Whetstones of the Will

by R J Hanson

  Ashcliff was no fool and was coming to master the fine art of manipulation. He understood, and appreciated, how many victories Lynneare took from the battlefield that day. Lynneare had rescued his daughter, Dactlynese, he had managed to make a Shadow Blade indebted to him, and he had befriended Roland and Eldryn, two young men with the potential for bright, powerful, futures. Since that day, Lynneare had seen Roland married to his youngest daughter, Clairenese, and had apparently come to some sort of reconciliation with Dactlynese. The Warlock had also managed to arrange for Roland to spearhead the actions against Daeriv in Lawrec, winning him an even more stalwart ally and pushing an established enemy further back without even having to take any direct action. Yes, Ashcliff certainly had an appreciation for the skills of the mighty Lynneare.

  Just the same, Ashcliff did not trust Dactlynese, nor did she seem inclined to even feign regret or apology. However, having the Warlock of the Marshes counted among his satisfied clients had done wonders for Ashcliff’s career and reputation. It didn’t hurt that the old vampire paid in Roarkor coins, either.

  Now Ashcliff, a young assassin and spy that had not yet seen his twentieth year, crouched near the top of a rocky outcropping alongside one of the most powerful creatures in Stratvs examining the most impregnable stronghold ever known.

  “Not the most impregnable,” Lynneare said, not taking his eyes from the Blue Tower far off in the distance. “Although, nothing to take lightly, either.”

  Ashcliff knew the master vampire could read his thoughts easy enough, but it still bothered him that his metal defenses were so feeble an obstacle against the powers of the old Warlock.

  “You really believe they’ll let me just walk in?” Ashcliff asked as he studied the surrounding terrain and double-checked the inside pocket of his cloak for the small pouch provided to him by the Warlock.

  “Their security measures are all designed to keep their slaves and hoarded knowledge within their walls,” Lynneare responded. “You should not be challenged upon entry. If your abilities to alter your appearance and conceal your identity proximate my estimations, you should have no trouble at all. Egress will be a different matter.”

  Lynneare handed Ashcliff a gold coin, a specific coin the Warlock had enchanted with a spell of tracking. Ashcliff knew the small pouch, dimensionally altered to carry a number of useful tools, also contained an item with a tracking spell that Lynneare had failed to mention. However, as Ash had no plans to double-cross the likes of the Original Betrayer, it didn’t bother him. What did bother him was the prospect of infiltrating and arousing the ire of the fabled Blue Tower. Then Ashcliff noticed something that gave him an idea. He saw a sea-green tint among the shadows of a rocky outcropping southwest of their position.

  “The powers of the pouch and the tracking spell on the coin are meager and should be easily camouflaged by the other magical items you will carry,” Lynneare said. “Magical items are commonly carried by the masters of yon tower. The entry to the chamber where the Drakestone is held will be somewhere in the master staircase. When you find it, recite the incantation I taught you. A dimensional doorway should appear before you. Enter, perform your tasks, and exit. It should be as simple as that. The outer walls of the keep are warded against teleportation or any such spell. If you can make it beyond the walls on your own, then do so, and we will meet on the western shore two days hence. If not, rub the coin, and we will come to you. It will be difficult to breach the wards of the Blue Tower, but not impossible for one such as myself. Either way, the moment we teleport to you, the wizards of the Blue Tower will be alerted to our presence and will immediately respond. So, if you have to activate the coin, be prepared to act.”

  “And prepared to stay out of my way,” Dactlynese put in from behind them; this being her first contribution since they’d arrived on the island of the Blue Tower.

  “You seem confident,” Ash said, ignoring Dactlynese and allowing his eyes to drift to the tower of such mystery and legend.

  “Thanks to your efforts, I possess the Sands of Time,” Lynneare said, following Ash’s gaze and also ignoring Dactlynese’s comment. “I have foreseen many outcomes of many scenarios. I have seen many of your futures. Your success here is in all of them.”

