as I used a starstone to shatter it.” The Executioner pounded a fist into the stone in anger, inwardly cursing his fate, and his words trailed to a quiet mumble. “It took me many months and no small amount of luck to find that tiny stone. To form that crystal must have taken much more than that. It may be the crystal itself was made of starstone. I cannot believe he, or anyone else, would be able to make another."
"Then you see the problem," the old man said in resignation.
"What can be done then? Is there a way to destroy the sword?" Darien asked.
The old man hung his head and shook it dejectedly. "No, I have no knowledge of any art in all the world that is able to destroy it. There is no fire hot enough to melt it, no stone hard enough to grind it down and no force powerful enough to break it. It was made by the magic of the ancient Elves. If there is a way to destroy it, then they would know of it, yet they are long gone from this world. The few Elves who remain possess precious little of the wisdom and power of their ancestors."
"Then my doom is already decided. How I wish that I had never been born. Would that I had the power to unmake myself and spare the world my wretched existence. I am damned and beyond all hope of redemption."
Darien fell upon the ground again, weeping like a child. For several minutes, he could do nothing but weep, while the mysterious man simply sat there with his head bowed, as if he also were contemplating the hopelessness of it all.
"There is always hope, young one, always, but you must look beyond yourself to find it," he finally said, in a hushed voice, that Darien was too distraught to hear. At that, Ezra stood and knelt over the sobbing young man.
"Though I cannot give you the release you seek and I cannot relieve you of the burden that fate has placed upon you, I will do what I can to help you bear it." Then Ezra laid his aged hand upon the younger man’s forehead and he was immediately thrown into a deathlike sleep.
Chapter 5: Hope
Once again, Darien awoke lying on his back, looking up into the dull gray fog. This time, however, the lesser moon rather than the sun shone through the gray veil. Strangely, though the sun had been dimmed by the fog, the pale yellowish moonlight seemed to be magnified, as though it were reflected endlessly between the tiny specks of moisture. The moss on the rocks which had appeared green in the sunlight, now glowed a pale blue, emitting faint light of its own. Somewhere in the distance, a lonely cricket sang. The half-elf lay motionless for several minutes, listening to the cricket sing its plaintive tune. For a time, his mind was blank, nothing at all in the world besides the fog and the moonlight and the sound of the cricket real to him.
How did I get here, and where is here, Darien wondered? At first, he could only recall vague impressions, disjointed images that had no meaning, and words spoken, but unintelligible. What had happened? The dazed half-elf forced himself to focus on the previous day. He found it difficult, like trying to remember something out of a dream. Slowly, he began to piece together the fragments of memories into a whole. He recalled the battle, the desperate chase, and his conversation with the strange old man. The memory felt strange and unreal to him, as if a great gulf had opened in his mind, separating the now from the nightmare that had come before. He could no longer feel the influence of the demons. The voices were gone and his mind was calm. How was it possible?
He sat up and looked around. The old man sat on the stone wall, just as he had when Darien had first seen him, head hung down, long, gray, ragged hair falling over his face, perfectly still. Whether he was sleeping or dead, Darien could not tell. He got to his feet, and reached out to touch the sleeping man’s shoulder. But before his fingers made contact, Ezra turned and looked up at him, startling him and causing him to take a step back.
"Ah, you're
"Then you see the problem," the old man said in resignation.
"What can be done then? Is there a way to destroy the sword?" Darien asked.
The old man hung his head and shook it dejectedly. "No, I have no knowledge of any art in all the world that is able to destroy it. There is no fire hot enough to melt it, no stone hard enough to grind it down and no force powerful enough to break it. It was made by the magic of the ancient Elves. If there is a way to destroy it, then they would know of it, yet they are long gone from this world. The few Elves who remain possess precious little of the wisdom and power of their ancestors."
"Then my doom is already decided. How I wish that I had never been born. Would that I had the power to unmake myself and spare the world my wretched existence. I am damned and beyond all hope of redemption."
Darien fell upon the ground again, weeping like a child. For several minutes, he could do nothing but weep, while the mysterious man simply sat there with his head bowed, as if he also were contemplating the hopelessness of it all.
"There is always hope, young one, always, but you must look beyond yourself to find it," he finally said, in a hushed voice, that Darien was too distraught to hear. At that, Ezra stood and knelt over the sobbing young man.
"Though I cannot give you the release you seek and I cannot relieve you of the burden that fate has placed upon you, I will do what I can to help you bear it." Then Ezra laid his aged hand upon the younger man’s forehead and he was immediately thrown into a deathlike sleep.
Chapter 5: Hope
Once again, Darien awoke lying on his back, looking up into the dull gray fog. This time, however, the lesser moon rather than the sun shone through the gray veil. Strangely, though the sun had been dimmed by the fog, the pale yellowish moonlight seemed to be magnified, as though it were reflected endlessly between the tiny specks of moisture. The moss on the rocks which had appeared green in the sunlight, now glowed a pale blue, emitting faint light of its own. Somewhere in the distance, a lonely cricket sang. The half-elf lay motionless for several minutes, listening to the cricket sing its plaintive tune. For a time, his mind was blank, nothing at all in the world besides the fog and the moonlight and the sound of the cricket real to him.
How did I get here, and where is here, Darien wondered? At first, he could only recall vague impressions, disjointed images that had no meaning, and words spoken, but unintelligible. What had happened? The dazed half-elf forced himself to focus on the previous day. He found it difficult, like trying to remember something out of a dream. Slowly, he began to piece together the fragments of memories into a whole. He recalled the battle, the desperate chase, and his conversation with the strange old man. The memory felt strange and unreal to him, as if a great gulf had opened in his mind, separating the now from the nightmare that had come before. He could no longer feel the influence of the demons. The voices were gone and his mind was calm. How was it possible?
He sat up and looked around. The old man sat on the stone wall, just as he had when Darien had first seen him, head hung down, long, gray, ragged hair falling over his face, perfectly still. Whether he was sleeping or dead, Darien could not tell. He got to his feet, and reached out to touch the sleeping man’s shoulder. But before his fingers made contact, Ezra turned and looked up at him, startling him and causing him to take a step back.
"Ah, you're
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