"Let me," Rosivok said. Abruptly he bent down and took up the Blade. He stood there holding it, examining its shimmering steel, the beads of moisture rolling off of it. After a moment he shrugged. "Nothing," he said.
"No," the wizard Frost agreed. "There should not be." He took a very deep breath—deciding he would have to use his right hand, the left simply did not have the strength after the first disastrous try—and reached toward the Subartan warrior. "Let me try once more."
Rosivok held the Blade out. Briefly, Frost closed his eyes. He pushed all thoughts of the Blade's powers, as well as his own ideas about them, out of his mind, then spoke a minor spell to himself, one to keep his magical energies turned inward, turned off, for now. He looked at the Blade again and reached, and touched it. This time, after a moment, he gently smiled.
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