Free Stardeep by Bruce R. Cordell

her coughing fit, she demanded, “Who?” Her tone was incredulous and hoarse. “Did you say… ?”
    “Nangulis. Do you know him?” Gage watched her coolly, appraising her response. Kiril was too astounded to notice.
    “Yes. I do. I did—he’s dead. It can’t be Nangulis.”
    Now Gage was surprised. He shook his head and replied, “I’m… Sathra was certain it was someone named Nangulis. Could you be wrong?”
    Shaking with barely restrained emotion, Kiril replied, “Impossible.” She unsttapped her scabbard and put Angul, still in his sheath, on the table between them.
    “I know it couldn’t be who you name because all that remains of Nangulis is Angul.”
    Gage stared at her, uncomprehending. “I don’t understand.”
    Kiril barely heard him—she replied, faintly, “Half of him, anyway. Half his soul, forged into this unbending, bastard blade.”
    Gage’s eyes grew wide. “His soul?”
    Kiril nodded. “It’s what gives the blade such power—he is a living soul, trapped in steel forever.”
    “So, you knew Nangulis, before…”
    “Nangulis and I were close. We would have been joined in marriage had our duty allowed. Those dreams are long dead. All I have left of him is Angul.” She put her hand on the sheath, het eyes tight and shining with moisture.
    “Which is why I can never give up this damned blade. He’s not Nangulis, but he’s the closest thing I’ll ever find of my love. You’ve returned something I would have died without.”
    The thief looked startled, and somehow guilty. He began to speak, paused, began again. “Well, thank the Queen of Air I was able to bring back your most cherished possession.”
    Kiril nodded, but grimaced.
    “You don’t really seem that happy about it. Is it—”
    “The stoty is not so tidy, sadly,” interrupted Kiril. “I treasure Angul, but at the same time, the sword is killing my conscience; killed it, actually, soon after I came to wield him.”
    Gage started to speak, but stopped again, his head cocked. He fumbled out a few words then started over. “You’re going
    ‘to have to explain. I haven’t the faintest conception what you’re talking about.”
    Kiril sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Gage…”
    “I’m listening.”
    “You deserve to hear about him, if you caie to. I’ll tell you how I came to wield Angul, what I once was… and the sins I’ve committed in the name of an unbending ideal.” The moisture in her eyes broke into twin tracks down her cheeks.
    “I’d like to hear about it,” Gage responded, his voice soft. He moved his gloved hand from the table, out of view.
    “Before Angul, before I wandered, fought, and drank so much, I was a different person. I was a dutiful servant of an ancient order—the Cerulean Sign. Heard of it?”
    Gage shook his head.
    “Would have surprised me if you had.” Kiril scrubbed away the wetness on her cheeks. “The Cerulean Sign is a rune of power created when things were not as they are today. Before men, or even elves walked the world, when the continents were divided differently than now, entities strange and powerful fought. When the future was a toss-up between sanity and abomination.”
    “Sounds bad.”
    “You can’t imagine. But the Cerulean Sign was forged to oppose creatures that oozed down from mad realms to colonize Abeir-Toril. To a large extent, those long-vanished defenders of the virgin world succeeded. Abominations, both godlike and inconsequential, were pushed back. Abeir was forgotten. Mortal races eventually inherited the earth.”
    “Like you and me?”
    “Right,” agreed Kiril. Her voice regained a little of its strength as she spoke.
    “Who were these defenders?” wondered the thief.
    “Unknown. Too much time since then. They were damn tough, though. Gods, probably, or whatever passed for gods
    before people were around to call them divine.”
    Gage let out his bteath, shaking his head ever so slightly, as if in disbelief. Kiril’s eyes narrowed.
    “You want to