I would never have made it down from the mountain without the Dragonblade. Even though I only had one hand free, with the Dragonblade in my other hand, and with my own sword in its sheath by my side and with my pack on my back and Caveria’s on my chest, I would have slipped and fallen to my death.

It was the most arduous climb I’d ever done, down the steep, steep slope in the deepening dusk, and with the remnants of the thunderclouds still brooding above me. The Dragonblade kept the rain away, and provided me with light, but it also helped with my balance.

I hadn’t thought about the sword before, since I hadn’t expected I would end up with it, but even so I was surprised. The thing seemed alive in one sense, and like an extension of myself in another. I could feel my surroundings through the sword, and feel its magic.

It was spooky. I could sense the ground beneath me, the mountains rising around me, the thunderclouds and the rain. And everything else. It was as if I had a faint, ghostly extra sense extending around me, and even into things and objects.

The first time a loose rock rolled away under my foot and I almost fell, I gripped the sword tighter - and stared at it in shock as it pulled me back. It felt like a solid support, like a hand rail in the middle of the slope. Then it loosened, as soon as I’d regained my balance. It was as if it had sensed my need and responded with what was needed.

I forced my attention back to the path. I couldn’t spare any focus, even if the sword would support me. That also had the nice effect of pushing away the other thoughts that swirled in my mind. The sickening thud when Caveria slammed into the ground, and the dragon’s rumbling laugh as it swallowed her body. I couldn’t dwell on that, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. All I could do was try to ignore it, and try to make my own guardianship of the sword last for more than a couple of hours.

At last I reached the point where the path flattened out. It was almost dark by then, and the rain had almost ceased. A few, lone thunderclouds still swirled around the peak behind me, and I could feel some few, faint flickers of lightning through the sword.

It seemed to like lightning. Something that felt like joy rose in it whenever it sensed lightning, and I remembered how it had felt up on the mountain, when the lightning had struck it.

Once I was down, I found a rock and sat down. I was exhausted and had to rest. I hoped there was some food left in the bags, something that didn’t need to be cooked. To my delight, I found those healing cakes Caveria had brought.

They were great this time too. I ate one, and could almost feel the warmth and energy radiating out from it as it landed in my belly. It was incredible stuff.

So, finally, I put all my gear down, leaned back on the rock outcrop I had for a back rest, and exhaled deeply. My whole body ached. I’d never been so tired, although as far as I could tell, I wasn’t wounded. I was just utterly exhausted.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I wanted to sleep. Except I didn’t. I wanted to want to sleep, but I found I couldn’t relax. I was tired, but far too keyed up for sleep. So I opened my eyes and looked around.

It was a very bleak place, this mountainside. There was almost nothing growing here, except for low grass and some tough-looking ground-hugging plants. Nothing to eat, for anyone except possibly a goat.

It matched my mood. I felt bleak, and disappointed. Even though I’d gotten the blade, we’d lost Caveria. Granted, I had gotten the blade because we had lost Caveria, but - still. I wasn’t sure it was a fair trade.

I looked down at the sword, where it lay beside my foot on the ground. It didn’t look like much. My own sword looked fancier. It looked utilitarian and rough, and the only special thing was the hilt. It was clearly made of bone, and if the myth and the dragon were to be believed, it was dragon bone. That dragon’s bone.

I thought of our own stories back home, of tales and myths, and about the ancient legend of the Iliad. The war of Troy, which was supposedly set off because of a beautiful woman. That made sense, in an archaic and dumb way, but this sword seemed like a small thing to fight over. Even if it could stop the rain.

On an impulse, I prodded it with my foot - and froze. As soon as I touched it, I felt the world through it again. I felt the ground beneath us, the rock I was sitting on, and I felt myself. That felt weird, like a kind of double vision but for my whole body.

I removed my foot, and the sense faded. It didn’t go away completely, though. I could still feel the sword, and still feel through it, even though I wasn’t touching it.

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I frowned down at it. It seemed to be laughing at me, and beckoning me. Pick me up, it seemed to hint, pick me up, and let’s do something! I snorted a laugh back at it.

As if. I remembered what they’d said about the mage who’d tried to steal it in Ruula. He’d blown himself up. No thanks, I thought. I’m not going down that path.

Which led to the inescapable but very uncomfortable next question: what path was I going down? Here I was, with the party’s mission accomplished, so now... what? Tiriel’s plan had been to remove the sword and hide it away so it couldn’t tempt anyone. I’d realized down in Davorra that that was too late. So what to do with it?

I stared at it and tried to understand why I’d been given it. The dragon had talked about the Moon Goddess, and said it was giving me the sword in her name. So that I could - what was it? Live my life, and suffer.

