Troy Denning - The Titan of Twilight

“That had nothing to do with the gods,” Galgadayle growled. “If Basil hadn’t taught you the magic words, you’d still be down there fighting with Orisino.”

“But I’m not,” Tavis retorted. “The gods sent Basil to me so I’d know the magic words.”

Galgadayle stepped close enough to grab Tavis’s arm. “Listen to this madness spilling from your mouth! It’s the axe speaking!”

“What does it matter who’s speaking?” Tavis spun the seer around. He pointed past the looming shoulder of Othea Tor, toward the unseen mountains beneath the frozen horizon. “Think of it-a world without evil! Is that madness, from my mouth or Sky Cleaver’s?”

Galgadayle’s gaze did not falter. “Yes, if you think such a world can be won by might of arms.” His voice calmed. “Tell me Tavis, before you strike someone down, who will decide he is evil, you or the axe?”

“I will!” Tavis’s voice broke, making the statement sound more like a horse’s whinny than an honest claim. “I mean, I summoned Sky Cleaver. It serves…”

When his voice continued to squeal like rusty winch gears, Tavis dropped the axe into the snow. He let his sentence die and stepped away from the weapon, glaring at the thing as though it had suddenly come alive and cut off his arm.

Galgadayle’s eyes filled with sadness. “You retrieved Sky Cleaver to rescue your wife, and to…” The seer paused to choose his next words carefully. “And to prevent Lanaxis from turning her son against his mother’s realm. If you have forgotten that, you would do better to discard the axe and attack the titan with your bare hands.”

Tavis’s eyes remained locked on Sky Cleaver. It seemed to him that a shimmering mist of darkness was rising off the obsidian blade and slowly spreading across the snow in his direction. He glanced at Galgadayle, but saw no sign that the firbolg also saw the ebon fog.

Tavis shook his head. “Even if I could cast it off, it’s too late.” This time, his voice did not crack as he spoke. He slowly turned to study the verbeegs gathered below. Save for Orisino, who continued to sit on his haunches with his lips moving, they had all risen and taken a single step up the drumlin. Tavis bent down and retrieved the axe. “I have taken Sky Cleaver in hand, and now I must use it.”

“May Hiatea have pity on us.”

Tavis fixed his gaze on the seer. “Help me,” he pleaded. “Help me do what I came for. If I can’t wield this weapon, it will wield me.”

“And after you have freed your queen?” Galgadayle pointed at Sky Cleaver. “Who will you turn it against after the titan?”

“I have no idea,” Tavis answered honestly. “But I do know this: only Brianna can give me strength to make that choice wisely. Otherwise, it will be Sky Cleaver that decides.”

The seer closed his eyes and nodded. “I’ll help you,” he whispered. “But first, let me call Basil. We must find our way into Twilight, and he knows more about the place than anyone.”

Tavis clutched Sky Cleaver more tightly to his breast and glanced down the slope. The runecaster stood a short distance away from the other verbeegs, his thick brows arched expectantly.

“Call Basil,” Tavis said. “But stay between him and the axe. With his magic, he is more dangerous than any of Orisino’s warriors, and the temptation will be great for him. I think Sky Cleaver’s draw is stronger than even he realized.”

“I have no doubt about that.” Galgadayle cast a wary glance at the axe. “I have sworn not to touch the weapon, and all that vow has earned for me is the constant temptation to break my oath.”

The seer nodded to the runecaster, who quickly ascended the drumlin. Like Galgadayle, Basil looked half-frozen and entirely exhausted. His eyes were pinched and bloodshot from his constant battle with snow blindness. His beard had become a single great icicle, and most of his face had turned white with frostbite. If there was no healer available when he thawed, the runecaster would lose both of his ears. The drooping appendages were as stiff and translucent as ice.

Basil stopped a dozen feet away and kept his eyes on the snow. “Thank you for letting me come up.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” Tavis struggled to focus his thoughts on the friendship he and the runecaster shared. “We want the same thing.”

Basil smiled, and his gaze flickered to Sky Cleaver. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“I’m not talking about the axe,” Tavis warned. “And let’s not pretend that it means nothing to you. I know you’re tempted to steal it-”

“Borrow!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tavis said. “Sky Cleaver’s hold is just as strong on me as it is on you. I couldn’t lend it to you any more than I could lend you my heart.”

Basil bit his lip and looked away. “I know that”

“Good, then we have things well in hand.” Galgadayle slipped between Tavis and Basil. “Now, how do you suggest we go about entering the Twilight Vale?”

Basil stepped around the seer and moved to the front of the drumlin, where he could peer down at the narrow rift. “The stone giant histories say little about the Twilight Vale itself.” He apparently did not notice as Galgadayle once again slipped between him and the axe. “But there’s no need for concern. If all else fails, we can use Sky Cleaver to ‘cut to the heart of the matter’, as the stone giants describe it.”

“We?” Tavis demanded.

“I mean you,” Basil sighed. “But I wouldn’t advise doing so lightly. From what you described of the previous wielder’s condition, calling upon Sky Cleaver’s powers carries a heavy price.”

Tavis cringed at his memory of Snad’s translucent flesh. “I hope you’re saying there’s another way into the vale.”

“I have several ideas, yes,” Basil replied. “But before I can say which is correct, we must examine the signs and see how each one fits our theories.”

The runecaster motioned for his companions to follow and started to plow down the snowy slope toward the southern end of the rift. Tavis laid his heavy burden over his shoulder, then, using one hand to balance it there, drew his sword and followed. The descent was treacherous. Tavis was so cold and weary that he found it difficult to keep his footing on the snowy slope, especially with Sky Cleaver’s unwieldy bulk pulling him off-balance. By the time he caught up to Basil and Galgadayle, he was panting and sticking his sword into the snow like an alpenstock.

Orisino trudged up to join the trio. “Have you found the way in?” the chieftain asked. “Are we going after the titan?”

Tavis cast a warning glare at the verbeeg. “Not yet. I’ll call you when we’re ready-but stay away from me until then.”

“As you wish.” A sly grin crept across Orisino’s lips, and he bowed deeply, but did not back away. “I have no wish to trouble you-provided we make a bargain.”

“I’ve no interest in bartering with you,” Tavis sneered.

“Not even if it allows you to sleep?” Orisino countered. “I will promise not to take Sky Cleaver as long as you live.”

“Why would you make such a promise?” Galgadayle interposed himself between Tavis and the verbeeg.

“Obviously, because I don’t think Tavis will live very long,” the verbeeg retorted. “Even if he doesn’t destroy himself like Snad and all the other Ones, the titan will do it for him. All I ask is that he teach me the calling command, so that I may retrieve the axe after he’s dead.”

“Tavis, he won’t wait,” Basil warned. “You can’t trust him.”

“I wouldn’t make the bargain even if I could.” Tavis kept his eyes fixed on Orisino. “Whether I’m dead or alive, I certainly wouldn’t want a verbeeg to be the One Wielder.”