The whispers were like those that speak in nightmares. A deep, rattling voice that sounds like it once burned within the lava tarns and lurked within the gloom from hell itself. Perched like an imp on her shoulder, the demon Isad goaded and routed her thoughts. Such thoughts demanding her to possess the nal jealot and reunite the jewel to its rightful place at the pummel of the hilt. And with it, with this weapon, could she move mountains; mountains that pressed so hard down on her shoulders, having left her weak. Isad demanded that she, the Edelshâld, the Holder of the Jewel, his and his cherished Dolores’ heart stone, should not ever be weak. He stirred her heart with promises of strength, to protect those she cherished, as well as dripped in revenge to destroy anyone who dared cros
