by R J Hanson
He moved to the massive chunk of black and red emerald that occupied a large area of this treasure room. He could see the design on the inside of the corner piece. It appeared to be the portion of the mold for the dragon’s right wing joint.
Ash maneuvered himself carefully around the edge of the great stone to its back side. Once there, he took out his magical pouch and removed a hammer, chisel, and a thick silk pillow. He placed the pillow on the floor before him and positioned the chisel against the back edge of the Drakestone. Then, holding his breath, Ash struck the chisel with the hammer and waited.
No sound had escaped. Ash knew how his spell of silence was supposed to work, but, to his knowledge, no one had ever attempted to operate a hammer and chisel with the spell enacted. He waited for several more heartbeats and, when there was no response from the residents of the Blue Tower, he continued.
Ash sculpted three stones, roughly the size of a chicken’s egg, away from the back portion of the Drakestone, where no one was likely to notice. As he finished the final stone, for Lynneare had explicitly stated that he needed three, a sliver the size of a small dagger broke away from the majestic stone and fell to the pillow next to where he had placed the first two pieces. It didn’t take Ashcliff long to decide what should be done with the sliver.
Holding his breath once more, Ash removed the teal moss from his other pouch, placed the three egg-sized stones in the bottom of it, and gently laid the moss back over the top of them. Then he slowly secured the top of the pouch. He allowed himself a single, measured breath, and then secured the pouch to his belt.
Next, Ash slipped the hammer, chisel, and pillow back into the magical pouch, which once again shrank the items so that it could be easily concealed in his inner cloak pocket. Finally, he took a piece of leather from his pocket and folded it over the jagged edge of the Drakestone sliver and tucked that into the crotch of his pants. He knew that even when using infravision or ethereal sight, most people tended to shy away from that area of the body.
Ash approached the doorway back to the stairwell and paused for a moment, casting another spell to sense ahead of his position. He needed to determine whether there was anyone on the other side. Sensing no one, Ash eased through the doorway and back into the stair tower. He turned around to find that the doorway had vanished and that the stone where it was hidden had moved.
He moved down the stair, assuming a slow and confident gait. In a few minutes, he was back outside and walking along the paved stone path that wound throughout the inner grounds. He kept his head low and concealed within the hood, but managed to scan the top of the outer wall with one eye. Ashcliff saw his exit in the form of an irregular column of stone in the outer wall. To the casual eye, it would look much like the others, but he noticed the slight pitch and uneven edge of the column that would provide just enough surface for him to make the climb. The wall was thirty feet in height, but Ash thought he could make that climb, with the aid of yet another spell, in less than five seconds. He turned his attention from that spot to the areas that might be able to view…
“Excuse me,” came from his side and just behind him, causing Ashcliff nearly jumped out of his skin. “I saw you at the outcropping east of the gate earlier.”
“Yes,” Ash said, trying to disguise his accent and the timber of his voice.
This was another area of skill that Ashcliff had only been studying for a few years, whereas his mast, Ashdow, had been studying it for decades. Ash turned slowly to see one of the wizards of the Blue Tower standing on the stone path just behind him. He cursed himself for allowing someone, anyone, to get within arm’s length of him without him seeing them coming first.
“I don’t suppose you were collecting klaatu narkta, were you?”
“In fact, I was,” Ash said, wondering if he should rub the tracking coin or stab this mage in the eye first.
Ash considered the fact that the deadly moss might end the life of this wizard for him, but decided against that being very likely. If the mage knew the name for the moss, and where to find it, there was also a high probability that he knew just how deadly the spores of the moss could be.
“May I ask what spell you used to collect it? I’ve been thinking of collecting a small sample for some time now and haven’t devised the proper spell.”
“I just used a dagger,” Ash said with an unintentional shrug.
“Interesting, a direct approach. I hadn’t thought of that. I was hoping to discern at what specific point the spores become poisonous. As I’m sure you know, the moss itself is quite harmless, and the spores are so brutally lethal; thus, I was hoping to learn more about the exact process that generates the poisonous quality. And you?”
