now – do not shy away from it. Will you refuse this burden?

No, he replied after a moment of hesitation. You’re right, as always. Only I can see this through.

Then we must make haste, the Master said, giving him an encouraging pat on the arm as he passed by him. Follow me.

They made their way back down the staircase, the Master leading Caden to a door at the rear of the tower. It opened into a room that he had never seen before, one so vast that there was no way it could have existed through natural means – there wouldn’t have been space for it. The great stone chamber was full of mannequins made from sackcloth and stuffed with straw, like scarecrows in a wheat field. They were lined up in rows, illuminated by the wavering candlelight of dangling chandeliers.

What is this place? Caden wondered, following the Master inside. You’ve never shown it to me before.

It exists when I wish it, he replied cryptically. This will provide a safe environment for you to practice and hone your skills. You won’t be able to accidentally harm anyone in here, nor set any fires...

I do not yet know what I am to be practicing, Caden replied.

You’ve always learned well through reading. Perhaps we should fetch you some relevant books.

***

Caden held his staff in both hands, aiming the falcon’s head at one of the sackcloth dummies, chanting an incantation under his breath. He was good at remembering things – always had been – so the concept of committing spells to memory was already familiar to him. It had been the main focus of his studies up until now, poring over books in the library, expanding his knowledge of history and the mystic arts.

As the words left his lips, he felt the energy begin to flow down his arms and through his hands, pouring into the carved wood of the stave. It began to hum louder, the almost musical frequency that he had felt when he had first laid hands on it resonating, growing ever more powerful. If he concentrated, he could almost see it, like strands of liquid starlight weaving their way from his fingertips.

Yes, good! the Master exclaimed. Listen to its song. It must be in perfect harmony with your own.

The staff seemed to shake in his hands, and he tightened his grip, feeling that raw power welling inside him again. It was like adrenaline coursing through his veins, but so much stronger, as though an electrical charge was building up inside of his very being.

With a crescendo, the energy was released, a bright flash of light emanating from the bronze tip of the staff. When his eyes adjusted, Caden beheld a burning dummy, the straw within catching aflame. The spell had conjured a bolt of fire, directing it towards his target like an arrow from a bow.

Good, Caden! the Master exclaimed. With these spells, you will be able to harness the very elements themselves. You can create fire, conjure water from thin air, and even summon a bolt of lightning. They harness simple physical and alchemic principles, manipulating matter and energy.

Then...it isn’t just a weapon, he replied, lowering his staff. I could start a campfire or fill a cup with water.

Precisely! the Master replied, clapping his bony hands together gleefully. Where a lesser man would only see a weapon, you see a tool, and that is exactly why I feel I can trust you with this responsibility. The staff is not a mere cudgel – it has many potential uses. If you possess the necessary knowledge, you can conjure light to illuminate a dark path, or freeze water to make an ice bridge across a river.

What are the limits? he asked breathlessly, his hands still trembling as he gripped the wooden shaft. He was still growing accustomed to the bizarre sensations that assailed him whenever he drew upon this power. It was invigorating...and a little frightening.

Only your knowledge and your wisdom, the Master replied. "Always remember that just because you can do something does not mean that you should. You are studious, and you have a great knowledge of the natural laws, Caden. I am confident that you will make good use of this gift."

***

The Master circled around Caden in the center of the stone chamber, the scarecrows pushed up against the walls on their heavy, iron pedestals. He was wielding his own staff, an unassuming oak walking stick that was engraved with patterns resembling creeping vines, culminating in an ivory handle at the tip. Caden had seen him make use of it on many occasions – the Master was very old and sometimes needed a little extra support – but he would never have guessed at the secret power it held until now.

I will now demonstrate another way that you can use your staff to defend yourself, he began, making a point of leaning on it as he hunched over. We sorcerers are few, and on a quest such as yours, it may be prudent to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Revealing your power may inspire fear and suspicion, or it may alert more dangerous forces to your presence. Let us imagine a scenario where you are accosted by ruffians, and you must protect yourself without calling upon thunder or flame.

Yes, Master, Caden replied as he waited attentively.

