by R J Hanson
Roland asked Eldryn to accompany him and advise him. They began checking stables for a suitable mount for Roland. They found a lesser war-horse, a tall and stout beast, that suited Roland and that Eldryn approved of. He was a gelding. He was black with a blazed face and well-muscled. He responded quickly to the rein and ground hitched well.
“I’ll offer you thirty gold pieces for the animal, and no more,” Roland said to the horse trader.
“Thirty gold? You have a deal. I’ll throw in the saddle, bridle, and two sets of saddle bags.”
Roland paid the man taking no note of the stare that Eldryn was giving him. Roland saddled, and bridled the fine-looking horse and the two young men went on a ride outside of town that afternoon.
“Have you lost your ability to count?” Eldryn asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Thirty gold for a horse? That animal, although a fine mount, is not worth more than fifteen gold, no more than eighteen at the most!”
“I don’t like bartering. I found the horse I wanted. I have plenty of gold. I don’t see the problem. Would you rather I give him one of the jewels I carry? Is that your preferred method of overpaying?”
Eldryn knew that he had no retort, which was rare, and therefore moved on with his day. They exercised their mounts and Roland got to know his horse that he came to call Road Pounder. Roland and Eldryn returned to town and stabled their horses near sunset. They went back to their inn and ate another large and fine meal.
Roland went up to Lucas’ room and was surprised when a strapping and very tall Slandik warrior opened the door. His height didn’t match Roland’s but was still easily near six and a half feet. Weight was hard to judge given the presences of the white bear cloak that he wore, but the weapons he carried were not. A great axe of the ever-ice from Janis hung across his back and an ivory hand axe, beautifully scrimshawed, rode easily in his belt. His hair was a dark blonde as was his thick and braided beard. His eyes were the color of the deep blue waters that bordered his homeland.
“What do you want?” The young Slandik asked.
“I am here to check on my friend,” Roland said with an edge in his voice. “Where is he?”
“I am here, Roland,” Lucas said from a chair behind the door.
The young Slandik looked over his shoulder and made a nod to the unseen, and unseeing, Lucas, and stepped aside. Roland entered the room to find Lucas looking much better. Color was returning quickly to his face and his frame, although still frail, was regaining some of its old strength. Roland didn’t miss the sight of the rich furs that layered the bed and the fine care that had been shown to the axe Lucas carried out of the caverns. An axe, at his first glance under the stone of Nolcavanor that looked over used and beyond utility, now gleamed showing itself to be a quite regal weapon. It was of the ever-ice, Roland now noticed. Properly called Kolvic, it was a mysterious material known to only come from the frozen wastes of Janis. It had the appearance of ice but never melted, the strength of alloyed steel, and weighed less than half any metal found or crafted by any race. Furthermore, if one knew the secrets, it could be shaped into nearly any useful tool.
“This is Asheim, one of my grandsons. He is named for one of our fire breathing mountains. The note reached one of my family as I had hoped it might.”
“I see,” Roland said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You have done more than I could have hoped for. I thank you. Asheim here will see to my needs and will escort me back to my home.”
“Very well,” Roland said. “If you should need anything you have but to ask. If you are ever in Fordir and need help you may ask for me or my father, Velryk.”
“Should you ever come to the lands of the Slandik, ask for me and my family. I would be honored if I could return some of the help you have given me.”
“Will you remain in Dolloth long?” Roland asked.
Asheim looked to his elder briefly and then responded for them.
“We were here in hopes of buying steel from the dwarves, but it would seem that they only come to Dolloth to buy,” Asheim said. “Those that live under the mountains are quite jealous of their wares. Still, the farther inland we travel the better price we get for our furs and seal skins. I rarely come on these trips but, hoped to speak with the dwarves myself to perhaps barter a deal. It would seem that Lady Fate put me here at the time our grandfather was returned to us. For that you have our thanks. Our thanks are not given lightly, nor is it just air passing through a man’s throat. If you find yourself in Janis, then ask after us and our family. We will conclude our business here this day and head west again in the morning. I would like to have more time to visit with the man that grandfather here describes you to be, but our duties now are pressing.”
Roland extended his hand and took Lucas’. They shook hands and Roland noted a quick look of distain from Asheim that surprised him. The look passed and Asheim took his hand in friendship as well.
“Well then, may the road rise to meet your feet,” Roland said. “May you be in your heaven a day before Muersorem knows your dead.”
“If it comes before we meet again,” Lucas said, “then may you have many sons and your death come in battle and on a warm day.”
Roland met Eldryn downstairs in the main hall again and both had another ale.
“Are you as tired as I am?” Eldryn asked.
“Yes,” Roland replied simply.
Both went upstairs, bathed again and had gone to bed before the ninth dark hour.
Roland and Eldryn met at the breakfast table a few hours after sunrise and ate the fill of any three men each. The innkeeper had taken to charging them three times what he charged other patrons for a meal.
“It is out of house and home you will eat me!” The innkeeper had said.
They asked the innkeeper about the welfare of their friend, Lucas.
“He spends money well and has a remarkable appetite for a man his age,” the innkeeper replied.
