Whetstones of the Will

by R J Hanson

Now he pictured those tacky greens and browns, the dark wood of the door, the exact location of the shaving basin in the room… and he opened his eyes and was there. Ashdow, ever cautious and ready, was sheathing the sliver of a blade he had apparently snatched from his sleeve when Slythorne suddenly appeared in the room.

  “I thought you would be in your own room,” Slythorne said as he stepped across to close the shutters of the window.

  “That’s why I’m not in it,” Ashdow replied. Then he looked to the window and the morning sun. He watched for a moment as it struggled to defeat the bleary start of the day. After another heartbeat, he said, “I know it’s a bit pedestrian, but don’t you think it would be better to be seen returning to the inn instead of leaving curious servants to wonder how you returned without them seeing you?”

  Slythorne only responded with the toss of his hand as he strode to the side of the bed and laid a blanket on the floor. As he laid the blanket down, he saw Ashdow’s eyebrow raised in a silent question.

  “There is a Chaos Lord about as well as a Lord of Order,” Slythorne said as he began to undress and hang his gear on the provided armor tree nearby. “I don’t have an adequate understanding of their capabilities yet, but I don’t want either of them to easily determine exactly where I lay my head.”

  “A Chaos Lord? You don’t think either could achieve the Sleeper’s Curse, do you?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out by encountering them in the halls of my mind. Speaking of, see what you can learn from Lady Evalynne about these Lords of Order and Chaos. There is something… unusual that ties them together. Of course, they always seemed to come in pairs, one of Order and one of Chaos, but usually, when they meet, only one walks away from the encounter. There is also a drow presence in Moras. See what she knows. Surely, I don’t need to tell you not to tip your hand…”

  It was Ashdow’s turn to respond with a gesture, a very subtle, and quite offensive one. Slythorne smiled in return. Ashdow began across the room to the door, and Slythorne stretched out on the blanket he’d placed on the floor.

  “There was something significant about a dirt lot near the graveyard,” Slythorne said as Ashdow’s hand touched the lock. “There’d been a fire there, not too long ago. That may provide the needed clue.”

  Ashdow’s face shifted from the clean-shaven, hawkeyed visage so well known to Slythorne to the rosy and ruddy face of a merchant fond of drink early in the morning. His body also took on weight, making him appear at least eighty stone heavier. His clothing changed to fine silks and leathers of blue and gray, the colors of House Wellborne of Split Town and Ivantis.

  “Anything else?” Ashdow asked in a distinct, southern accent.

  “The drow are the key, but I’m quite curious about this Chaos Lord. He might prove valuable if we have to face the Lord of Order. Be mindful of potential leverage on that front.”

  “Always. Also, I’ll want my final payment before you decide to face either the Chaos Lord or the Lord of Order. Are we clear on that point?”

  Slythorne drew himself up to lean on a single elbow.

  “You won’t consider something more… reasonable?” Slythorne asked.

  “I will not.”

  “Very well,” Slythorne said as he reclined onto the heavy blankets. “Very well.”

  Two hours later, Ashdow, now posing as Danmorgan, a merchant captain of House Wellborne, sat having coffee at a street café near the dock. He had left their signal, the Sign of the Twelve, on the twelfth post on the twelfth dock, north to south, of the city.

  The Sign of the Twelve was a simple scrawl easily confused with lude graffiti or the initials of some mischievous, but lettered, child. The Sign changed from month to month, and region to region, with small, seemingly insignificant, scratches, or marks that appeared to be mistakes. These small marks were predetermined by the Shadow Council every few years to coincide with specific details that could be determined by the environment. For example, if it was the month of Setch and you were north of the Whaler’s Rest, a tavern in Modins, then the largest of the twelve marks was to be made on the upper righthand area of the pictogram. If you were south of the Whaler’s Rest, the mark was to be made on the lower righthand side of the series of marks.

  Ashdow had left an invitation to Ramschel. The Shadow Blade, sometimes called Ramaj, claimed Moras as his home, and the place he conducted business. It wasn’t exactly a requirement that Shadow Blades notify one another when operating in their staked territory, but it was usually the wise choice. Given their particular method of ascension, Ashdow didn’t want Ramschel to discover his presence by accident and jump to the conclusion that Ashdow was in Moras to kill him.

