### 85

At Shamath’s command, the attendants draw slivers of steel and come rushing to hack you down. You essay a wide sweep of the sword and scythe the front rank down as easily as if they were ripened corn. Your sword strokes feel effortless; it is as if you are merely holding the Sommerswerd and the blade itself is fighting of its own accord. Within the space of a few minutes you have slain every last one of Shamath’s attendants, over a hundred in number.

Turn to 242.