  “Then…” Ash began but was cut short by the Warlock’s upheld finger.

  “The future is like silence,” the old spellcaster said. “Once spoken, twice broken.”

  Ashcliff looked again at the Warlock, trying to display that his youth did not make him a fool.

  “Are you familiar with the philosophy that the mere observation of a situation, unnoticed observation, changes its nature?”

  “I’m an assassin, true enough, but I’m also a spy,” Ash said with a slight bow to Lynneare. “It is sometimes my sole duty to observe and report. If I believed things changed just by watching them, I’d have to change careers.”

  Lynneare’s only response was to return the bow.

  “If you two are done, we should be about our mission before I have to kill every spell caster on this rock,” Dactlynese said as she turned her eyes on Ashcliff. “And, if I have to begin killing spell casters, there’s no telling where I might stop.”

  “Are you under the impression that your successes in Modins against my friends and I are a result of your prowess?” Ash asked as he began down the embankment toward the hard ground below. “I assure you it had much more to do with the fact that we were outnumbered more than ten to one. If you weren’t afraid of my friends, I’ve no doubt you would not have felt the need to bring a small army with you. Perhaps, then, you are more wise than you seem. You were smart enough to fear Roland and Eldryn, after all.”

  Ashcliff turned then, just for a moment, to see Dactlynese twist her face and open her mouth to respond only to have that response quelled by a single look from her father, Lynneare. Ashcliff smiled and continued down the rocky slope feeling much better about his day.

  Once he reached the base of the small rise, Ashcliff moved off toward another outcropping of rock. This outcropping was less than a league off the trail from his current position to the Blue Tower, but he thought it an essential stop. Ashcliff had marked the outcropping with his eye when he had noticed a slight hue of teal in the shadows of the rocky overhangs. Ashcliff moved from one point of cover to another, making sure that no one keeping watch from the Blue Tower would have an opportunity to see him.

  As he closed with the outcropping, Ash reached into the mental powers he’d be trained to manipulate. His appearance began to shift, his face taking on age and his clothing changing color. With each step he took, the alterations continued further from his original form. He was not as skilled in this practice as his master, Ashdow, was, but Ashcliff had improved remarkably. By the time he reached the outcropping, Ashcliff appeared to be a sixty-year-old version of himself, and his clothing had become robes of a distinct blue hue. After a few more minutes of concentrating, Ash was able to add a subtle stitching to the collar and around the sleeves of the robe. Lynneare had described this stitching in great detail because it marked the wearer as a master of the Blue Tower.

  For the most part, the way the Shadow Blade Guild was organized was brutally efficient. Twelve masters sat on the council, and each allowed to train apprentices. Apprentices were allowed to accept employment on the one and only condition that their masters be made aware of who was hiring the apprentice. Beyond that, all operational details were for the apprentice to maintain. This ensured the confidentiality of the client’s requests.

  There were only two ways of graduating from apprentice to master. Those two pathways to master were for an apprentice to kill a master, or, if one of the twelve died by other means, all apprentices would be invited to participate in a selection process that ensured one of them a seat at the council while ensuring shallow graves for the others. There was no such thing as second place in the process. All new masters took the twelfth seat at the council.

  Masters were forbidden to take the life of
an apprentice, unless the apprentice moved against that master first. This rule contributed to the ever-honed skills of spotting an ambush or assassination attempt on the part of the council. The only way for a master to advance from his position toward the first seat of the council was for a master above him to die. Whether that death come at his hand or by other means was of little consequence.

  Thus, the Council of Shadow remained ever sharp and populated by only the best of their profession. However, the secrecy also provided for the occasional, accidental, opposition. There was no way for apprentice Ashcliff to know that his master, Ashdow, was currently operating at cross-purposes to his own. There was no way for Ashdow to know that his apprentice, a young man whom he had trained since the boy’s eighth year, was working against him.

