The Screaming Sword

The fireplace flames billowed up to form the outline of a man—a man made of fire. “Who uses Sokhal’s Star to call me?” The mage’s voice reached every corner of the hall. Beneath the broken furniture, Kenrad lay motionless. If he stood up, the man with the screaming sword would know that he still lived. But when the Warlock of Miron asks a question, he expects an answer. “It’s Kenrad, Uncle Stefan.” His youthful voice cracked. “And that man killed Mother.”The fireplace flames billowed up to form the outline of a man—a man made of fire. “Who uses Sokhal’s Star to call me?” The mage’s voice reached every corner of the hall. Beneath the broken furniture, Kenrad lay motionless. If he stood up, the man with the screaming sword would know that he still lived. But when the Warlock of Miron asks a question, he expects an answer. “It’s Kenrad, Uncle Stefan.” His youthful voice cracked. “And that man killed Mother.”