...Rising gracefully, she held the sword flat across her bare palms and began to chant in an ancient form of Katallan.

“From the earth, from the sky, from the ancient sea,

Let the power of the sword return and center in me.”

Shifting her grip, she grasped the hilt in both hands and held the blade high above her head.

A wind sprang up out of nowhere, laden, first with the scent of new grass, next the saltwater tang of ocean winds, and finally the fragrance of burning incense.

She called, “Show me your power.”

On the last word, a low humming sound filled the air around them. A trickle of blue flame lazily curled up and down the blade. Then a stream of fire erupted from the tip of the blade and shot skyward.

Faith stood with the sword raised for what seemed like hours even though Kadar knew by his watch that only a handful of minutes had passed.

As the shower of fire began to subside, she said, “Put your hands over mine. A man and woman sharing the power make it stronger.”

He wiped his clammy palms, and noted, wryly, that he’d rather stick the pin back into a live grenade. Nevertheless, he faced his brave little spitfire and closed his hands over hers.

The sword vibrated in their combined grip. Kadar sensed a great stirring in the psychic plane. And a deep voice spoke in the depths of his mind. Nicholas Kadar Ben Hamad, honorable son of Duraza. My brother, The Sword of Night, and I grant you the power to call us to your will.