Several seconds passed before Ashcliff realized the wizard had asked him a question.
“Oh, I am curious as to the specific size of the spores and thought to test them on different creatures of different sizes, insects primarily, of course, to see if any were small enough to avoid the hazard of inhaling the spore by nature of the size of the portal to their lungs.”
Ash cringed inside when the wizard stood up a bit straighter and moved his hood back enough that Ash could see his face. There was a look of profound confusion on that face, and Ash acted on it.
“I don’t understand how you would…” the wizard began as Ash moved to put his arm around the wizard’s shoulders.
Ash didn’t know if it was common for the residents of the Blue Tower to be so familiar with one another, but at this point, he felt he had little choice.
“Please,” Ash said as his arm wrapped around the wizard’s shoulders. “Come, I’ll show you.”
“But…” the wizard began, his voice raised a bit.
Ash struck, instantly and viciously, driving his fingertips into the wizard’s throat, disrupting his breathing and his ability to speak. This move accomplished two things for Ash. First, it kept the mage from raising the alarm, and, second, it prevented him from casting any spells of the schools of essence or channeling. Ashcliff also needed the wizard upright and walking, so anyone observing them wouldn’t think anything of it.
As they walked, Ash felt a needlepoint of pain begin in his forehead that rapidly began to spread throughout his brain. He looked the mage in the face and saw an expression of concentration painted clearly across the man’s brow. This wizard had somehow also managed to learn something of the protected arts of mentalism as well.
Ash struck the wizard again, this time breaking his nose. Ash reduced the force of the blow; after all, he didn’t want to drive the mage’s nose into his brain. The Shadow Blade needed the mage stunned, not dead. Ash knew from hard experience few things in this world could disrupt focus and concentration like a sharp rap on the beak.
A lightning bolt of pain shot from the mage’s septum, up his face, through his eyes, and deep into the back of his brain, setting fire to every never it encountered along the way. His eyes watered immediately, and his vision blurred to the point that light and shadow were the only details he could discern. For a moment, he forgot his name, forgot who he was, where he was, and why he was here. In that moment, the only thing he knew was the stabbing pain that radiated from the middle of his face.
Ash turned back toward the wall, putting the wizard on his left. Ash dropped his left hand and hooked the four fingers of that hand under the mage’s rib cage. Compelled by the automatic response from his nerves and muscles, the learned mage stepped quickly to keep pace with his assailant.
Ashcliff knew the sands were now passing through the hourglass for him. If he could get beyond the wall, he would be in the open. However, each step he must take toward the wall was another chance that he might be discovered. Each step was another moment, another grain of sand, when a wizard might appear from the ether to strike him down with a bolt of lightning or spray of acid; or something much worse. Many had heard the wild tales of curses wizards and sorcerers had used to plague their enemies; Ash had taken the opportunity to study them. Although his st
eady hand did not reveal it, he was terrified of having his eyes turned to honey or seeing a thousand spiders crawl along his muscles just beneath his skin. The idea of experiencing either threatened to seize his nerves; the notion that those of the Blue Tower could force him to endure such tortures for decades caused his bowels to twitch dangerously. Yet, Ashcliff was no soft prince or wealthy merchant’s toff. He was a Shadow Blade and would execute his mission with professionalism, or die trying.
Ash positioned himself, so, to anyone observing them from behind, they would appear to be merely walking close to one another. Ash gestured with his right hand toward the wall a time or two, as though he was pointing out something to his companion while concealing his left hand under their robes and keeping a vicious hold on the mage’s lower ribs.
Twice more Ash struck his captive in the nose, maintaining the wizard’s stunned state, and once more Ash struck him in the throat. The wizard pawed at Ashcliff’s left hand, but the effort was weak and lacked conviction. Ash had no doubt this spell caster was a formidable opponent when he could employ his enchantments; however, in a martial contest, he offered less resistance than a paid tavern girl. Ash had no intention of allowing the mage to regain his casting abilities. No codes of chivalry bound the Shadow Blade.
