[ TT ] There were two swords in the stone . You pulled out one . Who pulled out the other ?

`` It was easy to pull the first sword. To draw first blood. I could still remember her words, sweet as sour wine. 
 
'The wielder of both blades shall be as a god among kings.' 
 
 That was the prophesy. That was the sentence that poisoned my mind and drove my actions. I could blame the witch. That damned wench, but it would be an easy way out. No, I set these trials for myself. Still, that did n't make rending her asunder any less satisfying. Hearing her screams cut short, the silence as delicious as her false words. 
 
 I am Terror. I am Wrath. I am Justice, and I am Vengeance. Brutality has its place among my lands, but it is not meaningless. I shepherd a flock of wolves. We roam, we feed, we survive and cut teeth on the meek. 
 
 What right have they, the plowshares and the farmers, to inherit lands they can not protect? What stops us, the strong, the hungry, the lean, from taking what we need? 
 
 We do not slaughter them, our peasants. We protect them! We take their daughters and return with them sons, sons strong enough to protect their lands! All we ask for them is tribute. 
 
 We ask for tribute, and they send you? 
 
 You! With a toothpick made of metal? 
 
 Who was your father, had he even a name to himself? 
 
 Or was he one of the common folk, you certainly have that look about you.'' 
 
 She said nothing. The girl was bound to the pyre, and stared forward. Her weapon impaled the hay and the tinder in front of her. They were to burn together for their crimes against their lord. She only smiled, split lips opening once again, a trickle of blood drooling out of the corner of her lips. Ezeron continued talking. 
 
 `` Silent now? Nothing to say? 
 
 I know you have your tongue girl, I made them leave it in! 
 
 You killed three of my pack, small child. A feat most should be impressed with. 
 
 Had you stopped with Jhanzir, I would have welcomed you with open arms to my family. 
 
 But no, you continued, with Rhogar, and Demure! They were not my best, but I can not take such insults lightly. 
 
 Oh, what children you could have born.'' 
 
 Ezeron stepped onto the pyre with her. She could smell him. His blade tainted his skin, made it rot and shrivel whenever it touched bare skin. He wore it openly. Gods needed no protection. 
 
 His hand, his gloved, free hand, reached up and caressed her face. It stung, worse than the beatings he had ordered. Two of his fingers held her jaw, and he tilted his head. 
 
 She could see his eyes, bright and angry, beneath the slit in his helm. 
 
 He shoved a thumb into her mouth. The bitter leather brushed against her tongue almost exploratory, before his grip clawed into her. Dear gods, she could see him smile. 
 
 `` I gave you a chance to speak, girl.'' 
 
 It was a quick motion. His arm tensed, and in one fluid rip down, he pulled. Something snapped, and pain filled her eyes, white and blinding. Blood filled her mouth, and she choked on it and on the invading finger. Hot, metalic, and thick, crimson liquid pooled down her throat and over her lips. 
 
 Ezeron laughed, and kept his hand in place. He liked watching his prey bleed. Making them bleed. 
 
 It's what she counted on. She needed him close. 
 
 Her lips moved around the filthy digit in her jaw, and she forced herself to talk around the pain. Blood filled her lungs, and the words came out in pink mists and sprays, clinging to her attacker's clothing. 
 
 Words are mostly meaningless. Ezeron used a lot of them. He liked to hide behind prophesies and semantics to justify his actions. Tyrest only used a sentence. 
 
 `` Ezeron Apothic is my father.'' The words came out of her lips mangled and choked. She looked at the man with the same fire in her eyes, and scowled. 
 
 Ezeron pulled the finger from her lips. The girl's blood traveling down the wood in thick ribbons. `` What? Say that again. Prove to me you're not lying!'' 
 
 They shared the same hair. The same nose. Ezeron and the girl both had fire for eyes. He gripped her broken jaw and squeezed, hard. She did not cry out. 
 
 For an eternity, he stared into into her eyes. He scowled. 
 
 With his wicked blade, he cut the girl's bonds. She rubbed her wrists, and spat out a wad of blood and phlegm. 
 
 `` I can see myself in you.'' He said, turning away. `` We will see if you can pull the second blade.'' 
 
 Tyrest stared at the man as he left her to her own devices. It had cost her a jaw, and her dignity. 
 
 It had cost her words, and words were mostly meaningless. 
 
 She was an excellent liar.