Strike me with your staff, boy.

W-what? Caden stammered, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Are you joking?

Do you think me too frail to withstand it?

Master...I would never dream of raising a hand against an old man, never mind my mentor. I could never...

Appearances can be deceiving, the Master warned with a wag of his finger. Very well. If your conscience will not allow it, I shall strike you instead. Prepare yourself.

Caden watched as he hobbled closer, the sound of his walking stick clicking against the stone floor echoing through the cavernous chamber. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he raise his staff and attempt to defend himself? Calling the Master old was an understatement. His body was haggard beneath his robe, and he had not the strength to lift a heavy book, never mind strike his young apprentice.

The old sorcerer steadied himself, gripping his walking stick like a quarterstaff, Caden watching in confusion. He raised it, then struck with the speed and agility of a man a fraction of his age, the blow catching Caden on his upper arm. It was like being hit by a mailed fist, Caden losing his balance, thrown to the ground by the force of the impact. His staff clattered across the floor as it fell from his hands, the apprentice grunting in pain as his back hit the stone.

Only a fool would think that one’s physical properties were relevant in matters of sorcery, the Master chided. Caden climbed to his feet and stooped to retrieve his staff, bruised and more than a little embarrassed.

How did you do that? he asked.

I used magic to amplify the force of my strike. Imagine a swinging pendulum – the inertia of it and the way that gravity acts upon its mass. Now, imagine that you can change those properties. Concentrate on that thought.

Don’t I need to learn an incantation? Caden asked, rubbing his arm.

For something as simple as this? No. In time, even more complex spells may come to you just as naturally. As in all things, study and practice are key. Now, strike me.

Caden gripped his staff, still hesitant. Although he knew better than to judge his Master on appearances alone, he was still faced with a diminutive old man, his instincts fighting against him as he raised the weapon.

Concentrate, Caden. See the weight of the staff in your mind’s eye. Feel the swiftness of its swing. Direct your energy into amplifying those properties.

He swung the far end of his stave, but there was no conviction behind it, the Master easily batting it away. He swung his walking stick into Caden’s shin, a muffled yelp of pain escaping his lips as he began to hop on one foot.

Do you think that a brigand on the road will show you mercy? A cutthroat will live up to his namesake for a handful of coins – he will not lose a moment of sleep over leaving you bleeding in a ditch.

Caden steadied himself, his fingers tightening around his staff. Just like with the incantations, he focused his mind, pouring his will into the implement. There was no complex spell to recite this time. It was more about feeling – intuition. He swung the staff again, and this time, the energy that flowed from his hands acted upon it. It sang through the air as he willed it to strike with more force, feeling its weight increase in his very grasp, as though there was a lead hammer at its tip. There was a tremendous crack as the Master blocked the blow, echoing off the stone walls like thunder.

Good, he said, nodding approvingly. With a little training in how to properly handle a quarterstaff, you will become a force to be reckoned with.

***

What followed was three days of intensive training. It seemed too little to prepare Caden for the monumental task that stood before him, but time was not on their side. He learned what he could, devoting himself to study and practice, honing his new skills as much as he was able. He was little more than a novice, but even a novice sorcerer was a potent force when compared to the average person.

When the Master deemed that he was ready, he led him up the spiral staircase again and into the room at the top of the crooked tower that housed its hoard of magical artifacts. Their destination today was one of the many display cabinets, rusted hinges that had not seen use in an age creaking as he opened the glass doors.

The Master reached inside with a tentative hand and withdrew an unassuming wooden box. He set it on a nearby table, brushing aside more faded notes and maps, Caden hovering over his shoulder as he watched him open the lid. The interior was lined with red velvet, and sat upon its cushion was a dagger. Its handle was ornate, made from what looked like silver, adorned with intricate geometric carvings of impressive complexity. At its tip was a glittering sapphire, Caden immediately aware of its magical hum, sensing the power that was imbued within it. The weapon was sheathed in an elegant leather scabbard, equally ornate. More patterns had been pressed into it, and there were gold studs where it was intended to be joined to a belt.

"What