  A young woman was selling chunks of wood, driftwood mostly and the scavenged remains of shipping crates, across the street from Ashdow. As he watched, a beggar began an argument with a young woman asserting his own claims to that particular portion of the public right of way. Ashdow picked up on the man’s wild gestures, along with a few keywords that were misused in his berating of the young woman, that confirmed he had received Ashdow’s message.

  Ashdow responded with his own set of signals, gestures, and postures, all subtle and all deftly communicative. These two men, several yards apart, held a wholly concealed conversation on a busy street in view of dozens of witnesses with no one the wiser.

  Here on a job? the beggar asked through their complex language of signs.

  Yes, nothing to do with you or me, or our apprentices, Ashdow responded.

  Time frame?

  Days, maybe weeks. Ashdow signaled. If it is to go beyond two weeks, I’ll let you know.

  My apprentices could use the coin, if you find yourself in need of leg work, leave a message at the Marble Flagon. Leave it with the barkeep addressed to Redding.

  Understood.

  With that, the two parted ways, the beggar losing his argument with the young woman and Ashdow dropping a coin for his coffee and going about his day. In moments both had vanished from the street.

  Ashdow cycled through three different appearances as he walked the next two city blocks, always careful that any view of him was obstructed by crates stacked on the street, or a coach parked and awaiting passenger and driver. Sometimes he merely by turned into and then back out of a side street or alley. He had no reason to believe Ramschel would move against him, but Ashdow hadn’t made it to the ruling council of the Shadow Blades by making assumptions regarding his safety.

  He walked two more blocks until he reached Lower Market Street. Here Ashdow turned among the many street vendors hawking their wares and turned toward the door of a perfume shop built of native stone. Ashdow entered the perfume shop and walked straight to the back of the store toward the alley exit. As his hand touched the nob of the back door, his mind focused on his mental, magical, abilities and he altered his appearance once again to that of Danmorgan of House Wellborne.

  Ashdow entered the alleyway with a new appearance, a change in gait, and a cacophony of smells layered over his own. Given the measures implemented, he would have been virtually impossible to follow. Virtually.

  A short time later, Ashdow, posing as a House Captain, approached the Keep of Moras with a smile and a forged invitation to speak with Lady Evalynne. He decided that he had made the right choice of roles to play. When guards or watchmen heard he was representing a merchant House from Split Town, their dispositions became much more friendly, and quickly.

  Ashdow followed his escort, a pair of sturdy fellows in fine armor who wore their weapons as though they knew how to use them, along a hallway lined with large windows that curved toward the tower of Lady Evalynne’s inner chambers. Ashdow noted, with admiration, that anyone walking along this hallway could be easily observed from an obscure window mounted on the inner tower. New arrivals could be watched for several long strides before rounding the corner to approach the doorway. Ashdow was still smiling as he was led to the door of Lady Evalynne’s audience hall.

  “My
Lady, Captain Danmorgan of House Wellborne, arriving upon your invitation,” the escort on his right announced as he opened the door to the chamber.

  The guard entered the hall carrying Ashdow’s forged invitation while he and the other guard politely waited at the doorway. The invitation was handed to a man Ashdow calculated was likely Uriel-Ka of whom he had heard. Of the many sights in the audience hall, not the least of which was Lady Evalynne’s enticing figure, Ashdow found his eye drawn to the beautiful longsword propped against the throne at the Lady’s right hand.

  “Here to pay our respects, and our tariffs,” Ashdow said in response to Uriel-Ka’s doubting look upon examining the invitation. Ashdow gestured with the leather sack of coin tucked into the front of his belt, “we at House Wellborne understand how important brisk commerce is to the Lady of Moras, and indeed we share her outlook in that regard.”

  Evalynne revealed the barest of smiles and nodded to the guards. Ashdow stepped forward to stand before her throne as the guards exited the chamber.

  “You are?” Uriel-Ka asked, rather bluntly.