Gee, thanks, I thought and glared at the sword. What a gift. That made the poor Ruula mage’s experience rather more fitting. The Dragonblade - umbrella, flashlight, and suicide helper. Nice gift there, dragon.

And yet, my memory reminded me unhelpfully, I had tried to give Caveria the same gift. Not by killing her, but by letting her live, defeated. I had no doubt she would have hated it, and quite possible hated me. Now... the whole thing was moot.

She was gone, and I was here. With the Dragonblade, to live, and suffer.

All of a sudden, I laughed. It was silly, wasn’t it. This was supposed to be the most powerful magical weapon in the world. It should be something glorious, something great and awe-inspiring.

Not a plain, unadorned steel sword lying on the barren ground in the rain. I bent down and picked it up. Instantly, the sword’s senses flowed back to me. I realized they’d been doing so when I wasn’t touching it, but they were much, much stronger now. And I could feel the sword’s magic, and the life force flowing around us, which the sword was eager to shape.

It wanted to be used. By me. I could sense that too, and all of a sudden it clicked into place. The sword was mine now. It was really mine. The dragon had given it to me, and it was mine, for good and for ill. That was why I could sense it even when it was lying on the ground. We were linked, somehow.

I rose from the rock and raised the sword into the air. It thrummed with power, and with barely suppressed eagerness to let it loose. It would, at my direction.

I lowered the sword again, shaken. The sword was mine, and nobody else could use it unless I gave it away or they killed me.

And that meant - I could take the sword and go into hiding, so that the war down among the kingdoms wouldn’t be fed further by the sword, at least. Or - I could take the sword and come down from the mountains, down into the kingdoms, and... put an end to the war.

I stared at the sword and moved it through the air. I could sense its power, and sense that it could really do almost anything. Lightning? Absolutely! Fireballs? Easy! Whip up a small tornado to rip through the enemy’s forces? Sure - where do you want it? Minor earthquakes? Floods? Or just launching rocks into the air to bring them down on other people’s head? All in a day’s work.

There were limits, but they were more related to me and to the amount of life force the sword and I could channel and direct. The sword itself wasn’t limited. It had been made using dragon magic, welding together the magic of the elements, the stars, the earth - and the gods.

At least, if my sense of what the sword seemed to be hinting was correct, or could be believed. I could be wrong, or the sword could be lying. I certainly hadn’t forgotten the lying bastard of a dragon, promising to spare Caveria and then eating her. Why wouldn’t a dragon-made sword be as tricksy?

It seemed to laugh at me again, at this. Try me and see, it hinted. Just try.

I stared at it for a long, long time, as darkness fell around me. What if - I did? I was tired of playing catch-up, and I remembered how real and powerful it had felt when I realized I was here for a reason.

I hadn’t fallen into the lake and ended up here by chance. Maybe, just maybe - the dragon hadn’t given the sword to me by chance, either.

It felt like utter lunacy. Should I, Peter Smith, who lacked fighting skills and leadership skills and most other skills, and knew as much about Lumaria’s politics and society as a six-week old kitten - should I march down with the most powerful weapon in the world, and try to stop a war?

The problem was, I couldn’t see any good reason not to. The sword was mine. The dragon had given it to me, with the express support from the Moon Goddess. Who had sent me here. To - stop the war.

Okay, I thought. It felt like lunacy. Surreal, unreal lunacy. But - why not? If not me, then who?

The obvious answer was: anyone else. Anyone who knew what they were doing. But they weren’t here, and they didn’t have the sword. I was here, and the dragon had given the sword to me. So, it had to be me.

But it’s stupid, I told myself. I can’t use the sword, and I don’t know anything about the war. Most likely, I’ll just get myself killed, and then what.

Live your life, and suffer, another voice whispered, from an unhelpful part of my mind.

Why should I suffer, I shot back. Perhaps I can build a, a sanctuary. Yes, find a nice quiet spot and use the sword to make the crops grow and the harvest bountiful, and simply keep the soldiers away. Without getting involved in the war myself.

Fat chance, the other voice said. While you sit there in your peaceful quiet, the war will rage outside. Think of Skorra, and her family. They will have to flee from place to place while you sit pretty with your sword. No. Live your life, and suffer. Why do you think you’re here?

I had no good answer to that. I didn’t understand why I was here. I hadn’t asked for it. Abruptly, another image rose in my mind, an image from a book. I had to laugh as I realized what it was. Fitting, considering how I’d ended up in the lake. And fitting, since I was in the same situation.

There was nothing else to do, was there. I would die anyway, sooner or later, and with the sword, perhaps I could do something useful. What if I could stop the war?

Live your life, and suffer. So be it, then. I raised the sword again, with the image still hovering in my mind, but I couldn’t help smiling.

“I will take the sword, though I do not know the way - or what the heck I¨m doing,” I said, to no one in particular.