As he approached the great outer wall, Ash searched its top one final time for guards and mentally probed the stones and mortar for magical resistance. The Warlock had been right, of course. The wall was heavily warded against any teleportation in, or out. Ashcliff selected his path up the wall with a practiced eye and then turned to his companion, the captive mage.
As he turned, Ash saw another mage, not more than thirty strides behind them and gaining on them quickly.
“You two, hold there,” the approaching wizard said. “If you’re studying the wardings along the walls, you must…”
His voice was cut short by the shock of what he witnessed. Ashcliff, in a single and swift move, palmed a dagger from his right sleeve, and pushed it through his captive’s left eye and deep into his brain. As the mage began to fall, Ashcliff hurled the dagger at the wizard approaching him from the tower.
With a quick word and the jerk of a hand, the wizard managed to deflect the path of the thrown dagger harmlessly to the side. Ash hadn’t expected the dagger to draw blood, but he did need the wizard distracted for a moment.
In the same moment he let go the dagger, Ashcliff cast a spell. His body, and all that he wore, began to take on the hue of the wall behind him. It wasn’t invisibility, that was much more difficult, but it was excellent camouflage. While the wizard was twisting away from the thrown dagger and casting his spell, Ashcliff was scurrying up the wall.
He leapt and hung a toe on a slim ledge for only a moment. He pushed off from that ledge capitalizing on the momentum from his initial leap. He used that momentum to force himself up several more feet to a handhold. Again, he only made contact with the surface briefly, as he continued his ascent. He then threw his hands up above him and slapped out to the left and the right, applying tremendous pressure between the wall and the small corner formed by the irregularity there. As his momentum continued upward, Ash tucked his legs into his chest and then shot them above his head in a final leap for the top ledge of the wall.
Ash’s hair stood on end as the air around his body was instantly charged with the harbinger of an inbound lightning bolt. Ash heard the crash as the force of the magical bolt struck. He felt the spray of small projectiles against his lower back and thought, just for a moment, it was the sensation of the bones in that part of his body being blasted apart. As he propelled himself up the wall, he saw that the bolt struck the wall just beneath him and had blasted away a layer of stone in all directions.
Ash extended his body entirely and managed to snag the top edge of the wall with the back of his heel. In a flash, all the muscles from that heel to his shoulders flexed in concert to hurl his body upward and into the air over the wall. As he turned in the air, his head flying forward as he tucked his knees into his chest, another bolt of lightning tore through the small, temporary, space between him and the top of the wall. Ash wondered why he hadn’t heard the wizard casting and realized only then that the close strikes of lightning had likely deafened him.
Now he ran along the top of the wall at a full sprint. In moments large bolts from arbalests would be coming his way, not to mention more magical attacks. He took a moment to realize how the defenses of the wall had worked against the powerful mages. None of them could teleport to him, or beyond the wall to intercept him. He just had to survive to get to the other side.
Ash saw the curve he had been looking for and ran all out. Ash plunged his feet toward the outer side of the wall, making his first and only physical contact with his heels and buttocks. The bolt of a crossbow drove deep into the muscle of his left shoulder then, the tip striking the bone in his upper arm and then scraping along his shoulder blade. However, Ash’s maneuver had begun, and his concentration was perfect. Between the outward curve of the wall, and his speed, Ash was able to slide down the wall at an angle. As he struck the ground, Ash dispersed his impetus by tumbling into an acrobatic roll. As he leapt to his feet at the end of that roll, he realized his hearing was beginning to return. He also realized blood was pouring out of his shoulder.
Ashcliff ran. As he did so, he held his breath and popped open the pouch with the teal moss, the klaatu narkta. At each drop of his blood that hit the ground, Ash dropped a piece of the deadly moss. Then, calling on his considerable willpower, he pushed his pain and circumstances out of his head and focused on another spell. His next step sent him stumbling forward as, suddenly, the terrain around him had changed. He had teleported himself four leagues to the west in hopes of leaving any traditional pursuit long behind him. Now, more feverishly than he intended, he began to rub the coin given him by Lynneare.