“He was without food for some time,” Roland said. “If there is any extra cost, we will cover it.”
“You misunderstand me, sir. He had four women up there this morning before he and his kin left. They were the second group of four that he has requested since yesterday. He does, however, pay well.”
The two companions left the inn and walked to the marketplace again that morning watching the performers and jugglers and trying foods from many different lands. Dalloth was the home of Lord Jessup. It was the only major city between the western coasts and the capital of Ostbier. Being situated between the mountain range to the north where Nolcavanor rested and the mountain range to the south which was home to a large clan of dwarves it drew a great deal of trade.
Roland and Eldryn made their way to a reputable jeweler to have the gems that Roland took from Nolcavanor appraised. They were both surprised to learn that each of the five gems were worth over two hundred gold coins. Roland agreed to sell two of the gems to the jeweler and added the sum to the one hundred twenty-five gold coins he already possessed. He divided the total with Eldryn, leaving him with two hundred sixty-five gold, and Eldryn with two hundred and sixty.
“I think I’ll look into getting another good axe,” Roland said. “We certainly have the money for it now.”
“I could finally get a proper lance,” Eldryn said. “Perhaps a new horse and a better saddle.”
The two walked through the lanes and streets until they came to a large weapon shop. The building was of crafted and carved stone and of a very sturdy build. It was clearly designed to look appealing, but Roland had spent much of his early years in a jail. He knew a building designed for security when he saw one.
They entered and saw many wondrous weapons and ornate suits of armor. This shop could have been the armory of a king, or at least a great lord, Roland thought. Roland and Eldryn were approached by a thin man with a sallow complexion wearing robes. Both Roland and Eldryn noticed the way the man looked more at what they wore and car
ried than he did at them.
“What are the two young lords looking to purchase this day?”
“I’d like to find an axe to match this one,” Roland said holding forth the black lava glass axe he had discovered in Nolcavanor.
“Sir, there is not an axe to match this one, not in this shop or any other,” the clerk said with awe in his voice. “This is a dwarven axe of old. These markings indicate the ancient dwarven king it was crafted for. We should very much like to purchase it. You have but to name your price.”
“I am not here to sell an axe, this one or any other. However, I would be willing to pay you in gold for what you can tell me about this one,” Roland’s curiosity now piqued.
The clerk accepted the coin and examined the axe closely.
“This is an ancient weapon, as I said,” the thin man continued. “Indeed, crafted for one of their kings. Dwarven history is not something the outside world knows much of, but the craft for making a weapon constructed of this material died long ago. I can say that with certainty. This weapon was made when men still walked among gods and all elves were fair skinned and lived in their forest homes. Most cutting weapons are forged, folded, edged, then sharpened. As you can see that would be impossible with this material. The material itself is produced by an unlikely blending of liquid metal pouring up out of the dark, hot places in the mountains. The flowing metal would then have to be very near the raw power that only gods or champions could provide. Once those are combined, a rarity I hope you understand, the environment must be just right for the resulting material to cool but, not too quickly. That forms the black glass you see here, also known as leiness. The black glass, or leiness, must be chipped by a very skilled hand until it takes on the shape the craftsman desires. A piece of it must be found without any flaw, which in and of itself is rare. Then it must be worked by a craftsman that knows his art. Once completed it will not chip again nor shatter. The edge will never dull.” The clerk said.
As Roland was formulating his next question the clerk unexpectedly continued.
“An axe of this material is fit for a king, as I said, but you may have also noticed the angular engravings along the haft and the odd way the jewels are set within. This was a means of telling the story of the wielder’s heritage. It’s not language exactly but, craft. You see, the legend is that when light strikes the haft at just the right angle the reflection on a dark wall is an image that tells the story. Some would call it magic, and I suppose, in its way, it is. But this is all craft and skill. The right person would know what light source and angle would be needed to reveal the image. I have seen weapons from all points of the compass, but only the dwarves knew the art of painting such a picture with light.”
“So, this is undoubtedly of dwarven origin and craft?” Roland asked.
“Oh, certainly,” the shopkeeper said.
“Very well,” Roland said. “Thank you.”
“May I see the weapon you wear across your shoulder?” The slender man asked Roland.
“That weapon I will keep also,” Roland said. “The leather cover remains.”
“Very well, I did not wish to insult you. I was merely curious as to whether it was a true Shrou-Hayn. Some carry them, but they are rare. We even have one or two for sale to those who can pay.”
“I have no interest in trading this weapon. It has served me well. I thank you for your interest.”
Roland traded in his old iron hand axe and a hand full of coins for two new axes made of a strong steel alloy. He also sold one of the ten daggers in his belt so that he could carry the flame blade in the row of scabbards that held his other daggers. Eldryn purchased a magnificent lance, several bow strings, a hand full of caltrops and thirty arrows. Neither boy noticed the man browsing nearby. Neither boy noticed the way he marked where Roland placed the glass axe in his belt.
The two boys walked from the shop and Eldryn saw Roland’s look of disdain.
“They are very proud of their wares,” Roland said.
“You do not mind paying too much for a horse, but paying too much for a weapon upsets you?”
