Alcuin looked at the sword, then. It was Anafiel's. Sweet Elua, had they wrestled his sword from him, killed him with his own blade? Was this the one that had run through Alcuin as well? It had all happened so fast... but he did know that the last layer of blood on it was the man that he'd killed.

"I... suppose it is now," was the answer he finally managed, as grief threatened to overwhelm him. "It was..." He couldn't quite bring himself to say it. "He's dead. We were attacked."