“Save your breath and tell your paladin to mind her own business,” Norra said. “My injuries are not so grave that they won’t wait until a real healer can attend me in Stormhome.”
“Wasn’t going to bother,” Tristam said, stepping inside and sitting on the stool beside her cot. “Though I do find it odd.”
“Find what odd?” she asked, looking at him sharply.
“That you’re so distrustful of divine magic,” Tristam said. “Eraina’s healed us all countless times.”
“It is no matter of trust,” Norra said. “I simply don’t have much use for gods. Any power that cannot be relied upon to function in a logical and predictable manner is ultimately useless.”
“But wasn’t Llaine Grove one of your friends?” Tristam asked. “He was a cleric of Boldrei.”
“He was a colleague,” she said. “My opinions on religion were well known to him. It was the subject of more than one protracted debate.” She smiled bitterly at the memory. “What do you want from me, Xain?”
“I want to know how you built a working replica of the Legacy,” Tristam asked. “In all my research I never even came close.”
“My skill is greater than yours, Xain,” she said, shrugging.
“No,” Xain said, with such intensity that Norra’s eyes widened. “This is more than just artifice. The Legacy can unmake magic. You don’t figure that sort of thing out on your own, Norra. How did you learn how to build it?”
“I think you already know the answer to that question, Xain,” she said. “You just don’t want to accept it.”
“Tell me,” Tristam said.
“Fools like Gavus Frauk believe that Ashrem’s Legacy was flawed,” she said. “That it was uncontrollable, untested, and that its wild magic created the Mournland. It’s not true.”
“Then what is the truth?” Tristam asked.
“Ashrem had a working version of the Legacy for years,” she said. “I helped him build it. The original Legacy was fused with the elemental heart of Seventh Moon. He used it, secretly, at least six times that I remember-crippling armies, breaching magical defenses, silently granting the advantage to one side or another as he steered the course of the War.”
“That’s impossible,” Tristam said. “All that Ashrem ever wanted was peace.”
“Yes,” Norra said. “The Legacy was the instrument of that peace. Brother Llaine Grove was his moral compass, advising him on how to use the Legacy with minimal loss of life. I advised him on arcane matters, determining where the loss of magic would hamper the war’s progress the most.”
Memories of the Draconic Prophecy flashed through Tristam’s mind. He envisioned the mortal conqueror wreaking destruction upon the world, but this time that conqueror had Ashrem d’Cannith’s face. He could find no words. He only stared blankly at the floor, absorbing Norra’s words. He didn’t want to believe her.
“Ashrem was no fool, Tristam,” she said. Her voice was softer now, no longer as harsh and arrogant as before. “He was a good man in the midst of a desperate, impossible war. I do not know how he learned the secrets of the Legacy, but he seized the opportunity to fight for a better world.”
“Who is Zamiel?” Tristam asked quietly.
“I do not know that name,” Norra said.
Tristam’s face flushed with sudden anger. He rose from his seat, scowling down at Norra. “You are lying,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I am done being misled and manipulated. Tell me everything you know. Tell me who the prophet Zamiel is. What part does he play in this?”
Norra’s eyes widened. “Xain, this has taken a turn from discussion to mad rambling,” she said. “Please back away from me or leave this cabin. I will not endure your threats.”
“Threats?” he snapped. “I haven’t threatened you.”
She arched an eyebrow and glanced down at the shimmering crystal wand he held in one hand. He did not remember drawing the weapon. He mumbled a hushed apology and tucked it back into his belt. He sat down on the stool, burying his face in his hands.
“Do you see now?” she said quietly. “The real danger is not the Legacy-it is within us. Power exaggerates our normal human frailties. Even the noblest soul can be consumed by rash anger. With power like the Legacy at our disposal, a rash act can end entire nations. Ashrem did not hide the Legacy from you because he did not trust you, Tristam. He hid it from you because he did not wish to burden you with such a terrible responsibility.”
“Don’t try to reassure me, Norra,” Tristam said, looking up at her weakly. “I’m not even sure what sort of person Ashrem d’Cannith was anymore.”
“He was the same as anyone,” she said. “A good man who made mistakes. Are you familiar with Vathirond?”
“No,” Tristam said.
“Vathirond is a city at the northeastern tip of Breland,” she said. “Throughout the war it served as a military outpost, situated as it was directly between Thrane and Cyre. Near the end of the war, the Brelish army had amassed a particularly devastating force of airships, prepared to drop heavy infantry units deep within Cyre’s borders. Breland was a powerful force in the war at the time, and though they avoided conflict with Cyre, Ashrem received reports that a large force was moving south through Thrane, prepared to ally with the Brelish forces and strike a destructive new offensive into Cyre. Ashrem used the Legacy to cripple the Brelish airships, hoping that the Thrane soldiers would no longer see any value in the alliance and withdraw.”
“What happened?” Tristam asked.
“The Thrane general was a particularly vicious servant of the Silver Flame,” she said. “He saw Vathirond’s weakness as opportunity. He quickly forged an alliance with the Cyrans, offering them a chance to strike back at Breland’s arrogant might. Together, they invaded Vathirond from both sides. The Brelish soldiers were defenseless. Without their magic, they were unable to even issue a speaker post to call for reinforcements. By the time help arrived, the city was in flames. Over three quarters of Vathirond’s populace died at the hands of the Thrane invaders and their Cyran allies. Through it all, Ashrem could only watch and realize that the blood of the fallen was on his hands. It was on that day that he dismantled the Legacy and determined to never use it again. The potential for grave errors like Vathirond was simply too high. Its secrets would die with him.”
“And with you,” Tristam said.
“I know only fragments,” she said. “Ashrem only taught me enough to assist him, never enough to build the Legacy on my own. He did not trust me that far. Truth be told, I was relieved that the replica I built actually functioned properly.”
Tristam blanched. “You weren’t sure it would work?”
“Not entirely,” she said, “but I was sure enough to take the risk.”
“What if it had failed?” Tristam asked.
“What if the Fellmaw hadn’t fallen for your ruse?” she asked. “We both gamble much, Xain.”
“Except that my crew knew the risk they were taking, Norra,” he said. “Yours did not-and now everyone but you and Ijaac are dead.”
“You have no idea how heavily that weighs upon me, Tristam,” she said. “Pray to your selfish, petty little gods that you never have to make such a sacrifice.”
Tristam sighed and said nothing, clasping his hands and slouching on his stool.
“So what do we do now?” Norra asked.
“We return to Dalan and find out what he has learned,” Tristam said. “Hopefully he will have found something by now.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Norra said. “I mean what happens to me? I do not wish to remain on this ship.”
“You were ready to die to destroy Zul’nadn, but now you won’t help us?” he asked.
“Your captain does not want me here,” she said. “None of you particularly like me. I am not needed here.”
“But you know more about the Legacy than anyone save Marth,” Tristam said.
“And that is what worries me most,” she said. “Will you let me leave this ship, knowing what I know? I am a danger to you, Xain.”