  Ashcliff, acutely aware of the nature of the moss he sought, began searching about the rock with tender fingertips. He searched for the teal moss he’d spotted from his scouting position. After several long minutes of searching, Ashcliff found the shaded ledges where the moss grew. This was a rare species of moss that only grew in the northern regions, and only in areas that were protected from exposure to direct sunlight.

  Ashcliff held his breath and gently brushed snow away from the edges of the moss. He used a dagger to delicately remove the moss from the stone, and carefully eased it into a leather pouch he carried at his waist. He took every precaution to avoid disturbing its potent spores. Once he’d collected several samples of the valuable component, Ashcliff headed for the main gate of the Blue Tower.

  He strode with confidence, attempting to convey a sense of condescension toward the guards posted near the wall and at the gate. Magic could change his appearance and conceal his movements if necessary, but only skill could guide his posture and actions. Now he must play the role of a master of the Blue Tower, a creature with absolute disdain for any, save his most esteemed peers.

  Ashcliff kept the hood of his blue robe pulled low over his face, as Lynneare had said this was their custom. Lynneare had also described, in remarkable detail, the layout of the inner structure. Ashcliff had memorized those details and walked with a patience and calm that he did not feel toward the fabled tower.

  There were aspects of the magical structure that fluctuated in order to prevent anyone from memorizing those places for future teleport spells. Hallways would shift, stairs would loop through dimensional doorways to link two distant passages by only a step or two, and the internal physical size of the structure would shift almost constantly in some specific areas. This was an excellent means of preventing someone from memorizing the location; however, it also made it quite easy for an outsider to identify precisely where the crucial doors were.

  No one teleported into the Blue Tower. No one teleported out of the Blue Tower. No one stole from the Blue Tower, at least not until today. Deep within the shadows of his hood, Ash’s lips curled into a smile.

  He walked past the guard tower, then along the paved stone walkway through a remarkable garden. Ash had been trained in the many uses of different herbs, magical and otherwise, and marveled now at the wealth growing within the walls of this secluded place. Of course, he had been careful in selecting the teal moss as it only grew in the wild and was, to his knowledge, impossible to cultivate.

  Ash noted something else peculiar during his walk from the outer gate to the tower proper. The weather outside the gate had been a clear winter day of freezing temperatures and sharp winds; however, within the outer walls, he experienced a warm spring day with no hit of the harsh conditions just outside.

  As he approached the large, iron-bound doors of the tower, Ash began to focus his will and imagine it taking on shape and weight. He continued to pour his concentration into this spell of mentalism, forcing it to accumulate power. Lynneare had explained this part might be difficult. The doors were enchanted to open whenever a mage of the tower came close, bearing a magical charm issued to all who studied at the Blue Tower. The charms could be duplicated, but that would mean acquiring one from a mage studying there and keeping said mage locked away somewhere while an alchemist worked to forge a copy.

  Pushing with a spell of telekinesis, Ash caused the doors to open ahead of him, mimicking the effect of the charms. As the double doors swung toward him, Ash saw two mages walking side by side coming out of the tower, and directly toward him. Ash began to move, to step aside for them, when one of them noticed him and began to raise his hand.

  Ash froze, waiting for the bolt of lightning that was surely forthcoming. The muscles in his gut tightened, as though that would ward off such a vicious attack at that sort of close range. Just as the hand came up, the fingers curled and flipped the edge of the robe. The mage rudely pushed aside his companion and stumbled as the two of them blundered into the wall together.

  “Forgive us, master,” the mage who had made the move said in a rushed breath. “We did not know… we did not see you coming.”

  Ash, just now realizing he had also been holding his breath, let only a portion of it out in a bit of growl as he moved beyond the two mages without a backward glance. The moment Ashcliff rounded the corner, he stopped to take a breath, and then another. After gathering his courage and wits, he proceeded down the corridor.

