An exclusive peek into the next instalment of The Burnt Throne Saga,
“You are not a necromancer, and neither are we.” Bainok spent a moment looking over the shelves, finding an old tome that had the last cracked remnants of the word ‘history’ emblazoned upon it. “The founders lived nearly three thousand years ago, Podaris, yet their legacy lives on.” He turned the pages delicately until he found an image of Dawnsunder in its infancy painted upon one page. There, Lierin herself stood at the foot of her great school with artefacts long lost in her hands.
“I am not Lierin either,” Podaris interrupted, sitting back in his chair. “Could we not make a new tool? I may be able to create something with greater precision.”
“My father looked into such an endeavour, as did Tarsis. The gem mines of the Great Purgehorn are barren, and the rock that held the metals that Joric smithed the staff with have long fallen into the sea. It would not be the same as the Sceptre of Ryvvik,” Alwin said mournfully. It had once been their greatest hope, but realistically only a miracle using the original sceptre could be achieved.
Thirdmoon sighed. “Very well. We will see if it can be done.”