“You have them?” Lynneare asked from a burst of smoke that appeared just before the beleaguered Shadow Blade.
Ashcliff, his breath coming in rasps, was only able to nod vigorously.
“Excellent work, Shadow Blade,” Lynneare said as his right hand extended a coin purse, and his left reached forward, palm open and up.
Ashcliff handed the pouch of Drakestones over and accepted the coin purse. He didn’t bother to count it. His line of work was one of word of mouth referrals and repeat business.
“There’s a moss in with them, klaatu narkta,” Ash said as his breathing slowed. “It’s very poisonous.”
“I’m familiar with the plant and its spores,” Lynneare said as he examined the three stones within the pouch. “This concludes our business, for now. I know you have other matters to see to. Shall I drop you in Modins?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ash said as he pulled a poultice from a hidden pocket and applied it to the wound on his shoulder.
The world around them filled with smoke.
Chapter IX
Allies?
A’Ilys watched as the drow, or rather the Shadow Blade posing as a drow, made his way throughout the market street of the dark elf complex. The spy was clever, A’Ilys didn’t enjoy admitting that fact to himself, but he understood that self-illusion was the most dangerous of pitfalls. The Master of Spies watched the intruder moved from shop to shop, occasionally making purchases and haggling prices from time to time. A’Ilys also noted the way this impostor’s eye caught reflections of buildings, guard posts, and the seemingly unprotected balconies of Queen Jandanero’s residence in the middle of the vast cavern.
A’Ilys had failed to discover the Shadow Blade’s arrival in Moras on his own. However, his carefully crafted network of spies and informants paid for itself one-thousand-fold when they brought him the information of a merchant captain marking dock posts. A’Ilys didn’t read the Shadow Blade codes, of course, but he did understand some of how they were communicated from one operative to another.
It was mere chance that A’Ilys had collected this errant bit of information at all. For his
watchers on the docks almost failed to mention such an odd, but apparently mundane, act. Three factors played in the Master of Spies favor; one, his expansive network of spies, two, Queen Jandanero made it clear that she was to be alerted the instant the Knight of Sorrows arrived in the area if he was indeed on the move which, in turn, caused A’Ilys to be more fastidious than ever, and three, this Shadow Blade seemed to prefer the guise of this Captain Danmorgan and used it frequently making him easier to follow.
A’Ilys was also on the alert for any sign of the master vampire, Slythorne. The Master of Spies was confident the mysterious aristocrat accompanying Captain Danmorgan at Despion’s Rest was Slythorne, or one of his vampire servants. Each of A’Ilys’s informants gave the same account of this curious noble. None could remember what he looked like, or the times he came and went. They could only remember that he was important, and none were to interfere in his business. To A’Ilys, that meant one possibility; the spell known to him as Mind Cloud.
Mind Cloud was a favorite among the drow mentalists, for it obscured details about the casters from any witnesses. For most drow to move about on the surface of Stratvs, a keen disguise was required. However, if one could cast the spell Mind Cloud, no disguise was needed, for none could remember, or truly recognize the spellcaster's actual appearance.
A’Ilys had learned more about Slythorne than the Knight of Sorrows and the Shadow Blade combined. However, much of the research on Slythorne had been done for him. A’Ilys had availed himself of every journal entry; every note, Lady Dru kept on her former companion. She had believed her history with Slythorne her secret, but there are no secrets kept from A’Ilys, certainly not within this drow coven.
From her detailed notes, A’Ilys had no doubts as to the lethality of the master vampire. He was an accomplished practitioner of both incantation and the art of fencing. He had mastered the shrou-sheld and dagger centuries before being endowed with the powers associated with vampirism. Add to that the fact that Slythorne had been living in the open as a vampire for almost three thousand years, and you had an excellent picture of the former Master Templar’s capabilities.