“Horse traders are horse traders, but weapon smiths supply the warriors of our lands,” Roland said. “It is not right that they seek to make such a greedy profit from the fact that warriors must defend themselves and our lands. They take coin from men who have earned it in service or gallant combat. They sell weapons to whoever can afford them, regardless of who they fight for or what cause they represent, as long as they can pay.”
“Are you saying they should be more selective as to who they sell to?” Eldryn asked.
“Not at all,” Roland said. “I would not deprive any man or woman the ability to defend themselves. I’m saying they are selling to the highest bidder.”
“They pay taxes, do they not?” Eldryn asked. He smiled knowing where this conversation was going. He was going to enjoy every moment of it.
“El’, how long has it been since you were struck soundly in the mouth?” Roland asked.
Eldryn laughed, enjoying his complete victory.
They made their way to a stable where Eldryn looked over the stock. He found a lesser war-horse and saddle that he thought appropriate replacements. He loved his old horse, but the months of hard travel had been tough on the animal. A horse that was not a breed for warring to begin with. Eldryn called his new mount Lance Chaser.
Roland and Eldryn made their way back to the inn and found a letter waiting for them there.
The innkeeper gave it to them when they entered.
“Your friend, Lucas, left this for you.”
Roland unrolled the scroll and read. Roland noted that it was written in both his own native language and that of the Slandik.
The bearers of this letter shall travel with safety through my lands. They are to enjoy the same courtesies that would be shown me by my people. Any Slandik that stands against Roland, Eldryn, or Ashcliff, stands against the house of Thorvol.
Master of the Frozen Plain
Commander of the Cat Riders
King Lucas
“How about that,” Eldryn said looking around Roland’s shoulder. “Lucas, a king.”
“Not just a king, but The King of the Slandik,” Roland said.
Thinking back on the brief, but hard, look Asheim had given him Roland now understood. It was a great insult, one that could get a man killed, to initiate a hand shake with a king.
That evening, over another large meal, they discussed their plans. They decided, or rather Roland decided and Eldryn went along with it, that Eldryn should send a letter home to let his mother know they were well. They also decided to send enough coin home to replace what was taken from the fines box, to pay for the supplies they had taken from the jail, and to pay for Roland and Eldryn’s horses, because they had actually belonged to Velryk and Shaylee.
“Shouldn’t we be heading home anyway?” Eldryn asked. “Why send the package if we’re heading that way anyhow?”
“We are not heading home,” Roland said. “Yorketh and Dawn should be on our trail. I had hoped that they would have made it to Dolloth by now and we could have had that out, but that has not been the case.”
“Wait,” Eldryn interjected. “You have been lounging here hoping they would catch up to us?”
“Well, yes,” Roland said. “A town would be better for us and worse for them. I have also taken some precautions in my room upstairs just in case. You should consider doing the same. In any case, it would seem that they are more patient than I had hoped they would be. We can’t head toward home because they might guess our destination and beat us there. When we arrived, we might be forced to deal with them while they held hostages.”
Eldryn’s thoughts went to his mother. He saw Roland’s logic clearly.
“I propose that we head toward Modins to meet with Ash,” Roland continued. “If they attack us on the trail then we will handle the situation then. If not, then we wait in Modins for Ashcliff and plan our next move after that. We wi
ll have a good lead on Ash, so we will have plenty of time on our hands. We could travel leisurely.”
“By ‘leisurely,’ you mean bait them,” Eldryn said in more of a statement of fact rather than a question.
“Yes.”
In the deep hours of the night, while Roland and Eldryn slept in adjacent rooms on the third floor of the inn, a foot clad in soft black leather eased its way down from Roland’s window sill. In those quiet hours while Roland and Eldryn rested deep in a sleep brought on by days of toil and capped by a hearty meal, a hand, tattooed at the wrist with a small black fly, wrapped its fingers around the blade of a short sword.
A scream startled Roland from distant fathoms in which his conscious mind had been submerged. The controlled wakefulness that he had been trained in was shattered by that scream.
As the first burglar crumpled to the floor with a borrowed caltrop buried in his foot, point protruding from the top of his boot, three more used him as a stepping stone to slip into the room like shadows. They each knew their business and knew this theft would now have to be an assassination as well.
Roland leapt from his bed, Swift Blood in hand. Too late he realized that his preparations for Yorketh and Dawn should have included keeping his fine helmet close at hand. It appeared that the other arrangements he had made proved worthwhile.
He looked around the room confused. He knew he had heard the scream. He knew a hand with a black fly tattoo grabbed at a short blade as some unknown assailant crept into his room. How did he know that there was a black fly tattooed on that hand? He had still been sleeping when the thief drew his weapon. He looked around now and the room was empty and unchanged. Unchanged? As it occurred to him, he looked to the window to see a dark form moving through it. That dark form slid into his room silently.
He should have acted then but, well, was unable to come to terms with what was happening. He was watching something unfold that he had just witnessed. Only now he was watching it happen for the first time. He watched in a stupor as the soft leather clad foot descended onto the caltrop. He watched as the would-be assassin screamed into the night. He watched as the three that followed their unlucky companion used him to pass the other caltrops on the floor and begin their work for the night.