  “A merchant who expects to conduct some business in your fair city,” Ashdow said in a polite and diplomatic tone as he tossed the bag of coins to Ka. “You’ll find a few roarkor mixed with the gems and gold within. It is my prayer that it be enough to console your curiosity, garner your disinterest in my activities over the next few days, and perhaps acquire a few pieces of rather delicate information.”

  “Do you plan an assassination among any of the Houses?” Uriel-Ka asked, maintaining his direct tone and dismissing the vague nature of their conversation.

  “I do not,” Ashdow replied simply.

  “Among any nobility?”

  “No.”

  “What is it you would know?” Ka asked.

  “There is a dirt lot near the graveyard; tell me about it.”

  Uriel-Ka took a brief moment to glance at Evalynne, to which she replied with a slight nod.

  “There isn’t much to tell about that plot,” Ka said. “Although I am happy to tell what I know. It was a hospital of sorts, operated by Silas of House Morosse for a short time. It burned down about this time last year. Ownership of the property is retained by the Stewardess of House Morosse, Lady Delilah, as the property was originally a warehouse belonging to House Morosse.”

  “So, Silas of House Morosse?”

  “He passed, about the same time last year,” Uriel-Ka said, however, his quick look to Lady Evalynne was all the confirmation Ashdow needed.

  “If I were to have a need to contact a group of elves, perhaps not the sort that live in the forests of the Suthiel…”

  “There have been rumors about the mines belonging to House Morosse,” Ka began, but Ashdow heard the distinct click of Evalynne’s teeth clenching together reflexively. “However, those are not the only goods reputed to be fashioned by elves. We are a major trade city, after all, and see wares from all cultures.”

  “Am I to understand that your curiosity regarding my brief stay is satisfied?” Ashdow asked as he nodded toward the bag still held by Uriel-Ka.

  “We are satisfied and are happy to have you in our fair city.”

  Ashdow bowed and maintained his polite but slight smile and relatively flat affect. He had learned far more than either Evalynne or Uriel-Ka suspected. They were practiced in the arts of diplomacy and deception, but Ashdow was a master.

  Ashdow had learned there was definite drow involvement in the area, and that it was tied to the mines of House Morosse. He also knew that Silas of House Morosse was somehow tied to the drow and this place near the graveyard. He suspected Silas was not dead, and that Lady Evalynne profited from the whole affair.

  He needed to investigate Silas of House Morosse, and the Morosse estate. However, he thought his first move should be to look into the mines of Morosse and discern exactly how drow were involved there.

  Two streets across from Lady Evalynne’s Keep, Ashdow, the Master Shadow Blade, wore the typical garb of a miner from Moras.

  The streets of Moras were no different than the streets of many other large cities. Vendors and merchants crowded about, sailors and mercenaries passed through, farmers bartered, and soldiers sought entertainment. And, just like most other large cities, children, orphans of the harsh life in Stratvs, scrambled for food and shelter. Jaime and Haycen were two such children, although both boys were a year older now and had been wise enough to hide the bulk of the silver gleaned from the physician, Silas.

  Now they squatted in the cold dark of a blind alley, trying to merge their shadows with those of the surrounding fishnets and coils of rope piled nearby. The sun had dropped below the western peaks of the surrounding mountains less than an hour before, and now the fish merchants were packing away their carts of fish. Jaime and Haycen knew this was the best time of day to snatch a fish or two from the carts. Many of the hawkers were glad to see the end of the day, either because they were looking forward to returning home with a healthy profit or because business had been so slow that they were just glad to have it over. Either way, they were much less observant during the fifteen to twenty minutes it took them to pack away the remaining fish and prepare the carts to be stored overnight in a warehouse.

  Each boy, driven by the growls of their stomachs, selected with their eyes the fish they would take when the time came to make their move. They had learned early on in their endeavors to feed themselves, that it was best to know exactly what you planned to take before even beginning toward your mark. The vendor they were watching turned to step behind his cart for one final article to pack away. The boys made their move.

