He stepped around the pool of blood--which was seeping down the inclined dungeon floor--and moved into the guard room.  The three guards lay dead.  One of them sat in a chair.  Nightblood, still mostly sheathed, had been rammed through the man’s chest.  About an inch of a dark black blade was visible beneath the silver sheath.
	Vasher carefully slid the weapon fully back into is sheath.  He did up the clasp.
	I did very well today, a voice said in his mind.
	Vasher didn’t respond to the sword.
	I killed them all, Nightblood continued.  Aren’t you proud of me?
	Vasher picked up the weapon, accustomed to its unusual weight, and carried it in one hand.  He recovered his duffle and slung it over his shoulder.
	I knew you’d be impressed, Nightblood said, sounding satisfied.