Thus, it was announced that on the anniversary of Calsar's birth, Callán would take both Priest Brannagh and Witchraiser Douglásc with him to the edge of the country's arable land to attempting dispelling the faybane.

" They need to quit having parties every day, it's getting boring," Douglásc complained, dressing himself in Dubhán's clothes and jewelry to get ready for the public announcement of the expedition.

" I've yet to see Calsar himself at any of them," Sif commented. " Why is that?"

Douglásc shrugged.

" He's old and he's sick," he said. " He's been preparing to hand the kingdom off to Callán for a while. Anyway, Sif, I need you to go look for Iudrige's body again. Now that we know his dog is there, I'll give you a weapon to banish it."

" Is it really so important to you?" Sif asked, tipping his head. " That man knows you're after it."

" How can I expect an animal like you to understand?" Douglásc said, still tidying himself up. " Now that Helna is gone, the only acolytes left of The Lord of Two Tongues are Iudrige and I. Can't I do something nice for someone I love?"

Somehow, Sif doubted that Douglásc really loved Iudrige.

" Fine. Where's the weapon you're lending me, then?" he asked, not sure what to expect. He'd have to go in as a cat this time, so he couldnt carry anything heavy.

Douglásc picked up a sharpened piece of bone that was laying in front of him, wrapped in hair. He then grabbed Sif's hand, and stabbed the center of his palm with it before Sif could react.

" Fuck! You have to quit doing that! Stabbing me all the time-" Sif complained, wincing, as Douglásc murmured imperceptibly.

Sif felt like a thrum in his arm, a warm that traveled downwards, and half-panicked, afraid he'd been cursed.

" You've never manifested your own spiritual weapon before, so I sped it up for you," Douglásc said, now looking at Sif a bit strangely. " It's bothered me for a while now, but that light..."

A spool of what could only be described as liquid light poured from Sif's palm instead of blood, and then began to form into a shimmering object. Sif wasn't sure what to do; he gripped it as it formed, watching as Douglásc's face cycled through complex emotions, hope and anticipation-

But as the light coalesced into a lance like the one Sif had once wielded in rebellion against Calsar, his expression settled back into its usual darkness, perhaps tinted by disappointment.

Sif whirled it around, looked it over. It felt the same as it had before, like the memory of a weapon...

" Why the disappointment? Did it turn out wrong?" he asked.

" Somehow," Douglásc said slowly, " I thought it'd be a sword."

" I've never been good with those," Sif told him. " Not enough reach. How do I put it away?"

Douglásc huffed at him.

" Name it, and then think of putting it away," he said, a little cross. " It'll move according to your will."

Sif continued to wave it around, trying to recall the motion of wielding it.

" Is a name really so important?" he asked.

" Are you stupid?" Douglásc asked. " Just do it and get out. We don't have all the time in world to restore Iudrige."

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