  As they both rocked up onto their toes and leaned toward the street, pale but strong hands wrapped around their heads to cover their mouths. With a single violent jerk, they were both pulled deeper into the shadows of the alley. The merchant across the way looked up and then directly at them. The look gave Haycen a moment of hope. Jaime, having fallen victim to the streets of Moras in more ways than one, had let the last of his hope die months earlier.

  With a simple telepathic suggestion, the merchant became sure he had seen a rat scurry among the nets and returned to his work. Slythorne could have used the same power to put both boys at ease, convincing them they were being pulled into the arms of a mother they never knew. However, that was not in his nature. Instead, he fed every fear that pounded through their frantic minds while paralyzing them with a simple mental command.

  Slythorne rifled through their thoughts, their memories, just as he had done to thousands of others. He found what he needed rather easily because it seemed that this young physician, Silas of House Morosse, had made a distinct impression upon both boys. An impression that only could be made with silver coins. Slythorne also noted the many sins and sinners that had victimized the boys in one way or another, some by dull apathy and others by far darker means. Slythorne smiled to himself when he realized that neither boy had experienced anything compared to what they would soon face at his hand. When one of them, Haycen was this one’s name, tried to call out to Father Time, Slythorne almost giggled.

  Chapter VIII

  The Warlock, the Warrior, and Wizard’s Bane

  Ashcliff had his own ways of traveling by magical means but was forced to admit that the Warlock of the Marshes was indeed a master of teleportation. Ashcliff could move from one point in a city to another in only seconds by way of his spells, but Lynneare’s range appeared to be limitless. With a single spell, they, all three of them, disappeared from a foggy dock in Modins and reappeared on a sharp outcropping of rock, the infamous Blue Tower just within sight.

  All three of them; that situation certainly unsettled Ashcliff. Dactlynese, known to Ash as Dawn for the first years he knew her, had hunted the young man, threatened him, enslaved him, tortured him, and tried to kill him and his friends. His friends. Ash’s thoughts strayed then to Roland and Eldryn. He indulged those pleasant thoughts for only a moment before returning his focus to Dactlynese. A woman as
dangerous and ruthless as her bared watching.

  Dactlynese was as beautiful as she was deadly. Her face and figure had halted many a man in mid-stride and cost them their lives for the glance. She was pale and strong, quick and confident. Her black hair was cut short in the style of the Silver Helms and stopped just short of her dangerous blue eyes.

  She carried a brace of daggers in her boots and another concealed in her bracers. She wore a mercshyeld falchion at her waist and carried a mace of sectot wood with Roarkor studs on a lanyard that hung from her left hand. It was not lost on Ashcliff that both components of that mace were well known for their most rare property, the ability to slay a vampire. The plate armor that covered her torso, which usually muted the figure of a woman, somehow only accentuated hers.

  When he met her, she was in league with Daeriv, the sorcerer attempting to overthrow Lawrec. Lawrec was a land held by Prince Ralston far to the north and west. Lynneare held the area known as the Marshes, an uncontested swamp that occupied several thousand acres in Lawrec. Daeriv hoped to enslave Lawrec, all of it, including the Marshes. The sorcerer, Daeriv, had recruited some powerful, and merciless, allies to that end. Among those allies was Dactlynese. Ashclifff, a budding Shadow Blade at the time, was hired by Lynneare to infiltrate Daeriv’s forces to spy on Dactlynese and report to Lynneare on her welfare.

  It seemed to Ashcliff that the relationship between Lynneare and Dactlynese, one that he now knew to be that of father to daughter, had been strained in the past, to say the least. Her moniker, Dawn, had apparently been selected as a symbol of Lynneare’s chief weakness. Being a master vampire, Lynneare could expose himself to sunlight; however, the experience was, by all accounts, an unpleasant one. However, Lynneare had prevailed and managed to capture Dactlynese.

  On that not so long-ago day just outside the city of Modins, Dactlynese and a wizard, Yorketh, also in Daeriv’s service, almost killed Ash and his two friends, Roland and Eldryn. Lynneare, with some help from another daughter, Clairenese, had defeated their forces and, as what appeared to be a side effect, saved Ash’s life and the lives of his friends as well.