Cuchillo de Vyre
“Ancient Singer,” he said from the balcony. Though Hnanan was the equivalent of a highprince, they did not demand that Moash bow even to her. Apparently, by having killed one of their better fighters, he had obtained a level of respect...
“You have killed a king,” she said, removing something from a sheath within her robes. A strange knife, with a sapphire set into the pommel. The weapon was of a bright golden metal, so light it was almost white. “Would you do the same to a god?”
...
Moash’s target was a particular man who sat giggling in the darkness near the back of the gardens. A madman with eye color lost to the night.
“Have you seen me?” the man asked as Moash knelt.
“No,” Moash said, then rammed the strange golden knife into the man’s stomach. The man took it with a quiet grunt, smiled a silly smile, then closed his eyes.
“Were you really one of them?” Moash asked. “Herald of the Almighty?”
“Was, was, was . . .” The man started to tremble violently, his eyes opening wide. “Was . . . no. No, what is this death? What is this death!”
Huddled forms stirred, and some of the wiser ones scuttled away.
“It’s taking me!” the man screamed, then looked down at the knife in Moash’s hand. “What is that?”
The man trembled for a moment more, then jerked once, going motionless. When Moash pulled the yellow-white knife free, it trailed dark smoke and left a blackened wound. The large sapphire at the pommel took on a subdued glow.
Moash glanced over his shoulder toward the Fused hanging in the night sky behind the palace. This murder seemed a thing that they dared not do themselves. Why? What did they fear?
Moash held the knife aloft toward them, but there were no cheers. Nothing accompanied the act but a few muttered words from people trying to sleep. These broken slaves were the only other witnesses to this moment.
The final death of Jezrien. Yaezir. Jezerezeh’Elin, king of Heralds. A figure known in myth and lore as the greatest human who had ever lived.
chapter 121 oathbringer