  As he passed through the halls of the legendary tower, Ash noticed something he found very interesting. He saw that some of the stones, perhaps one out of every twenty, appeared actually to be clear glass, yet filled with a blue light or hue. When he found one of these stones in an alcove, out of view of anyone passing by, he took a moment to study it further. He saw, actually saw, tiny creatures moving around within the stone. Barely perceptible, there were small humanoid figures that seemed to be wailing and casting themselves about within.

  Ash made a mental note of this oddity, or despicable imprisonment, and resumed the task at hand. After all, he was destined to be the first to steal from the Blue Tower.

  After another half hour of wandering the corridors, Ashcliff found the section of stair where the walls and ceiling drifted back and forth with a dizzying effect. He found the slight shifting in dimensions to be quite disorienting, and could certainly understand how the changes would prevent someone from memorizing the specific location.

  Now that he had the right location, it was a matter of finding the doorway. Ash reached out with his mind, imagining the force of his will as tiny tendrils that drifted over the surfaces of the blue stones. He detected the barest of tremors that seemed to change in frequency violently and knew he had the correct stone.

  Ash took a moment to check above and below him on the stair, ensuring he was alone, and began the ritual as taught to him by Lynneare. The ritual called upon aspects of magic Ash was yet a virgin to; however, Lynneare assured him his attributes would suffice as long as his execution was perfect. Ashcliff had made perfection his life.

  Ash spoke the words, and his hands followed with the prescribed, and exact, gestures. He watched, a bit amazed, as the door began to take form. It began as a speck. The gray quill point folded out, and out again, in rapid succession. Ash took a step back, and, in the time of the step, the speck had folded out to roughly the size of a large barrel. In another two breaths, the portal had folded out to the size of a doorway that would accommodate any man and his horse. He tried to look through the doorway but found it was a gray mist of opaque and charged air. Ash stepped inside.

  Lynneare had cautioned him about the mental assault that would come. Ash had raised his defenses in the form of several enchantments of mentalism but was still nearly dropped to his knees by the magical commands to withdraw. He infused his mental defenses with the strength of his will and forced the magical commands from his mind. The struggle was brief, but intense. Sweat began to break out on his brow. Ashcliff could certainly see how this measure would turn away any that were not adequately prepared for it.

  It took almost the same amount of self-control to regulate his breathing and prepare his next spell. The room was warded so that anything ca
using a sound within would be ensnared, so Lynneare had said, with Spider Bonds. Spider Bonds was a potent spell that replicated the nature of a spider’s web with the notable exceptions that the tendrils of the web were as thick as a strong man’s thumb, could withstand several hundred stone of pressure, and could only be cut by the keenest of blades.

  Ash focused his thoughts once again, bringing forth his powers of mentalism, and generated a field of absolute silence that surrounded him and all he carried. He cast a second spell, one that would conceal his aura, his magical presence, as well. Lynneare had not mentioned anything about the wizards monitoring for sentient beings but thought the precaution worthwhile.

  The next trial also tested his level of discipline. Never had Ashcliff imagined such a collection of artifacts, rare gems, powerful magic totems, and trophies from exotic beasts. A portion of his training had been learning to identify forgeries and fakes, and assessing the value of a variety of articles. He had been commissioned to assassinate, and to surveil, however, his first significant mission was to retrieve artifacts from Nolcavanor. The success of that mission to Nolcavanor had established his reputation as a professional, and had resulted in a boon of coin as well.

  Now, his eyes strayed over artifacts such as the Chalice of C’Lea’yth, a goblet of pure roarkor capable of transforming anything placed in it to holy elven wine. He saw the Locket of Bengyll, a gold locket given to the champion of Time, Millynne, by her human lover, Bengyll. This was the charm that began the jealousy of the gods. He examined Guardian’s Bane; a black steel dagger said to be able to destroy the soul of its victims so that no sleuth or cleric could discern the events of the victim’s death. He looked over these wonders and many many more. Lynneare had warned Ashcliff of this danger as well; the temptation to fill his pockets, and get himself caught. Ash did make a mental note of what was present and how it was secured, though. Someday…